A COLONIAL AT THE CORONATION.

Evening Star, Issue 11693, 26 September 1902, Page 2

A COLONIAL AT THE CORONATION.

SEEING THE SHOW FROM THE

STREET,

[Froit Ora Special Correspondent.]

", LONDON, August 15. . To -attend the Coronation of Edward ' the Seventh it was necessary for the ordinary sightseer to rise early. Being for this day “the man in the street,” and after having come half a hemisphere to see the King’s progress through' London, I determined to be early on the line ,of route. Rumors; of enterprising sightseers - who had already taken up their places before midnight on the previous day, and tales of the long-suffering patience of the English crowd, caused me a certain anxiety as I made my way at six in the morning towards my nearest underground. But Suburbia was taking the Coronation quietly. Even at that hour few people were astir, but before I reached my train I came upon ouc subject of His Majesty’s who was celebrating the occasion with exemplary loyalty. She came down the centre of the untenanted street* an old lady of demure dress, with a sombre hat at a rakish angle over her ear, dancing a grave and drunken pas senl in the chill mom. It was a good augury. In -the train was a large party of sightseers, ' whom I judged, from their quite unintelligible dialect, to have come from the country. There are parts of England yet where the English language is not spoken. These people, had made every preparation for provisioning themselves during'the day, but when the train reached Earl’s Court they all got out! They- were going to have a quiet, day at the Exhibition ! I wonder how many other thousands followed their example? The truth was that most Londoners stayed away from the Coronation. They had heard so much of police precautions, of regulations of traffic, of barriers and cordons and ambulance stations, and they had such vivid recollections of the horrors of the C.I.V. crush, that they preferred a quiet day at home or a holiday in tho country. So excellent were the precautions taken by the authorities that, though I saw the pro- , cession twice from the street, and moved about the route in the interim, I never had the slightest difficulty in making my way from point to point. How many late arrivals were unable to pass the barriers I could not tell, but once inside the area of the procession there was ample room for everybody. The crowd was thicker on the pavements of the colonial cities during the Duke of York’s processions than .in London streets oh Saturday. That is to say, a sightseer in the of London, once he was inside the barriers, had a better chance of getting a good view of the procession than he would have had in the colonies during the visit of the Duke of York. At the spot: at which I posted myself in 'the Mall there were never more than three ranks of people behind me. and subsequently I .picked <3ut one of the finest sites, on the return route at the corner of St. James’s street and. Pali Mall, and from the second row had. dm uninterrupted view of:the procession. And behind me the pavement was not even filled. Of course, at other places the crowd was denser; but it was possible to walk the length of Piccadilly and St. James’s street upon the pavement half an hour before the procession passed. I arrived at the Mall at seven o’clock, and found a thin row of people lining the route behind a thinner row of policemen. I selected a good place and waited. There were four hours to wait. It was very beautiful in St. James’s Park at this early hour, the quiet sheet of water, the green , leafy trees, the still, overcast morning, the grey tower of Westminster rising faintly in the distance. The people had come prepared. Some had seats that sprang out from apparently -single walking-sticks, many had little stools, one alert man had brought a tennis, racket, and two old ladies carried with them two heavy hassocks. But the simplest, easiest, and lightest seat of them all was the daily newspaper, spread out carefully upon the ground, and simply sat upon! I saw several ingenious dames placidly ensconced amid their provisions on» open newspapers in the much-coveted front ranks!

There was ranch to see. Gorgeous State carriages moved to and fro, troops rolled past, cavalry and infantry in never-ending streams, generals rushed up and down the route in motors. There was the conversation of the people to listen to, and the obliging policeman to ask questions of. The crowd never complained, never grew impatient. One old gentleman next me remarked, in a sudden outburst of patriotism : “ When would you see another crowd as quiet and orderly as this, sir? Not in Europe, sir!” I agreed. Then the talkative young woman behind me began telling of other processions. ‘■-Why, when Queen Victoria died, we all ‘had brought sandwiches and things; but, lor’ bless yer, do you think we could eat cm? Not we; the squeeze was that great ! uat we couldn’t even lift our ’amis up, uud we just ad to drop our sandwiches where we were!’' So the hours went. on. At last the final preparations for lining the route were made, and I stood in the front rank of • a crowd four deep. Before me was a line of cavalry facing the route at intervals of a yard, and two yards in front of their noises heads was a double row of infantry. Beyond that the route was open. One woman was just remarking that in order to see the procession she had got up at 2.45 a.jn., when at 10.30 the approach of the first procession was heralded by cheers from the crowd about Buckingham Palace. / °

Undoubtedly, from the point of view of the man in the street, the processions might have been much more interesting. The gorgeous State carriages were marvels of quaintness, the wonderful aud occasionally weird uniforms of the bewigged driver and the two stiffly-standing menials behind, and the marvellously-decorated teams of horses combined to give an air of eighteenth-century solemnity to the procession. But the carriages were shut; the public could catch a glimpse of the inmates only if- the Royalties leant forward or looked out. And when it is remembered that these carriages contained nothing but Roj'alties of the first rank—princes and dukes and princesses, Battenbergs and Schleswig-Holsteins—it was to be regretted that the man in the" street could mainly only conjecture how these coroneted ones looked. • The Royal Horse Guards, of whom we have had two samples in the Duke of York’s escort, formed squadrons of honor—for prince and duke and kirn*; ahd as they passed on their magnificent coal-black chargers, with their silver cuirasses and their flowing plumes, they looked the picture of chivalry. “Pity they’re no good for fighting,” said a bilious person in the crowd. “ They’re too big for their horses for but don’t they look fine!” ° hj ’ The Prince of Wales and his Princess came next, acclaimed all along the route as their bonny little children in sailor suits had been cheered before. Two nurses in uniform—thanks to the King’s kindly courtesy—had place in one of the State carriages, and the public let their approval of this act be apparent. Then came the King’s procession a glitter of color. First dress carriages with the household of their Majesties. Then representative groups of the Volunteer, militia, and yeomanry forces on horseback —a bunch of colonels, most of whom were earls as well. Then three gorgeously-uni-formed'maharajahs, a-glitter in green and purple and white. A company of colonels, representing the regular forces, rode past next, in uniforms splendid and varied —not so many earls in this lot, but plenty of C.B.sand D.S.O.s. Then commanders and colonials galore, and then—Lord Kitchener L He courts not popularity. Riding abreast with him were two officers, and while he passed me he appeared to be speaking his mind with force and emphasis to the officer it Ris . ride. 'Evidently he had noticed that some private had for- ! gotten to salute! But, despite his grim face and his perfect indifference to .the

