Coronation by Paul Gallico Read Free Book Online Page B

tabard, seeming almost to be arrayed against her, and by the vast aggregation of men and women, peers and nobles, hemming her in on all four sides.
    In the stillness that followed the drifting away of the last echoes of the fanfare to the vaulted stone of the Abbey eaves was heard the old, clear, portentous voice of the Archbishop of Canterbury, as for a moment he clasped the small, white hand of the Queen and, turning with her to all that conglomeration of shapes and faces looking towards the east, he said: ‘Sirs, I here present unto you Queen Elizabeth, the undoubted Queen of this Realm; wherefore all you who are come this day to do her homage and service, are you willing to do the same?’
    The shout of their reply came at once, short and sharp: ‘God save Queen Elizabeth!’
    Once more the fanfare from the silver trumpets pealed down from the roof, and the Queen curtsied in a most exquisite gesture to the peers assembled.
    She was so very young and graceful, and the inclination of her head and body to the gentlemen was poignantly tender, yet at the same time yielding not one iota of dignity. There was contained in this movement both appeal as well as authority, and it was this appeal which was so infinitely touching, so that those who looked upon it could not keep their throats from constricting or tears from their eyes. She was asking for their recognition and acknowledgement, for without it she was no more than a frail and vulnerable human; and at the same time she demanded this acceptance by right of birth, lineage, inheritance and the concurrence of God.
    For the instant, history and tradition were alive and quivering, and one expected almost a great voice like an organ peal thundering from on high: ‘Do you, the people of Great Britain, take this woman, Elizabeth, for your lawful wedded Queen as long as you both shall live?’
    Four times did the trumpets blare, four times did the venerable Archbishop voice his query, four times did the brown head incline as the small, proud figure swept her curtsy to the north, the south, the east and the west, to be acclaimed and accepted by the four quarters of the globe.
    *
    The hushed commentary from the Abbey emerging from the little wireless set beneath the umbrella suddenly turned into music and the nasal rasp of a man singing in French. There had been a dull portion of the ceremony from within the Abbey while the Queen was being garbed and one of the boys had simply switched to a station in France.
    It brought back Will Clagg with a wrench to the truth of their situation, and he fell prey to a sudden onslaught of unreasoning rage at the shabby trick fate had played upon them, and during a surge of temper that welled up from within him he came close to charging the gate with his burly shoulders in an attempt to crash through it so that he might fulfil the promise he had made to his daughter that she should see the Queen.
    The wave subsided. His workman’s eye told him that this barrier had been built to resist the pressure of thousands. Violence would accomplish nothing. Yet what were they to do and where were they to go? All of them hoped that something might yet happen to save the day. They could not escape the feeling that by their long and patient wait there they had earned something, had in some way piled up a credit or paid some kind of fee or bribe to fate which, should they leave to try their luck elsewhere, would then be forfeit. They and the other hopefuls who had stayed were veterans of that particular sector, companions in enterprise and misery. They had made a few friends there and everyone within range knew about their mishap with the tickets and sympathised with them. They didn’t feel thus like venturing into new territory. The façade of St. George’s Hospital was familiar to them, as was the Carriage Drive of Hyde Park. Every slat and board, frame and nail of the wooden barrier was known to them as well. Here they were at least a little at home.
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