On their cushions of cloth of gold these were presented to the King and Queen and then given to those who would carry them in the procession to the Abbey.

Now it was time to make their way from the Hall to the Abbey and the way they would take was canopied in blue cloth and a rail had been fixed on either side of this path.

The people were crowding into the streets so as not to miss a moment of the ceremony and a military band was playing as it led the procession from the Hall to the Abbey. The King’s herb woman led a party of the Queen’s maids to sprinkle fragrant herbs and flowers along the way the procession should pass. First came the peers and peeresses, magnificent in their robes of state, holding their coronets, and after them the Lord Privy Seal, the Archbishop of York, and the Lord High Chancellor.

Caroline who followed them, preceded by the Duke of St Albans, who was carrying her crown, was conscious of this being the proudest moment of her life. She had always secretly loved pomp and ceremonies even in the days when she had lived as a girl with the erudite Sophia Charlotte, Queen of Prussia, and had pretended to despise what Sophia Charlotte called empty ceremony because Sophia Charlotte had. But it wasn’t true. She loved the glitter of the diamonds she had borrowed, the milky sheen of pearls, the richness of velvet and ermine; and, most significant of all, the crown which St Albans carried with such reverence. If only Sophia Charlotte could see her now, what would she say? Don’t mistake the glitter of tinsel for gold; don’t attach more importance to power than to understanding. But the old Electress Sophia—through whom the Hanoverian branch of the family had come to the throne—would feel as Caroline did, for what Sophia had longed for beyond everything on Earth was the crown of England.

Oh yes, this is a proud moment. Somewhere among the people who were assembling in the Abbey would be Sir Robert Walpole and Caroline believed that if they were careful—and of course they would be—between them he and she would rule England, for the little man—today such a splendid little man—who was at the very heart of this procession could be manipulated as though he were a puppet doll, provided one pulled the strings so expertly that he was unaware of their existence.

On either side of her were the Bishops of Winchester and London and the three Princesses were bearing her train. Anne would be a proud girl on this day. As Princess Royal she would make sure that her sisters behaved with decorum. Not that one need fear they wouldn’t. Amelia had her own dignity and Caroline was quite meek. They must look very charming in their purple robes with the gold and jewelled circlets on their heads. She hoped theirs weren’t as heavy as hers for it pressed hard on her head and was giving her a headache. Her legs were a little painful too.

She impatiently dismissed such infirmities from her mind, smiled at the crowd, pressing close to the rail, who cheered her wildly. And the forty barons of the Cinque Ports who carried the canopy she guessed made a colourful background for her with the Sergeants at Arms going ahead and following behind.

The crowd was growing very excited, for behind the Queen came the four principal ladies of the Queen’s household and among them was Henrietta Howard, and everyone wanted a glimpse of the King’s mistress. They were a little disappointed; she was neither ravishingly beautiful nor comically ugly. There was a mildness about her, yet her gravity was charming and she had very beautiful hair of a striking light brown colour. The King’s habits of visiting her were talked of because such gossip quickly became common knowledge and there were titters of amusement in the crowd.

But when the King appeared the ridicule disappeared for he made a very fine figure under the canopy of gold in his crimson velvet furred with ermine and edged with gold lace. On his head was the cap of state—crimson velvet, decorated with enormous jewels and edged with ermine. His ruddy complexion gave him a look of health and because he was delighted to be the hero of the day his blue eyes were benign and beamed good will on all.

At the west door of the Abbey the Archbishop of Canterbury with other distinguished members of the Church was waiting and the procession began to move slowly up the nave.

As Caroline seated herself on her chair of state facing the altar she glanced at her husband on his. She thought how young he looked—like a boy who has at last grasped a gift for which he had waited a long time. He, of course, was completely unaware of her—unaware of everything, she thought, half cynically, half affectionately, except himself. Well, no one could deny that this was his triumph more than hers, his day; he was the King of England and she but his consort.

The Archbishop was conducting the communion service and afterwards the Bishop of Oxford preached the sermon.

George then subscribed the Declaration against Transubstantiation and took the Oath of Coronation.

He left his chair to kneel at the altar where he was anointed by the Archbishop, presented with the regalia, and the ring was placed on the fourth finger of his right hand. When the crown was placed on his head the trumpets sounded and all the guns in the Park and at the Tower fired the salute.

