The Queue: Part 1

There is a light drizzle and London is looking grey and shiny as Dave joins the end of the queue. Sorry, THE QUEUE. Has there ever been such a queue before? Probably, but not one that most of us can remember. Dave can’t remember a queue like this, and its draw is irresistible. He tells himself that seeing the Queen in her box at the other end is important. The chance to witness a moment in history. But really it’s the queue itself that draws him in. He had only been on his usual evening walk, and there it was, so he just walked up and joined in. He is wearing his office suit. It might get cold later. The drizzle is making his hair go curly. Oh well.

Pat has started chatting to the lady in front of her. She’s called Elizabeth. A proud West Indian lady who was named after the Queen herself. The two share photos of their grandchildren, and after a morning together they feel like old friends. Pat has a packet of chocolate Hobnobs in her handbag. She shares them with Elizabeth, but no one else. She hasn’t reached a Hobnob level of familiarity with the young Polish guy behind her. He has suspiciously short hair (no one has told him that in England people with that hairstyle are thought to look like right-wing thugs – he never understands why people are so frosty with him, just assumes they don’t like foreigners). 

There is a flurry of activity just ahead of them – a camera crew have arrived and a cheery Morning TV reporter is trying to do a vox pop ‘life in the queue’ feature. The queue contracts towards the camera, everyone hoping they might get in shot, be recorded for posterity as members of this historic clique. 

Near the front of the queue there has been longer to talk. Some of the front-of-queue elite have been here since Monday – standing in a proto-queue before THE QUEUE even existed. They look down on the rest of the queue much as the Mayflower pioneers looked down on their followers. Stella and Jeremy are Queue elite. They have come well prepared, with chairs, a camping stove, and a very big brolly. They had run out of tea but luckily a local charity is keeping their thermos topped up. Stella remembers watching the coronation on the Television as a child. When they arrived on Monday they did not speak to the couple next in line, but now the foursome are good friends. Stella is thinking they might even swap addresses when they get to the end.

Em and Becca are moving up and down the line. They are not in the queue. They think the queue is bloody stupid. The Queen was a rich old lady, she died, end of. But hell, begging in a queue is so much easier than sitting in a puddle off Trafalgar Square. These people are just sitting ducks. They can’t move out of the queue, and there’s a limit to how long they can avoid eye contact. Em has made fifty quid this morning (more than Becca, because she’s got a limp, and a chip n pin machine). 

Steve looks smart. He’s got his laptop in his backpack and his brown brogues are polished. He was made redundant this morning, but he hasn’t told anyone yet. His brain is in such a state of shock he can’t work out exactly how to tell his partner, Graham. So he’s joined the queue. No one in the queue knows or cares. He texted Graham to say he wouldn’t be home for dinner. Graham wonders where this new-found patriotism came from. Steve is compulsively munching polos. Lucy, standing just behind him thinks ‘oh yeah, what a cutie’. Her Gay-dar never did work very well. She’s from Cardiff. In Cardiff all the men look like that. 

Millie is the most junior writer at the fashion magazine. They have given her the ‘street Fash’ blog. She’s been told to come down and write something about queue fashion, but the deadline is in 2hrs. Obviously she can’t write about the actual fashion. Most of the queue is wearing something warm they bought online from Mountain Warehouse, or, something with union jacks on it. So she’s making it up ‘stylish Sophie from Henley channels an appropriately 50s vibe in a vintage frock by Horrocks’s, biker boots, and her Grandma’s classic Barbour’. The problem is she hadn’t thought this through. Her editor loves the copy so far, but now she wants photos! So Millie is desperately scanning the queue, trying to find someone as stylish as ‘Sophie from Henley’.

Ian thinks ‘God, if this queue really does last days, someone will die in it’. Behind him an old lady on a bench is getting colder and colder, but no one has noticed.

School librarian Louis is newly retired. He has so much to do, and feels like the hours between 9 and 5 have suddenly been gifted back to him. There are not many kids in the queue, not many parents think they could possibly keep them amused and fed for that long. But a few kids have come, enticed by the ‘witness a moment in history’ carrot. And somehow they know. They know that Louis is for them. He is surrounded by a loyal little band of queue kids, and, taking out his Kindle, he finds stories on it to read them as they wait. He doesn’t have sweets in his pocket, but a limitless world of fiction to dip into. 

Millie has given up, she’s on the phone. ‘Hey El darling, you know that cute dress you have, the vintage one? Could you possibly put it on then meet me down here at the queue? And bring that old coat, your Granny’s one. Quick as you can sweetie, quick as you can’. Honestly, working on a magazine is so HARD. 

