A cool mist hung in the air. I felt a tangible sense of occasion, complemented by the hushed and curious crowd gathered three or four deep. With heart beating fast, threading my way through the packed throngs I collected my ticket and noted Boris Johnson walking past in his unmistakable and distinctive way.
In the fitting surroundings of Wren’s masterpiece mingled the iconic political even legendary names of a past era,supplemented by others who were also players in that brief and special moment in time. Three former Prime Ministers, current heavyweights, such as William Hague and Ed Miliband, those contemporary to Lady Thatcher, Michael Heseltine, the would be assassin, the controversial Geoffrey Howe, Nigel Lawson, Michael Portillo, Liberals like David Steel , David Owen once co- leader of a once relevant party. Even those with a colourful past-Conrad Black and Jeffrey Archer. And those who were also part of the era, David Frost, Max Hastings, Maurice Saatchi, Andrew Roberts and Andrew Lloyd Webber ,whose legacy could well outlive the politicians there assembled-except that of the Iron Lady. Outside the cathedral and inside, a combination of the familiar and the unassuming, equal on the day and united in purpose. Full military honours and a gun carriage drawn by the King’s Troop Royal Horse Artillery.
The Queen and Prince Philip showed their dignified respect by entering before the coffin, a statement as moving as that encapsulated in stone, by the great Dome of St Paul’s. Both sovereign and place had witnessed other great national occasions but few more poignant or better at combining the commoner with her monarch.
A special moment, unexpected but will linger long in the memory-the young assured voice of the American granddaughter reading as if to her college mates followed by seasoned voices including those of the Bishop of London and the newly enthroned Archbishop of Canterbury.
The coffin draped in the Union flag was then ready for its stately last journey to the Chelsea Royal Hospital finally to be laid to rest.
A strange combination of fulfilment, of witnessing history, of reflection and completion engulfed me.