ROYAL devotees endured freezing toes and a soaking from typically soggy British weather as they waited in line to be among the first to pay their respects to the Queen at Westminster Hall.
The stoic and determined band took their spots along the banks of the Thames— knowing that they would be waiting for at least 24 hours.
And as I joined them for a damp and chilly night, it soon became clear that they were not going to be deterred by the downpour.
Among them was Gary Wells, who had made the journey from Scotland in the hope of seeing the coffin for a second time.
The 34-year-old, from Essex, had returned from a 800-mile round trip to see Her Majesty lying at rest in Edinburgh.
“How many people will be able to say they’ve paid their respects to the Queen twice?” he pondered.
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“She dedicated her life to this country. Coming to pay my respects is the least I can do.
“It was incredibly moving in Edinburgh to file past the coffin in silence and see the guards stood at each corner.”
When he was 15, Gary wanted to queue for the Queen Mother’s lying-in-state but was forbidden by his parents — fuelling his determination to see Queen Elizabeth II.
And just like his fellow diehards south of London’s Lambeth Bridge, he was happy to endure every discomfort to make it happen.
On Tuesday afternoon, I joined the steadily growing line of mourners and quickly transformed into a drowned rat as the heavens opened.
Arriving at 4.30pm, I was early enough to be 25th in line — but not early enough to beat the first few who had been patiently waiting since 11am on Monday.
The dutiful mourners around us, unfolding their camping chairs knowing that it was more than 24 hours before the public would be allowed to file past the Queen’s coffin, shared the same spirit.
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Sheltering under a brolly, 72-year-old Linda Wright, from Thanet in Kent, said: “It’s the end of a chapter in our lives, there no way I would miss it. It’s hard to imagine not having a queen.”
By 8.30pm everyone was desperate for hot food, leading one generous journalist to order pizzas – their drop-off point was Lambeth Palace.
With warnings that queues would stretch for more than four miles, and with waits of up to 30 hours, the most committed of fans braved the elements to secure their place as early as possible.
The world’s media was there to greet them — and the arch-royalists nearest the front found themselves in demand. But most of the journalists would be returning to warm beds for the night.
But as the rain poured, I battled to put up my tent to have a dry spot to shelter.
Others in their camping chairs and with little more than anoraks to protect them from the elements, watched my struggles — but were soon lining up to step inside for a chance to dry off.
I may have been lucky — police have since warned well-wishers against using tents and requested they were taken down. But as the night wore on and the weather went from bad to worse, strangers shared their food, brollies and tents as they tried to take cover from the lashing rain.
A Times journalist, who was also in the queue, had the bright idea of ordering pizzas on Deliveroo — with the surreal drop-off point of Lambeth Palace.
What are the wristbands?
MARSHALLS made their way down the queue this morning handing out bright yellow paper wristbands.
Each one is numbered and allows the wearer entry to see the Queen lying in state.
Mourners with bags, like myself, are told to get their bags collected or check them in at a dedicated bag drop.
Stewards told how the area with wristbands was to be cordoned off and no one else would be allowed in.
The yellow bracelet was carefully wrapped around my wrist tightly to ensure it didn’t come off.
It lets me leave the area to get food, use a loo or see friends.
Some mourners were furious that several late comers managed to sneak in and secure a coveted pass.
Some of the more fair-weather fans gave up — but the hardcore majority remained.
I took in a 12-year-old, from Nottingham, and his older sister for the night while their mum kept vigil outside under a brolly. In predictably British fashion, the freezing downpour did not let up throughout the night.
As I settled into my canvas home for the night, a quiet chorus of God Save The Queen drifted down Embankment and steadily grew louder. Then, while the mournful chorus came to a close, several Sikh volunteers set up a table laden with biscuits and hot drinks to keep the queuers going.
Determined to honour the Queen, homeless charity Nishkam SWAT turned out to serve tea, coffee and snacks overnight.
‘Humble monarch’
Volunteer Satta Padnam said: “They say HM stands for ‘Her Majesty’ but to me it stands for ‘humble monarch’ — because that’s what she was.
“She gave the charity an award a few years ago so we wanted to do our bit to help people say goodbye. We’ll be here every night to do our bit. She was an amazing woman and the people camping out are a testament to that.”
A good night’s sleep was not really an option, with excited royal fans chatting outside my tent into the small hours but I managed to grab a few hours’ kip.
By the time I emerged as it grew light at 6am, the queue was snaking farther down the Embankment.
And by 10am, the 17½ hours I had spent waiting on the street finally paid off when I was presented with a coveted yellow wristband by marshals working their way along the queue.
The numbered bands guarantee entry to see the Queen lying-in- state in Westminster Hall— and, crucially, allow you to leave the area to grab food or use the loo, both of which I was desperate to do.
With bands safely on wrists, a calm sense of achievement spread through my neighbours in the queue — last night’s hardships were worth it after all.
And, finally, the moment we were waiting for. Ushered forward, wrists raised to show off our yellow bracelets, the sea of people moved on to Lambeth Bridge and towards the Palace of Westminster.
After attempting to call people through in batches by their numbers, it quickly turned into a free-for-all for anyone with a band.
But the mood turned from cheerful camaraderie to reflective silence.
Spending a night on Embankment has earned me a spot in the first 120 being fast-tracked through.
Walking into the oldest part of the parliament building and descen ding the steps to where Her Majesty lay, a wave of sorrow hit me. Two lines passed the coffin, people pausing only to bow their head.
As I filled past, it felt surreal that, after more than 25 hours, I was finally there to bid adieu. I turned for a parting glance at the flag-covered coffin to find it haloed by myriad colours cast by the Tudor stained glass.
A lump rose in my throat and tears pooled in my eyes.
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Seeing the sunlight gleam off the sceptre and crown, the sorrow in the room felt indescribably intense.
There is surely no more beautiful and solemn place for Queen Elizabeth II to lie, somewhere her subjects can have a final chance to say thank you and goodbye.
