2022 is the fortieth anniversary of my appointment as an Officer of Arms (Herald ), part of the Ceremonial Royal Household . I am Extraordinary, that is I take part in ceremonies, but do not “Wait” one week in ten at the College of Arms to deal within incoming genealogical and armorial enquiries, as do the Ordinaries. I am quite interested in genealogy but prefer research in art, architecture and history. 
The heralds have an ancient role in State occasions going back to the Middle Ages: during a normal year there is the State Opening of Parliament at Westminster and the Garter Service at Windsor. There are more extensive responsibilities following the death of a monarch: the Proclamation of the new king, the State Funeral of the Sovereign and in due course, the Coronation, all of which come under the control of the Earl Marshal (The Duke of Norfolk), and the heralds are traditionally his staff officers.

    The heralds knew they would be mobilised for the funeral of The Queen, but it always seemed far away and not something which loomed in the immediate future. The Queen was always there and seemed eternal. It came therefore as a sudden shock when the announcement came from Balmoral on Thursday 8 September that The Queen’s health was deteriorating. That evening I was hosting a dinner at the Travellers for the annual visit of the Royal Oak ( the American Friends of the National Trust )  when I reached the club, the porter told me that The Queen had died.
 It had been announced while I was on the Tube. According to the drill, I immediately rang Garter King of Arms , our boss, and he told me to come to the college at 8am the following morning for briefing, uniform – inspection preliminary meetings, and that there would be rehearsals for the Saturday Proclamation of the King at St James’s Palace and in the City. The City proclamation took place late and did not finish until 8 pm.

     That first marathon was a foretaste of the intensive week to come where every day began with a meeting at 8 am  and where the outside – procession rehearsal took place in the early hours, with the heralds leaving the college at midnight and not getting back until 8 am the following morning.  The porter’s saintly wife kindly cooked us breakfast , a nice treat. Some days we had only two hours sleep. This was the gruelling background to the moments in action.

       The Proclamations of The King, on 10 th September, the  first of our ceremonies was in some ways the most fulfilling. They were not mourning, flags flew at full mast, and we were still fresh. After donning our tabards at St James’s Palace, we lined up in the Armoury ( one of a series of ante rooms unexpectedly decorated by William Morris as a welcome break from eternal crimson white and gold ), as the black clad Privy Council-trooped out from the Acclamation Council in the Throne Room , some greeting us.  
Then the heralds and state trumpeters passed through the window opening and flanked the Earl Marshal and Garter who read the Proclamation ( the wording of which has barely changed since Queen Victoria) after a loud trumpet fanfare. More trumpets, and the soldiers below gave three cheers for the new King and the national anthem was sung, the first time for most people with King rather than Queen.
      The King’s Guard ( Coldstream, as they had red plumes in their bearskins though we could not read their collar insignia .) were lined up in the courtyard below and there was an excellent birdseye view of their drill. A feature of the whole week was the skill and professionalism of the soldiers. Being disphrastic myself , I have always had the greatest admiration for people who can coordinate their movements, or even tie their laces , so was transfixed by the hat drill where they almost genuflect to put their guns on the ground and then spring upwards and backwards in a single gymnastic movement before removing their bear skins and balancing them on their shoulders, ready for the Royal Salute.
    The City Proclamation at the Royal Exchange was more spacious, with the heralds leading the Lord Mayors procession from the Mansion House through phalanxes of steel- helmeted and breast plated pikemen from the HAC. The City do things well, and with a hint of opulence.There were dozens of dignitaries in sable- trimmed robes, the scarlet and gold uniformed City Marshal, the Lord Mayor’s  chaplain and sword bearer , dubbed by the press, “the boy in a fur hat.” ( He happens to be 40). 
The proclamation was read there not by Garter, but Clarenceux , next to the Lord Mayor, with the heralds ranged on either side and banks of dignitaries on the steps behind. The fanfares were especially impressive , as there were two lots of trumpeters who answered each other antiphonally from the Corinthian porticoes of the Mansion House and the Royal Exchange, making a perfect match of architectural setting and action.
  The most moving of the ceremonies was perhaps the reception of the coffin and Lying in State in Westminster Hall  on Wednesday. While standing in silence waiting for the cortege to arrive from Buckingham Palace, it struck me what an experience it is to admire great architecture in such circumstances, not as a tourist. The huge hall  with special lighting and the central catafalque looked spectacular. Richard II’s awe-inspiring hammer-beam roof ( of chestnut not oak, hence its imperviousness to beetles) with beautifully carved angels holding shields of the kingdoms of England and France, is the finest of its type in the world.
    The heralds lined up facing the entrance, where the part- glazed doors , though closed, allowed a view of the military procession arriving with the horses, gun carriage and all the King’s men, and a first glimpse of the coffin draped in the royal standard and the Imperial State Crown. 
There were three moments to be remembered for life. After the long silence of waiting, the imminence of the coffin was announced by the sound of drums becoming gradually louder as they approached . Then, as the bearer party of young Grenadiers carried the coffin through the door towards us a ray of sun caught the 3,000 diamonds in the crown, nearly blinding us like a flash of headlights. The most transcendent moment was when the the four men from the Household Cavalry took up their vigil posts at the corners of the catafalque, reversing swords and placing their gloved hands on the hilts, then bowing their heads and standing absolutely stilland reverent; it was like a sublime sculpture.   
        The funeral itself took all day and was the most widely televised broadcast in world history. By then the ability to be moved had become more internalised. In some ways, in retrospect, the night time rehearsals were as thrilling as the real thing : walking in the dark along Whitehall, the Horse Guards, the Mall, Buckingham Palace,and up Constitution Hill to the Wellington Arch with the bravura Edwardian quadriga   on top , and military bands playing solemn death marches continuously. Or at Windsor up the Long Walk, through Wyatvilles George IV Gateway into the Quadrangle and down through the Lower Ward, and Horseshoe Cloisters to St Georges Chapel, all against superb architectural backdrops.
     On the day itself one was more concerned with keeping going with all the eyes on the processions, and the reserves of stamina and adrenaline needed for the one and a half miles of  foot procession in London, and two miles at Windsor, while being drained by the emotion and grandeur of it all.
     As a Catholic , there was the interest of attending full Anglican traditional liturgy: the beauty of the seventeenth century English words, the lack of frills, the glorious Gothic architecture ( the best this country has ever produced) ,the music sung sublimely by boys’ choirs, the sound of educated clergy. The Royal Peculiars of the Abbey and the collegiate chapel of St George at Windsor remain the high exemplars of something uniquely English.
        There were also heart-tugging moments of loss, especially at Windsor, The Queen’s home. The grass verges of Cambridge Drive leading up to the castle and the lawns in the Lower Ward were completely covered with flowers, spontaneous gifts from the public, slowly fading in the sunshine and beginning to give off an elegiac smell of death. A groom held The Queen’s pony by the side of the drive. The blinds were drawn in the windows of The Queen’s personal rooms in the Victoria Tower on the right, and in the quadrangle were the two young corgis, like orphaned led by scarlet coated footmen.Et in Arcadia Ego.

John Martin Robinson is the Maltravers Herald Extraordinary

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