Perhaps they hadn’t thought their chance would finally come in death. But perhaps it actually mattered more now to get it right.
In the centre of Westminster Hall,a coffin sits on a catafalque,draped in the Royal Standard with the Orb and Sceptre placed on top. Men bowed their heads in honour as they passed by. Some,with military medals pinned proudly to their chest,offered a salute.
Some,knowing the monarch is the head of the Church of England,performed the sign of the cross.
A few sobbed uncontrollably or left with quivering lips. Having waited through the night with only strangers to converse with,many had to cry alone. Others hugged their loved ones. Mother and daughters. Granddaughters and grandmothers. Husbands and wives,girlfriends,husbands and husbands.
Some looked up sheepishly at a media viewing platform on their way out,where a handful of journalists were given access throughout the day,perhaps worried their tears were more public than first thought.