Westminster Abbey (Reprise) The Royal Wedding

Of course I went. I took my sons. We took a step ladder!

We went down our street, turned right, turned left and turned right again and walked a few metres to stand opposite Westminster Abbey door. I had good intentions of getting up early to bag a space but somehow ( I made two Victoria Sponges and washed the kitchen floor before leaving) it was 10.30 when we left and the wedding started at 11am. It was crowded by the Abbey but we could get near. We stood in almost exactly the same place I had seen the pope and just a bit further back from where at the edge of parliament square I had seen the thick black wall of policemen kettle protestors but this was the busiest. This was packed. Today I was with my friend that I have known since school, her girlfriend, her girlfriend's pretty niece, the boys and at the last minute exh had rung the bell and said could he come with us too - so we all walked down there together. Though there was only one real royalist among us and it was my friend's girlfriend. Exh had made royal wedding badges to sell and he carried them on a make shift tray slung round his neck - dressed like the guest of a big fat wedding. A rogue hat and a button hole. People kept taking his picture though not many bought badges.

There was a time early on writing this blog when I found the task of describing Westminster Abbey too daunting and thought about leaving it until last. Then as soon as I had been and learnt the history of an Abbey built on an island in the marshes by the Thames over a thousand years ago I wished I had started there. It was where Westminster began. This history radiating out from the boggy island as the surrounding land was drained and built on. Researching or writing this I have often been surprised at who lived here - then it dawned on me that early on there was only Westminster or The City of London - the rest of London wasn't here. Though I was excited to find out recently that Caxton brought his press here from Bruges in 1473 the first printing press in England. I discover the shop was here, adjacent to the Abbey and that he rented tenements and a loft over the gate to the Almonry (near the west end). It wasn't just London radiating from Westminster Abbey but our language too.
When the Royal Wedding was announced I thought oh wow if I had waited that would have been a perfect ending to ISICTT - it would have been going for just over a year AND it would end with a wedding! What a perfect and traditional way to end a story I think and I am tempted.

The royalist in our party has brough a mini tv and spare batteries and lots of people cluster around to work out what is happening. There is a debate in the crowd whether to climb on top of a bus stop to get a better view and for a while no one dares. Eventually a man gets up and he is then asked by the police to get down. Which he does. Another man asks exh the price of his badges and then whips out a trading licensing id. 'Either give them away or I'll confiscate them' he hisses as exh bundles badges into his pockets. The children squabble about turns on the ladder. Then fight. I worry that this will be what the crowd remember. It will be what I remember. Though as the bride arrives I hold the ladder for one son and put the other on my shoulders, slightly stooped, eyeing the pavement with a wobbly gaze. The crowds surge holding periscopes, cameras and phones aloft. I am pleased I am not a royalist, that I don't really mind missing it. Though I am not sure anyone sees much. Or even that we mind.
At some point a couple push buggies, one each, through the dense mass of people. It looks hard work and there isn't much further they can get. The crowd advise them to stay put, it gets more crowded further down, they won't see much more. The couple stop to take breath. Then start, ' I'd rather be anywhere but here today.' They say. 'Who'd come here.' They say. 'What a big fuss.' They say before pushing on. This is not a cut through. This is a dead end. I don't understand their effort.
After the arrivals the crowd thins and we are able to inch our ladder down the street. A policewoman only a fraction away from obesity ( I only mention it because I have never seen it before) says we mustn't use our ladder. My friend says - we've been using it just down the street and she says, well, I would have stopped you, if I'd seen you. 'It's a by law.' Though there is a lack of conviction and I doubt it. How can it be a by law to set up a ladder? It is how things are built. But just a bit further down we find a good angle to the Abbey door against a wall ( still with the ladder ) and my eldest son becomes a tripod to the royalist friend. Everyone is happy.

The crowd cheer when the couple are pronounced man and wife and we hear Jerusalem sung from within the church itself.

A group of pretty girls push a young woman in a wheelchair into the crowded throng. We need to get to Trafalgar Square. They announce. The crowd takes charge. It is impossible, now, from here, they say. Even with a wheelchair? Even with a wheelchair is the verdict. The pretty girl in the wheelchair says 'I suffer from claustrophobia' but it is a quiet, low down voice and I feel only me and my friend from school holding the ladder hear her. They all keep pushing on. Again, there is only a dead end to reach.

Three women in black robes, but not full face burkahs stand alongside us. They have slightly masculine faces and whitening make up - creamy, a little bit oily, like floating chalk on their skin I think of Michael Jackson. They are smiley with me and my grumpy, bickering sons. We are all here. I think. Celebrating something. Love or tradition. Or history. Or just living round the corner. The carriages and horses and soldiers line up alongside us, ludicrously fairy tale, a historic toy box come to life.

The bride and groom appear at the door of the Abbey. I am still holding child legs steady as the crowd cheers. Though later I am pleased because our royalist friend gets perfect pictures of the pair smiling at the doorway.

After the carriages and soldiers and finally the mini buses for the guests have all disappeared we meet PSM and her two sons on parliament square. The peace tents are still parked tight on the edge of pavement by railings. But just for this day the green lawn of the square has been opened. We walk down The Mall as the flypast flies past, and then cut through horse guards parade and into the park. A huge royal standard billows over Buckingham Palace. Crowds of people are clustered, picnicking, wearing flags and hats like old fashioned scenes in modern colours.

Then back for tea. By now there is quite a throng - 5 boys, 6 women ( my Indonesian friend comes with her son) and exh. I have said there will be an English tea. ( Remember the Victoria Sponges? ) I serve tea and Cava and make egg and cucumber sandwiches but there isn't really enough. I put pizza out for the children but unexpectedly they go for cucumber sandwiches and everytime I slice the crusts off another round and put them out on a fancy cake stand they have gone. I worry that my friend's girlfriend is hungry. I worry that I have told my Indonesian friend that there will be alcohol but not that there will be lesbians. Though I need her to accept us as we are. Then hold my breath when PSM asks me about UL - for an adulterous relationship is almost too much to ask anyone to accept. But she takes everything in her stride, smiling, kind and funny. And the cakes save the day - they are delicious.


Trying to piece this together I find that nearby 'Caxton Hall' near St James's tube station was a registery office popular with famous people.
http://www.nickelinthemachine.com/2009/06/caxton-hall-in-westminster-and-the-marriage-of-diana-dors-to-dennis-hamilton/ ( the description of Diana Dors wedding is hilarious and terrifying )

Two days later we wake to find Bin Laden is dead.

I don't think this will be the last post. I think my ambition is to reach The City.


Amen.