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THE DIAMOND JUBILEE

23 June 1897

By this time all those who intended to witness the procession had taken their places. Every stand in the Strand was packed, and though many window seats were still to be let in the morning, they appeared all to be occupied now. At last the vast good-tempered multitude in the Strand was rewarded for its hours of patient watching. At 10.20 the head of the colonial procession reached Temple Bar. Lord Roberts, the Indian and colonial mounted troops and infantry, and the colonial Premiers were received with a roar of cheering, and it is difficult to say who were the favourites of the populace, so hearty was the welcome extended to all. It was a little after half-past 10 when the last colonials had trooped by the Griffin. The Royal procession followed close on them; but after the Life Guards, Dragoon Guards, and two batteries of horse artillery had passed there was a long check until 11.15, when the bugles sounded to mount, the bands struck up, and the procession proceeded. It was a strong-lunged crowd, and it had evidently carefully studied the programme of the procession, for most of our own generals and our distinguished guests were recognized, called to by name, and cheered individually. The enthusiasm was intense, and, at any rate on the portion of the route, international jealousies were forgotten for the time, and everyone who had come over to honour our Queen by taking part in this procession was cheered with a will.

Just before midday a loud roar of cheering announced the approach of the Queen, and soon the State carriage drew up by the Griffin, where the Lord Mayor and his deputation, on foot, bareheaded, were awaiting her Majesty. The interesting ceremony of the presentation of the sword did not occupy a minute. This handsome sword in its pearl-covered scabbard, which has been presented by successive Lord Mayors at this very spot to many sovereigns, from Queen Elizabeth’s time to the present day, was handed to the Lord Mayor by the City Sword-bearer, with a low obeisance. Sir George Faudel-Phillips held the hilt towards her Majesty, who merely touched it, and ordered him to lead the way into the City. The Lord Mayor with considerable alacrity hurried to the spot south of the Griffin where he had left his horse, mounted it and rode off eastward bareheaded holding the sword aloft. The spirited steed caracoled away at a great pace, to the great amusement of the crowd, and it was noticed that the Queen, the Princess of Wales, and the Princess Christian joined in the merriment. But the present Lord Mayor is an expert horseman, and sat his animal well.

The night before in Fleet-street the people passed to and fro, and the noise of the ceaseless traffic mingled with shouts and songs produced one continuous roar. The night was cloudy, but the moon peeped out at times through the driving clouds. When the blue dawn crept imperceptibly above the houses the street presented a curious and unwonted sight. The yellow gas lamps were still blazing, but in the light of the coming day the faces of the people looked wan. Down the street a stream of wagons, omnibuses, brakes, and hansoms, full of sightseers, made their way along the line of route, retarding the progress of the newspaper carts as they rattled along to catch the mails. Every now and then bands of youths or men trooped by singing “God Save the Queen” to a cacophonous accompaniment; many of these carried flags, while others bore youngsters on their shoulders. Factory girls, arm in arm, danced upon the pavements; women seated upon hand-barrows were wheeled along in triumph by men; youths with pasteboard noses and painted faces played pranks in the roadway. These were the harmless saturnalia which took place as the dawn was breaking. Before 3 o’clock a row of people had taken their seats on the projecting stones of the Law Courts branch of the Bank of England, many also were resting on the kerbstones, and by the obelisks at Ludgate-circus men and boys were lying at full length taking a few hours’ sleep. The people, as usual, fraternized with the police. While the night lasted the question most frequently asked was, “Where can we get lodgings?” Shortly afterwards the universal question was, “Where can we get breakfast?” and outside the coffee shops the people gathered in little groups until the doors should be opened. Many cyclists threaded their way slowly through the streets, among them some ladies who received from the bystanders equivocal cheers. Before 4 o’clock some people had already taken their seats in the windows of the houses and offices, prepared with Anglo-Saxon patience to sit there for eight or ten hours. In Fleet-street and Ludgate-hill the predominating colours of the decorations were purple and gold. Square columns, surmounted by tripods bearing flowers, were erected at short intervals on either side of the street, and garlands of flowers were stretched from column to column. The obelisks in Ludgate-circus were draped in purple and gold cloth, with embossed shields and palms. In Ludgate-hill the columns were surmounted by relief banners of elephants, through whose trunks the line of garlands passed. These elephants, which were a striking feature of the decorations, were decked with purple and gold trappings, and were mounted on a base of Oriental design. The Griffin at Temple Bar was surrounded with flowers and evergreens, and the pedestal was adorned with palms, flags, and medallions. The newspaper offices in Fleet-street had made as brave a show of the decorative art as could be found anywhere upon the line of route.

In 1896, Queen Victoria became the longest-reigning British monarch but, mindful of the vast sums lavished on her Golden Jubilee celebrations, asked that any commemoration wait until the 60th anniversary of her accession the following year.

By then, the Empire was at its zenith and the Diamond Jubilee festivities became a celebration of this. The six-mile long circuit of the procession through London was lined by soldiers from all the colonies and dominions in their striking dress uniforms.

Seventeen carriages carried the Royal Family and other dignitaries, with that of the Queen pulled by eight white horses. Hundreds of thousands of people watched the parade as the best vantage points were rented out for enormous amounts. A first-floor room with five windows on Fleet Street was let for 300 guineas (about £30,000 now).

The crowd broke spontaneously into renditions of ‘God Save the Queen’ as she passed, with the throng remaining in good voice well into the night; the pubs stayed open until half past two in the morning. It was, the Queen recorded in her diary, ‘a never to be forgotten day’.