It rained. Of course it did. It wouldn’t have been a proper coronation if it hadn’t. Brits wouldn’t have had it any other way. We were born to suffer. Keep calm and carry on.
The first guests had started arriving at Westminster Abbey from early in the morning. Among them the lucky MPs who had received an invitation. Though many Tories had been complaining it was all a stitch-up by Number 10. That Rishi Sunak had hand-picked favourites and those he wanted to get on side. Whatever. Let’s hope they had strong bladders. It was going to be a long morning.
As the cameras panned round the congregation, the BBC’s Huw Edwards desperately tried to pick out a few people he recognised. There was Ant and Dec. He didn’t know which was which but few do. Nick Cave. You can’t miss the jet-black hair. Stephen Fry behind a pillar somewhere. Jill Biden and her granddaughter near the back. The US president never attends these kinds of dos. President Macron wandering in, totally at home. He’s almost an honorary royal these days. In his own mind, at any rate.
Others started arriving. The lord speaker processing behind what looked like a large Toblerone. The seven former prime ministers. Boris Johnson and Liz Truss bringing up the rear. Johnson looking a right state as ever. There was no way he was going to make an effort even for this. Truss with the widest smile. She can’t believe her luck. Just 49 days in which she wrecked the country and she’s guaranteed a spot on every guest list for life. Living the dream.
Near the end, Prince Andrew and Harry. Andy was allowed a cape from the dressing-up box, Harry was in civvies. The message was clear: you can be accused of being a sexual predator. But don’t dare marry a black woman and spill the beans in your autobiography. Huw could barely bring himself to mention either of them.
Out in the Mall, Clare Balding was watching a horse walk sideways while the royal coach carrying King Charles and Camilla made its way to the Abbey. Balding pointed out all the flags of the Commonwealth countries, forgetting that many of them wanted to have their own heads of state. Then the cameras also forgot to broadcast the procession going through Trafalgar Square, where republican protesters were gathered. Nor did we get to hear Andrew being booed. This was too much lese-majesty for the occasion. Huw couldn’t have stood it.
Once the king and Camilla reached the abbey, a new procession made its way to the altar. Led by Sebastian Coe. What on earth was he doing here? He gets everywhere you don’t want him and even the royals haven’t found a way of keeping him out. Prince William, Kate and their children all looked as if they were extras from a remake of Cinderella. Then so did a lot of people. Brits like to think no other country does these occasions quite as well. Other countries may have a bit more self-worth. Still, the music was wonderful.
We’d been told that the king had wanted this to be a celebration of all faiths, but in reality this was a full-on Protestant extravaganza. Other faiths were restricted to either a one-line cameo or just a walk-on part. This was in all but name a sacred ritual, honouring Charles as the one true king and the Church of England as the one true religion.
And in truth, it quickly all began to drag a little. Justin Welby’s sermon was borderline unintelligible. Meaningless to most people. The two-hour service could have done with some editing down to 75 minutes. Still, at least it was an hour shorter than the late queen’s in 1953. Prince Louis went missing for large chunks. Lucky him. Perhaps he couldn’t be separated from his PlayStation.
“I am here to serve. Not to be served,” said Charles. Really? It didn’t look that way. The whole thing was being done for his benefit, after all. Though he did look strangely detached throughout. As if he didn’t really want to be there. As if it was all a bit much for him. He could take the trinkets but the obligations of kingship were too heavy a burden. Luckily, for once the pen with which he had to sign his name worked perfectly. Otherwise he might have snapped. The only time he looked vaguely cheerful was when the gospel choir sang.
Then we got to the real ceremony. First the anointing with holy oil that took place behind a screen because it was too sacred to be broadcast. A ritual we were told that went back to Solomon. Hmm. But Zadok the Priest always adds a touch of class. Then the Orb of Excellence, the Mace of Magnificence, the Spurs of the Surreal, the Gauntlet of Devotion, the Goblet of Fire. Or something.
Still, Penny Mordaunt was the breakout star with the Sword of Sincerity. Thank God, Truss got ousted. Otherwise we might have had Jacob Rees-Mogg doing it. The archbishop struggled to get the crown on, but eventually the king was crowned. Prince William swore allegiance and kissed his father. The one tender, personal moment of the entire ceremony. Even so, it was hard to escape the sense of the absurd. A modern 21st-century democracy reliving a medieval fantasy. It was like the royalty as scripted by Disney. Hard to take seriously. Maybe it would have made more sense in black and white.
At least Camilla looked as if she was enjoying herself. She smiled and struggled not to burst out into giggles as she was asked to hold a sceptre. She clearly thought the whole thing was ridiculous. Meanwhile the king carried on suffering in this piece of dadaist performance theatre. After more interminable faffing, the king and queen nipped round the back of the altar. Presumably Camilla needed a cigarette and a quick laugh to release the tension. Most of the rest of us were by now bored. Couldn’t wait for the thing to be over. Enough was enough.
Eventually they reappeared and headed for the exit while the audience sang God save the King. Charles stopped to thank the ministers from other faiths for being ignored throughout the service. Then into the golden carriage. Princess Anne, looking like Napoleon, leapt on to a horse. “She’s now the Gold Stick in Waiting,” Balding said excitedly. Only in Britain.
• This article was amended on 7 May 2023. An earlier version said that Jill Biden attended with her daughter instead of her granddaughter.