Pat and Elizabeth are now talking about how proud they are of their kids Pat has a daughter who is a lawyer, Elizabeth has 3 boys, all happily married. In an hour or so they will confide all the secret little disappointments they don’t like to talk about. Although they had never met before today they both chose to wear similar outfits. Pat has a tasteful red white and blue blouse under her M&S red mac. Elizabeth is wearing a striped blouse and slacks, even though red, white and blue were never her favourites. Her biggest handbag has lots of room for snacks, but she’s not sure what Pat will think of the fried plantain chips she has in an inside pocket. Better stick to Hobnobs for now…

Keith is talking to Keith. ‘No one calls their kids Keith any more’. ‘Yeah, too true mate, too true’ says Keith.

Kathy is at home. She reads ‘4min ago Queue of people to see Queen lying in state reaches 4.4 miles’. She does not want to join the queue, but its magical powers reach her, all the way in Finchley. She is simultaneously watching it live on the TV, and reading the latest news reports live-streamed to her phone. She needs a wee, but she’s putting it off, in case she misses something….

Mags is REALLY annoying the people around her in her section of the queue. She is on her phone, and has been for what seems like hours. Even though the queue has only existed for a few hours, there are queue rules, an unspoken but understood queue etiquette. People have been politely using their phones to check queue stats, watch the live stream of the queue, and if absolutely necessary, keep in touch with close family. But no one has spent the last hour on a call. No one except Mags. ‘Oh I’m not a lucky thing! Really I’m not. I know I’ve got a cleaners, but my word, she’s just dreadful. Don’t tell Paul, but I have to re-do the washing up before he gets home. Why don’t I tell him? Because he’d make me sack her and I can’t stand that sort of thing. I wouldn’t know where to start…’ At this point in her loud and boring call a young guy called Pete tapped her sharply on the shoulder. Pete was there with his fiancée Tamara. ‘Excuse me madam, but could you please just give the phone a rest? We are, you know, here to mourn Her Majesty. What are YOU doing here? How do YOU feel about the Queen??’ Tamara looks slightly uncomfortable, but the stir among the other local queue inhabitants is approving.   

Mags hangs up. ‘Oh, yes, um, so sorry. Her Majesty, yes. Well, I don’t know. I guess she was just an inspiration? I’m really here for Ma. My Mother. She’s in a home, and she begged me to come. She was actually a Guide, with the, um Queen.’ She fades out and blushes. 

Tamara rescues her, ‘Oh how interesting’ and follows up with one of the most asked questions of the last few hours, ‘have you travelled far?’. Mags says ‘oh we live in Bloomsbury actually’. ‘Lucky you!’, then Tamara is interrupted by a burly bloke just behind them – ‘Me too Love. Glad to meet you’ and unbidden he moves forward and shakes both by the hand.  It turns out he’s a bus driver who lives in a council flat round the back of Russell Square. Pete is rather miffed that Tamara is now sharing their bag of croissants around so freely to people she’s only known for 5 minutes. He’s always wanted to live in Bloomsbury, but they can’t afford anywhere closer than Kentish Town. 

Kate has just joined in, at the new back of the queue. She 50-something, with a loving but patronising 16yr old daughter who keeps presenting her with leaflets about adults with ADHD and how to get diagnosed. She adds them to the ominous pile of papers at the end of their kitchen table. Maybe one day, when she tidies the pile, she will read the leaflets. But there are bank statements in the pile, and she is scared of those, so the pile remains untouched. Kate has already decided to write a book of short stories based on the queue. And she’s just texted her friend in TV, with an idea for a possible TV pitch. Kate is on her 4^th career but is thinking a change might be good. Maybe she should learn pottery? She writes it down in her ideas book then finds an old toffee in the depths of her bag and eats that. 

Steve feels like he’s barely moved forwards, but he doesn’t really care. The longer he is in the queue, the longer he has to avoid thinking about how he will get a new job. He has savings, but they were really hoping to get a deposit together and buy a place this year. He’s not been paying all that much attention of the people around him, but just then he catches the eye of a punky looking woman, and she winks at him. ‘What are you looking at?’ ‘Oh, your knitting? Looks difficult’. 

‘Yeah, it’s actually crochet. It’s how I make my living’. It turns out the Punky woman, who is called Alison but prefers Al, makes ‘naughty crochet’ things. Steve looks closer as Al shows him her online store, full of crocket woolly vulvas (‘NOT vaginas mate’), and willys (Dicks, Steve! I make them to order, you know, to match your man’). Al is also something she calls a political yarn bomber. She makes woolly banners with ‘fuck the patriarchy’ written in neon pink then attaches them to part railings. Steve is not sure he really understands or likes Al, but wow, she’s stopped him worrying for a moment. She has some hash cookies in Tupperware but he’s got to promise not to tell the police. 

Keith and Keith had a chat with a nice-looking policewoman. ‘Gotta do your duty to the Boss, right, police officer?’ says Keith. One Keith is ex-Army, the other Keith is ex-Police. They have been sharing best methods for shining boots. They are getting a real kick spotting all the different uniforms on show as the queue is guided and managed along the way. They are entering the hushed hall itself now, and there she is, Queenie in her box. Not knowing quite what to do one Keith cries and the other one salutes. They leave the room slapping each other noisily on the back ‘there there Keith, no worries mate, it’s a bit emotional innit?’

