At Edinburgh Airport scenes came to a head as, under the eyes of the Queen’s grieving daughter, a party from the Royal Air Force carried the coffin into the metallic gray aircraft. Stoic-faced, cheeks pressed against him, these men looked too young, somehow, to bear such a burden. But what an honor. This RAF plane took off into the clear blue Scottish sky and landed, less than an hour later, at a gray and drizzly RAF Northolt. It was dark as the cortege finally arrived at Buckingham Palace and thousands of mourners watched as a group of shadowy figures – an extra honor guard formed by the King’s Guard – received the coffin outside the Grand Entrance. There was the odd cheer, a round of applause, a “hip hip hooray”, before the crowd fell back into their exquisite, reverent silence. How would the queen have approved of this silence. Especially since it didn’t feel forced or deliberate but natural, instinctive. A much needed pause, a deep breath at this unforgettable moment in history. At the end of Queen Elizabeth II’s story and the beginning of the next chapter of our lives.