It was an impressive moment. Then the Te Deum was sung and the King sat solemnly on his throne while the peers, now wearing their coronets, which they had put on when the salute had rung out, paid homage to the King.

After that it was the turn of Caroline.


* * *

After the coronation in the Abbey, Caroline and George in the centre of the procession returned on foot to Westminster Hall for the banquet.

Seated on the dais with the King and her daughters, Caroline looked complacently about the hall at the long tables at which sat the dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses, and all the nobility.

George, benign but alert for any slip in etiquette or protocol was flushed and beaming. Caroline knew that he had only one regret which was that the father he hated could not be here today to see how well he comported himself and how delighted his people were with him, that he might draw comparisons between his own coronation and that of his son. But of course if the old man were here none of this would be taking place. Yet George would be thinking: If only he could see me now!

Caroline was telling herself that this was indeed the most glorious day of her life and wishing her legs would not throb so. They were more swollen than ever before; and there was that dull internal ache which could terrify her.

Not today, she thought. She must not think of it today.

The first course had been served and the moment for the King’s Champion to enter and make his traditional challenge had come.

How magnificent he looked on his white horse, very magnificently caparisoned, the red, white, and blue feathers in his helmet waving gracefully as he rode, the all important gauntlet in his hand.

His voice echoed throughout the hall.

‘If any person of what degree soever, high or low, shall deny or gainsay our Sovereign Lord King George II of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, son and next heir to our Sovereign Lord King George I, to be the right heir to the Imperial Crown of this Realm of Great Britain or that he ought not to enjoy the same, here is his Champion who says that he lyeth and is a false traitor being ready in person to combat with him and in this quarrel will adventure his life against him on what day soever he shall be appointed.’

Down he flung the glove and there followed a somewhat tense silence for everyone knew that the city abounded with Jacobites who believed that the son of James II was the true King of England and that the Germans should be sent back to Hanover.

Caroline glanced at the King, but George was unperturbed. He had a blind faith in his ability to charm his subjects. He could not believe that they wanted the man across the water who had made a feeble attempt to come back in 1715 when George I had ascended to the throne—a miserable attempt that was no real attempt at all and then had gone flying back to France as soon as King George’s soldiers marched up to the Border.

But no one came forward and twice more the Champion repeated the challenge, and twice more no one came forward to accept it.

The King then called for a gold bowl from which he drank the health of his champion and the bowl was taken to the Champion who drank from it; then bowing to the royal table he left the hall with the bowl as his reward.

That anxious little ceremony over, the Queen felt relaxed and turned her attention back to the table. The two thousand wax candles which lighted the hall were dazzling, but the brightness was tiring and she found herself longing for her bed. Not so George; he was eager for this day to go on. So were the Princesses, particularly Anne who was giving herself, her mother noticed, the airs of a queen.

It was eight o’clock before the banquet was over and the royal party left the Hall for St James’s Palace.

Through the crowded streets to the sound of cheers. At every few yards, it seemed, there was a bonfire and the faces of loyal subjects reflected in the ruddy glow were joyfully bent on pleasure.

‘Long live King George. Long live Queen Caroline.’

Here was George, bowing, hand on heart, yet watchful lest there should be more applause for the Queen than the King.

Caroline was thankful that there was not.

And there was the palace dark against the sky, lit by the glow of bonfires.

To the sound of singing and cheers and the ringing of bells, Queen Caroline sat down heavily in her chair and called to her ladies to disrobe her.

Thoughtful Henrietta slipped a footstool under her feet to rest her aching legs.


* * *

The coronation had caught the public imagination. The management of the Drury Lane theatre had the idea of playing a coronation of its own and they staged it to take place at the end of Shakespeare’s Henry VIII in which Anne Oldfield played Anne Boleyn. The pageant of Anne’s coronation which ended the play drew crowds to the theatre; and it was said that Queen Caroline herself was not as splendidly clad in Westminster Abbey as Anne Boleyn was on the stage of Drury Lane. Everyone was delighted with the show except Colly Cibber who was playing Wolsey, and in this new presentation his role was naturally reduced. No one cared for that; crowds went to see the coronation on the stage and night after night the theatre played to full houses.

When the King and Queen went the people stood on their seats and cheered them.

Those were the days of triumph.

The Queen’s Secret


IT had always been clear to Caroline that a king and queen who did not show themselves frequently would not be popular with the English people. The money paid to the present King far exceeded that which had been given to his father and the people wanted something in exchange.