Mags is now a celebrity in the queue, the TV crew is interviewing her, they want to know all about her mother’s childhood friendship with the Queen. He Mum has dementia and the Queen is dead, so Mags is merrily making it up as she goes along. They were Guides together though, really they were.

Kathy is missing the interview with Mags. She had to give in and go to the loo, and she just knows she’s missing the best bit. Maybe the queue will be on catch-up telly later.

Millie and El have found the section of the queue with the best backdrop and light, and El, in her vintage dress and Barbour has just slipped in between some picturesque old people to post for Mille’s magazine. But as she pulls a fake smile the queue around her breaks out in angry muttering. How dare you! She pushed in! That’s so out of order! El pretends not to hear, pulls her last pose then escapes with Millie, giggling, just as the police turn up to find out what’s causing unrest in their otherwise very orderly queue. 

As they leave those left behind are drawn together in shared disgust. A few people who’d been keeping themselves to themselves got to know their neighbours and the tea flasks came out so the incursion could be discussed at length. 

An older gentleman is taking notes. He’s wearing a good thick coat, a wide brimmed hat, and thinks he’s completely incognito. But of course he looks like exactly what he is. A slightly famous novelist observing life undercover as research for a new project. He has a very nice notebook of very specific proportions, and a pretentious pen. He tells the press that he could not possibly write with any other style of pen, any other style of notebook.

He is pretty sure that the old lady on that bench wearing a union jack head scarf is dead. But he knows he’s given to over dramatization and he doesn’t want to say anything, because he will a) blow his cover, and b) look a fool.   

Pat and Elizabeth have finished the Hobnobs. Pat is trying plantain chips. She’s thrilled Elizabeth offered her such an exotic snack, even though she’s not sure she likes them. Pat really wants to ask Elizabeth about her hair. It’s tall, sculptural, braided and black, with the odd grey streak. ‘So dramatic!’ thinks Pat. She’s a bit bored of her own neat dyed blond bob, and she’s always wanted to know about black ladies hair. But she doesn’t want to seem rude by asking….

Kathy likes the slightly sparkly look the queue has now the sun has set and the TV reporting team has changed shift. She’s having a whatsapp chat with her Mum and two work colleagues. They are all watching the queue too. So far their favourite ‘vox pop’ was that very posh lady who was in the Brownies with the Queen. She looked awfully young for her age. 

Steve is starting to fill the chill now. He had no idea why he was still there really. But somehow the queue enveloped him, and shielded him from the raw pain that post-queue life was promising. He had just passed a bench which had a tent over it and a little group of Police at the door. ‘Oooh’ he thought, ‘I wonder what’s in there’. But the queue carried on shuffling along. Seeing the TV cameras he thought that on the TV this probably looked like some kind of Soviet-era bread queue. All the smart clothes had been covered up by coats now, and Mountain Warehouse was getting an outrageous amount of indirect TV advertising. He loses concentration and stumbles into the person in front. 

‘Sorry! Wasn’t concentrating!’ It was Louis he had stumbled into. All the kids were long gone and Louis had a smile despite the cold. ‘Sorry I can’t lend you anything warm to wear. I’m Louis by the way’. ‘Hi, I’m Steve. Yeah, I just joined the queue after work without thinking really, didn’t occur to me it would last so long.’ Louis smiles, ‘Ah well, it will be a fun anecdote don’t you think? “The night I spent in the queue”. Something to tell your colleagues?’

‘Huh, yes, except, erm, I don’t have any. Just got made redundant.’ 

‘Oh! I am sorry’. 

‘Don’t be, I was never really very happy there. But I haven’t told my boyfriend yet and I’m not sure what I’ll tell him.’ 

Why was he telling all this crap to a total stranger? It was totally unlike him. But hey, maybe this was perfect. It’s not like he would ever see Louis again. 

‘Louis, you seem to be a content sort of guy. What’s your secret?’ 

‘Easy really. I was really lucky, I found a job I loved and was good at. I only just retired. Oh and a wonderful woman of course!’ 

‘Ha. Well a job I love would be a great start, if I could work out what that might be.’

‘Well maybe this is your chance. Give yourself some time, maybe a month or maybe a few, and try a few things out. If you don’t do it now, you never will.’ 

‘Poor lady’ said the Police officer standing by the little white tent. ‘Well, she looks pretty old to me, maybe dying in the queue, doing her duty to the Queen, was what she would have wanted’

‘yeah, maybe…’

Kathy is on the phone ‘hey, did you see that little tent in the queue, about half way? Looks a bit X-Files doesn’t it?’. Her friend Amy giggles on the line, she’s up in Leeds. ‘Oh Kath, it’s probably just one of those telephone repair guys.’