Diana.
It's strange the things that trigger memories. I had no intention of posting on this subject until I saw a
photograph on
beFrank this morning and was unexpectedly reminded of one of the few times I was witness to such scenes, albeit on a much larger scale in this instance. The occasion was a sad one, the death of the Princess of Wales.
I'm not going to discuss here the conspiracy theories, the causes, the paparazzi or the Royal Family,I will leave that to those more qualified, this is merely my experience. With the benefit of hindsight I'm not sure I would have joined the furor that surrounded her untimely death and I'm not entirely sure what prompted such a massive display of public sadness, it now seems something akin to mass hysteria but at the time it felt truly genuine. I recall being very concerned that if I went to the funeral it should be for the right reasons and I did a considerable amount of heart searching before I made the decision to go.
Like many people I remember exactly what I was doing the moment I heard first of Diana's involvement in a traffic accident. I was at friends, it was late at night and we had turned on the TV for a weather report, we were planning a day out motorcycling and only wanted to know if we were likely to get caught in inclement weather! We caught the tail end of the BBC's bulletin reporting the accident and subsequently remained glued to the news all night in disbelief.
The following day there was a tangible sadness wherever we went, we continued with our day out but no one's heart was really in it. My ex had always been fond of Diana and wanted to go to Kensington Palace that evening. Again it seems slightly strange now but at the moment it happened it felt like a genuine need to pay our respects at the only place we could think of. This is the point that I was reminded of by the photograph on beFrank's blog. Kensington was a media frenzy, there were literally hundreds of media trucks lining every possible curbside. For a Jane Doe such as myself the sight of all this hardware with massive antenna extended and satellite dishes pointing to the heavens was staggering. We take media coverage for granted but despite my father spending his life working at the BBC I somehow had never considered exactly how we attain and broadcast all that coverage. If I'm entirely honest I could have watched this display of technical wizardry all night but felt guilty for even considering it at such a time.
We made our way in the dark across the park to the gates of the palace, at that point the gates already seemed laden with flowers, candles and messages of sympathy but it was nothing in comparison to what was to come. We stood in silence for a few minutes among the few hundred already there and then rode home through a strangely austere London.
Amid reports of central London being closed on the day of the funeral and public transport being questionable, we rode into town the night before, along with the couple we had been with on the night Diana died, parked the bike where we could and made our way to Whitehall where we spent the night. Many have said that the camaraderie on the streets that night was unbelievable and indeed it was like nothing I have experienced before or since. Many people had arrived with little or no preparation for a cold night on tarmac. We in our leathers were luckier than many but by the early hours cold and hunger had set in and we and those in our immediate vicinity, organized ourselves into a rota to walk the considerable distance to a 24 hour Mc Donalds in Leicester Square, returning laden with as much food and drink as we could carry on each journey, to share among us. Street vendors had not been allowed to propagate this sad event.
One of the most surreal moments in my life was being woken the following morning , cold and stiff on the pavement outside Downing Street, by the sound of Big Ben Chiming only a very short distance away!
The time before the funeral commenced was a time of odd and somehow very opposed happenings. Among the thousands of people congregated in sombre contemplation was all the frenzy of organizing such an unprecedented event. Media personnel and vehicles rushing to and fro, scaffold platforms being erected, the security services beetling about suited and booted wearing solemn expressions and the police doing their utmost to keep the ever growing crowds in some sort of order. I never saw reported if there had been instances of crime but I doubt there were many, the majority seemed only too happy to wait patiently and the job of the police 'on the ground' seemed for the most part to be maintaining our safety.
So the procession began and we, a distance away, were only aware because an unbroken grapevine, the length of the route gradually fed its whispered information down to us, aided I think by police radio.
As the coffin in all its regalia approached us with the family walking slowly behind, heads bowed stoically, the atmosphere was something I doubt I will encounter again and I will be amazed for as long as I live by the young Prince's courage in maintaining their composure. Yes they have 'the training' and the background but none the less these were two young boys who had just lost their mother in horrific circumstances and were having to grieve under the glare of a very harsh spotlight.
The funeral service was relayed to the thousands on the streets via a massive speaker system and we all listened in silence. Two moments stood out starkly. Earl Spencer delivered his carefully chosen words, as he finished a round of applause erupted spontaneously outside the Abbey and as people further and further away joined in, the sound of clapping rushed up Whitehall like a tidal wave, at first faint and then gradually more deafening. Shortly afterwards Elton John performed his tribute 'Goodbye England's Rose' and I doubt London will ever be as silent again. Thousand upon thousand of individuals stood in absolute silence broken only by the sound of those overwhelmed sobbing quietly. Directly infront of me was a young police officer who, as his duty dictated, had stood straight and still with his back to the proceedings facing the crowd for hours, he now stood in the very same position with tears streaming down his cheeks.
Immediately after the funeral we were prevented from leaving the centre of London for perhaps 2 hours while all those involved tried to make their way out. Gradually as the crowds began to filter away, we made our way in relative quiet to the bike and set off for home. What occurred next was for me probably more surreal than anything else. We had genuinely not considered that it could happen, we had not thought beyond the end of the funeral and having been kept in the city for so long did not anticipate it. We lived maybe 25 miles north of London and set off to the M1. Bikes of course don't get stuck in traffic and within a few miles of hitting the motorway we could see ahead of us maybe 300 motorcycles. Slightly confused we carried on. Had I had the wit or the forethought I should have realised we should not have taken that route. The bikes we saw in the distance, when we caught up with them, where behind a line of police vehicles, perhaps a hundred yards behind the cortege escorting the coffin on its final journey. I just hadn't thought about the route it would take to Northampton or the slow speed at which it would travel and felt terrible to be stuck in a situation that felt like 'rubber necking' despite it being in all innocence.
As we moved slowly up the motorway every bridge and slip road was dececked with flowers and held people throwing bouquets among the cortege. I had great admiration for the police outriders who had to maintain control of their vehicles at slow speed and under a rain of well meant missiles....they had many more miles to cover. One of my enduring memories though of such a strange and sad day, will remain the sight of hundreds of motorcyclists attempting to keep their machines upright, on a bed of extremely slippery flowers with unchecked tears coursing down their faces.
