"The King Is Dead"
To the Editor:
FOR FOUR DAYS the body of King George V had lain in state in Westminster Hall. The coffin, draped with the standard and surmounted by the imperial crown, the orb, and the scepter—usually guarded in the elaborate vault in the Tower of London, but now in the open as thousands of people streamed by—was raised on a simple catafalque; and roundabout, as motionless as carved figures, stood officers of the Household Troops, Gentlemen at Arms, and Yeomen of the Guard. For four days the line of mourners had been almost uninterrupted—reverent people standing in the rain, waiting, waiting, as much as seven hours, as the line moved slowly forward to St. Stephen's Gate.
On Monday evening at seven-thirty John Turkevitch '28 and I reached Westminster station. Outside a soft drizzle was falling and thankful for our ski boots we strode hurriedly toward Westminster Hall. A great crowd stood hesitantly outside and we wondered if this was the place to go in. A bobbie waved us on when we asked for the queue and we rounded the corner to stop short in amazement. Feeding into a small door in the side of Westminster Hall was the front, of a line of people about seven abreast, spreading out to ten or twelve, and stretching down the embankment as far as you could see. The rain had brought forth a number of umbrellas, which mushroomed above a few heads, but for the most part newspapers were held aloft or with English phlegm the rain was simply endured. A small stream of rapidly moving people were walking contrary to the crowd, apparently trying to find the end as we were and we strode out confidently, expecting that the rain had kept many away and that the prospect of the Hall open till four o'clock in the morning had induced many to postpone their visit. Another bobbie waved us on and we continued past the dreary similarity of the waiting crowd—past Lambeth Bridge, it could not be much farther; past the Tate Galleries. Still, as far as one could see, the quiet line of people stretched down the pavement. John turned to me and gasped, "Do these people realize how far it is to Westminster Hall?" I looked at the crowd. There were the same faces: old people with a somewhat set expression on their faces; young people; some carrying little children, perhaps too small to leave at home, perhaps big enough to appreciate a little of what they were to see; a few munching chocolate sold by the quiet vendors going up and down the line; occasionally a family, but mostly people in twos or threes, or alone. Typists, clerks, officials, business men; subdued, dressed in black or with black ties, and waiting patiently until the vast procession went ahead a few feet, the wave of progress moving along like a slow ripple until it was lost in the drizzly distance.
We turned across Vauxhall Bridge and doubled back on the other side of the Thames. There was no indication of the end of the line and we had about decided to give up what seemed a thoroughly futile and silly attempt to witness the Lying-in-State. To wait seemed hopeless. We had walked rapidly for well over half an hour. These wretched people were standing almost still.
Yet the odd thing was that we did not notice that those near the front of the line had seemed tired. There was the same inevitableness there as here, the same resolution not against an ordeal but against an inconvenience.
The high pitched voice of a bobbie was saying, "About four hours from 'ere, Miss." There was the end of the line. People were filling in on the run from all sides and we joined the rush almost unconsciously, turning to watch the places behind us fill up with incredible speed. We held the inside. "It'll be nice to look over the River." laughed John. "I'm going," I said, "My devotion to the English Crown goes a long ways, but not two and a half miles." Then I looked around, and even now two hundred yards behind us a solid mass of people had filled the entire sidewalk. Edging forward with the crowd we had covered fifty yards ourselves.
We couldn't believe that all these people were actually going to wait the four or five hours before they could hope to gain admittance to the Hall, but we decided to wait a little to see how fast the crowd moved, and to say, at least, that we had waited in the queue for the Lying-in-State. Subtly and without our realizing what had actually happened, we were emotionally engulfed in this remarkable crowd. We too were beginning to accept the wait as a necessary inconvenience. It was difficult to think of anything but going on. Little by little we edged forward and as the big neon clock across the river went around, and around, and around, and around, we came closer and closer to Westminster.
Occasionally there was the muffled purr of a police boat in the river. The water itself came closer to us as the tide rose hour after hour. And the dim lights of the city changed their relationship slowly as the bulk of Victoria Tower and the Houses of Parliament approached. Gradually the slight conversation of the crowd died down and only whispered conversations were heard. The peculiar rumble which permeates a large city had seemed to disappear also. Only the periodic sing of wet wheels broke the shuffling silence.
In the whole time—four hours—that we had waited, only two persons had left the line anywhere we could see. And with us were waiting every shape, size, and description of British humanity.
At last we were entering St. Stephen's Gate, into the chamber of William Rufus, and onto the steps leading down into Westminster Hall. We were well repaid. In the center, even as we had read and seen pictures, but infinitely different and gripping in the reality, lay the black island of the catafalque, surmounted by the draped coffin of the King on top of which lay the crown, the orb, and scepter of his reign. Roundabout, flickered six tall candles raised on slim pedestals so that their flames seemed vainly anxious to reach the distant beams vaulting the roof above. Roundabout too, in attitudes of deepest mourning, stood the chosen guards of the Household Troops, Gentlemen at Arms, and Yeomen of the Guard. Each in his appropriate uniform had his hands stretched out to the sword or halberd which he held point down in front of him, and each had his head bowed, chin on chest, so that there was conveyed a gripping sense of genuine sorrow. Each stood motionless. Only the movement of eyelids betrayed the fact that these were men keeping a solemn vigil.
We went down slowly, feeling in the presence of something we did not quite understand. On both sides of the Hall the endless crowd streamed slowly by. There was no hurry. Fifteen thousand people had gone by like this almost every hour for four days, but there was no commotion, no crowding or pushing to see. Men lingered to bow their heads and many of them when they left the Hall had tears in their eyes.
Outside a big white horse was pushing the crowd—its unity lost—to one side, and close behind followed a dark limousine bearing no license number. Inside, gazing ahead into the New Palace Yard, not six feet from where we stood, was the haggard face of King Edward VIII. With him were his brothers. A little later they were to take their places as members of the regular guard at twelve o'clock, and for fifteen minutes, as motionless as the others, guard the coffin of their father the King.
And it was not till then that we realized that to the minute one full week ago King George V had passed away.
Trinity College,Cambridge, England,February 2,1936.
