The Coronation 1953

I wonder if you have any memories of the Coronation?  That day in 1953 dawned as a chilly, showery one without the merest hint of flaming June.  My siblings were away at boarding school. I was nine and we'd been given the day off for the Queen's Coronation.  Everyone from our school, the Gateway, had been issued with a mug and a book called Elizabeth our Queen by Richard Dimbleby.  Somewhere in the mix, I also had an issue of the Young Elizabethan magazine and had been given a miniature coronation coach.

Like thousands of families in the country, we'd bought our first television set in readiness for this much-anticipated event.  The new TV with its tiny 12"/30 cm recessed screen was pushed into the corner of the sitting room.   Our mum was an inveterate organiser and she had hired a television for the local sports club and had invited lots of people from the village who didn’t have televisions to watch the ceremony. Alas, the hired TV never arrived,  The broadcast started at 9.30 a.m. so mum was up with the lark dashing round collecting the large and motley crew of locals who then filed into our sitting room and amid much scraping of chairs, the room buzzed with anticipation. 

Among the group number was a tiny yet forthright woman with a shrill voice called Sissy Dredge who was perhaps of all the new Queen's subjects, her most fervent supporter. She announced that as a mark of respect, we should all stand whenever the national anthem was played. Much purring of agreement from the excited audience....Dad was nowhere to be seen.  He'd marked the occasion as one of, "hard seats and soft drinks," so was probably enjoying the day off by playing tennis with his pals. 

After ten minutes of watching the black and white flickering images of the Queen in her coach moving at a slow walking pace, I began to shuffle with boredom on my upright wooden chair.  As soon as the coach inched its way into the Mall, those soaking stalwarts in the crowd lowered their dripping umbrellas, clapped, cheered and belted out God Save the Queen.  Sissy's rallying cry from the back row of our sitting room brought everyone to their feet but no sooner had they sat down than another section of the crowd sang the anthem.  Sissy had us up and down like yo-yos.  Up, down, up, down they bobbed all morning. Mum pinned me hard with a silent stare implying, "Don't you even dream of getting the giggles." I sloped off to play with my souvenirs but the book with all its anecdotes about nursery life for the little princesses with Crawfie the Governess didn't hold my attention either. Luckily, my stamp album kept me busy for the rest of that long morning and I lovingly put in my new coronation stamp with a tiny hinged tab.

Later we saw the newsreel of street parties with gay bunting and tables loaded with festive food and I had a wistful pang about what might have been missed....This year is the 65th anniversary of the event and I very much enjoyed the BBC film commemorating the Coronation.  Every scene was sliced, diced and enlivened for us with commentary from the dry and witty 91-year-old Queen and it rounded off very neatly my memories of the event. 














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