public, the crowd knew him from afar, and acclaimed him as their own. He looked ■jwt a rather stouti dour, heavy-looking Englishman, in a uniform of an unbecoming hue. So he passed, probably thinking the whole thing a deplorable waste' of time. .. Tho headquarters staff of the army followed, generals and field-marshals in glittering profusion. Then, in solidary .state, “Bobs.” A little, soldierly man, ■ very old, very tired. And he. too, was taken into the great hearts-of the public, and his name rippled along the lines ahead of him like a fanfare of trumpets. Then came the colonials in their khaki, soldiers every inch of. them, riding like gods, the heroes of the day. How the Londoners applauded this sombre-hued body of men, how genuine and unprovoked was their enthusiasm !

Tha glory and glitter of India was tho occasion of another outburst of applause. There was reason for this. , Never has there been a finer or more glittering array of color than was presented by this noble bodyguard from the the East. It was Oriental in its magnificence, overpowering in its splendor. Then, in their uniforms of scarlet, came His Majesty’s roarshalraen, and in their familiar dress the Yeomen of tho Guard. Behind the Royal escort of Royal Horse Guards cants the State coach. It is a beautiful and impressive state car. The delicate body of the coach, surmounted with its crown of gold, is uphold by four great gilded neptunes. It is drawn by eight cream-colored ponies bestridden by gorge-ous-liveried postillions; it has no driver, but all tho front portion is of glass, and clearly inside can be seen the form of the Queen, a-glitter with gold and gems, and .the hale, hearty, "nod-humored face and burly form of the King. He bows and she bows; she looks anxious and pale; he smiles a contented smile as if confident of himself. Tho crowd take him for a worthy King— a* King in whom majesty shall not bo only in name. So ho passes to his crowning. The crowd break up and stream towards Green Park, irtent on getting another view of the King as ho returns from the Abbey. But the police kindly but firmly dissuade them. No one is allowed to pass. And tho people begin to grumble; are they to bo shut up here all day! Th© police politely do not know. If you have a special pass to a stand on the other route you may pass, otherwise ! The English crowd is a crowd that puts up with things, grumbles, and submits. A colonial crowd in such circumstances, I fancy, would have taken things into their own hands. Not so the English. But I, being a colonial, determined not to submit without a struggle, so by the use of a little “bluff,” the expenditure of a few tips, and much pertinacity, 1 got passed from barrier to barrier until I reached Piccadilly, There the crowd were waiting—had been waiting since eight o’clock without seeing anything. No one had been allowed to cross the route after nine o’clock; it was as impossible to get across that street as to swim the Atlantic. I tried hard I even promised a policeman something if he would only arrest me and convoy me, handcuffed, across the.street! He smiled wistfully, and regretted that it “ couldn’t- be done, sir. no how! ”

The crowd waited, silent, sombre, patient. No noise, no) disturbance, hardly a smile. It was a well-dressed crowd. I saw very little sign of utter poverty there. There were bands near by which enlivened the long hours. On all sides there were people piled, in huge stands; every window and balcony was filled with gaily-dressed humanity. Somebody dropped a parasol from one of the upper balconies. Its fall amused tho people for ten minutes. Then a man on the roof of one of the highest buildings played some popular melodies, and the crowd roared their teen delight. At last he played the National Anthem, and the throng in the streets below joined in. The King was an hour late. “It's nil those bishops preaching at Idm in the Abbey,” was how one man in the street explained it. Still tho people did not complain; they had been seven hours on their feet, and were prepared to stand seven more in order to see the King. At last the gun is heard that proclaims that the King has left the Abbey, and in a short time the procession approaches. It is a much shorter procession than those that went to Westminster. It is all very splendid, very gorgeous; but the main fads were the hearty, pleased countenance of the King with the crown upon bis upright head, and the. tired, sad-looldng face of his beautiful consort, weary, as it seemed, even of majesty.

And as the people streamed away to their homes I saw placidly asleep on the pavement behind me a British working man to whom the Coronation had come too late! But doubtless he had his dreams.

Then for the ringing down of the curtain I hurried to the Abbey. It was an interesting sight. Pe;rs and peeresses were waiting for their carriages. They were all in Court dress. The poor ladies with their low-cut dresses and their white satin shoes looked so terribly out of place in the open street under the pitiless light of day. Some of “ our old nobility” and peeresses had not even taken off their coronets. One peer wore his rakishly over one ear, another had his tilted back over his.head in a manner altogether plebeian, not to say bank-holidayish. A third peer swing his coronet idly in hu? hand. The peeresses were better off; they had evidently been ajile to pin their coronets on. I saw one poor duchess, giving up in despair the chance of her carriage arriving in time, lift her skirts high above her ankles, and, attended by her duke, walk off. And as a finale, a bishop appeared from the Abbey carrying what might have been a coronet in a brown-paper parcel. Only bishops don’t wear coronets.