Separated by 70 years and usually 200 miles, they were united in solemn purpose.
Janet Wood, 88, and Sam Walters, 15, live in Doncaster and Somerset respectively, but on Thursday, this pair who would never have reason to meet spent the day in the long and winding queue, which reached almost five miles at one point, to see our former Queen, Elizabeth II lie in state.
It’s a surreal place to be, but for such a sombre event, a lovely one. Suddenly a London landmark all of its own, the Queue runs like a river alongside the Thames to its own groove, solemn and quiet, but largely upbeat.
There’s no pushing or pressure, I’m told repeatedly. It murmurs with gentle chat and good-natured camaraderie.
Despite the warnings of its relentless pace and length - last night, as darkness fell, the wait time had stretched to around nine hours - folk haven’t been put off.
A great leveller, every age, class, and race can be found here, and testimony to the late Queen’s ability to unify, it’s the best place in the land right now to make a new friend.
Yesterday was the first full day of this daunting snake, wending its way at a surprisingly jaunty pace for over four miles by the time I met Janet and Sam at the entrance to Victoria Tower Gardens, by the end of Westminster Bridge, at around lunchtime.
The pair, Janet with her daughter and daughter-in-law, Sam with his parents, had been continuously moving for around three and a half hours. Thankfully it’s cloudy, but dry.
At this stage in the day, they have just under three hours to go, they predict, through the winding chicanes in the Gardens.
The families have come together like so many along the line, bonded by their decision to endure this monotonous wait because they simply want to pay their respects to a woman they admired.
Their bond had also become to take care of Janet.
“We just stood next to each other and started chatting,” said Sam’s dad, Lee.
“We have all waited when she slowed down. When the queue began to gallop we waited for her.”
Clearly exhausted but resolute, Janet is thrilled.
“Everyone has been so courteous,” she said. “A police officer helped me down the steps.
“We are young and old here. It is tiring but I don’t mind doing this for one reason - to say thank-you to the Queen. It’s all we can do.”
The former nurse recalls being allowed to watch 20 minutes of Elizabeth II’s coronation on a telly on the ward she worked in 1953.
She also recalls the death of King George VI as a “sad time”.
“I remember the coronation vividly, it was awe-inspiring,” she says. “The Queen deserves us making this effort to come here.
“She was this country, and she has looked after us.”
Janet and family travelled down on Wednesday night from Doncaster; Sam and his folks set off from near Yeovil, Somerset, at around 5am yesterday morning.
“We felt it was important to come, we hope the school won’t mind,” said Lee.
Sam admits feeling “confusion” at his feelings.
“I want to pay respects,” he says. “I saw it on the telly and felt upset, it just hit me.”
Janet adds: “It’s lovely to see this young chap and he will go and tell his school.”
Over and over in this queue, people feel conflicted.
The hours here are jolly despite the sombre occasion. They share digestives from tupperware, proffer packets of crisps. And then remember why they are here.
John Williams, 88, and his wife Gwen, 89, were up at 3am to travel from Llandudno, North Wales.
After three hours in the queue, it’s clearly proved arduous. “We are looking forward to a sit down,” John says.
Former nurse Gwen was presented her nursing certificate in her twenties by the Queen Mother.
They also queued to see her lying in state.
“We were younger then, it wasn’t as bad,” she laughs.
“We think the world of the Queen,” she adds. “She has been a steady influence all her life.”
Thankfully, they have met Dawn Warrington, 54, attending alone from Kingston-Upon-Thames.
She’s been helping them, waiting for them, chatting.
The newfound friends have eaten most of their ham sandwiches in an earlier queue picnic.
Two other strangers have also bonded.
Malcolm Walton, 79, has arrived in his woggle from Bromley. He is Group Scout Leader of the 13th Penge and Beckenham North group.
Trying to find the end of the queue he met Peter Hassack, 60, from London’s Elephant and Castle.
Peter has tears in his eyes. He served in the Blues and Royal household cavalry as a lance corporal of horse, playing the tuba.
He took part in seven Trooping of the Colour parades, seeing Her Majesty up close.
Both men are emotional because they saw the late Queen as their “boss”.
“She was my commander in chief and my sovereign,” Peter says, simply. “I am very emotional, it’s hard to put into words the feeling of loss. It’s almost the same as losing my mum and dad.
“For both of us it feels she was a boss.”
Both also previously queued for the Queen Mother’s lying in state. They remember that as tougher. Perhaps because this time, they have each other.
“We’ll go and get a drink afterwards, toast her,” says Malcolm.
There are so many reasons for enduring this over four-mile stretch.
For Vivian Muirhead, 76, from Enfield, it’s a childhood meeting with Elizabeth II.
“I met the Queen in Kingston, Jamaica, in 1953 in Victoria Park, I was eight,” he grins broadly.
“She shook my hand, I was walking in thin air. I have come to say goodbye.”
Jeanette Williams, 72, from York, met her too, when she worked as a school matron in 1994.
“I felt she knew me as soon as we met,” she says. “I wanted to say goodbye because of the connection I had.”
While for Eliza Fitzpatrick, 39, here with her mother Lynn Wells, in her seventies, and daughter Evie, three, the connection is strong with no meeting.
She simply found Her Majesty inspirational.
“She’s original girl power,” she says.
She has brought Evie - plenty of snacks and IPad in hand - because she wants her to remember the woman who reigned for so long.
“It’s sad my children will only know kings,” she says.
While that sadness is momentarily set aside in the queue, it overflows at the end.
A former Guardsman with the Grenadier Guards, over 6ft5, imposing, wearing a clutch of medals, Lee Wardle, 44, is one of those emerging with a crumpled face and wet eyes.
He served in Afghanistan and Northern Ireland, yet has barely been able to hold in his tears.
“She was my Commander in Chief. This is on a par with losing my father four years ago,” he admits.
“You could hear a pin drop in the hall. It is hard to believe she is there.”
Janet, Sam and their families reach the hall in around six hours.
Sam sounds dazed. “It was surreal, hard to explain,” he says.
“It was emotional, but such a privilege,” adds Janet. “I was struggling at the end but I had some very good help. I’m so pleased I came.
'The memories will stay with me until the end of my life.”
As they leave, behind them the queue grows in length and wait time. It maybe closed as early as Saturday night.
But the people now joining its end are as eager as those who went before.
