Crowd Scene

Written for The Elizabethan magazine, to be published Autumn 2023.

The excitement of the grand State Occasion comes from the tension between spectacle and jeopardy. The line between perfection and calamity can be a fine one: what could go wrong in choreography and timing is manifold; what does go obviously wrong is usually nothing at all. Perhaps it was with this requirement for tension in mind that the brave decision was made to allow the massed KSS of 2023 a role at the Coronation. The presence of Scholars to proclaim the Vivat is one rooted in tradition: in a similarly bold if less well-documented move, a portaloo was to be winched into the vaulting arches of the Abbey on account of the length of the build-up to our big moment on 6 May. A risky manoeuvre executed with confidence, in the finest traditions of the State Occasion and, some would say, of College too.

The sense of the surreal required in order to shift seamlessly from school timetable to ancient ritual is all in a day’s work for a 21st Century King’s Scholar. Slotted neatly between CIE Biology A Level Papers 2 and 4, and directly following IGCSE History (20th Century), the scheduling of the event was considerate, and perhaps a little ironic. At such times as the proclamation of a new King there is contemplation on matters of dynasty, something in fact highly relevant to the A Level Biology syllabus with its sections on genes, natural selection, and inheritance. Such things also incite discussion of probability, and the good fortune of being a Westminster Scholar at the key moment: 17 Coronations since the founding of the school, 2856 scholars in total… whatever the odds they are longish, and we were very fortunate to be here at this moment in history.

While the time spent waiting for the historic event to begin gave plenty of time for such intellectual musing, rehearsals for the big day, however, did not. These were conducted in urgent, bite-sized chunks with a level of security that would impress MI5.

Head Master Dr Savage did not exactly stand sniper guard, but entrances to the Manoukian Music Centre were ferociously Manned, by our Housemaster, Mr Mann. As far as the singing of what became colloquially known as “the vivats” went, we toiled: and we feel great sympathy for Mr Garrard, a Director of Music provided with another fabulous opportunity to showcase Westminster Music on another grand stage – and to have KSS as his rude clay. We can only acclaim his generosity in describing the preparations to visiting journalists as “fascinating” and “enjoyable” and (with more ambiguous emphasis) “fun”, and accept his judgment that we are (to paraphrase) “not a professional choir…more crowd scene” (Reuters, 28 April 2023).

Of course, there are talented singers among us: sadly, they are not in the majority, but again, all narrative arcs require jeopardy before absolution. Would we pull it off when the big moment came? Should we position the real singers closest to the microphone?

If the Coronation resembles a wedding in parts, then we had both the Old (take your pick) and the New (box fresh surplices of suitably billowing marshmallow majesty, guarded night and day by Matron, and as if we were Victorian children causing concerns about jammy fingers, only released to us by her at the last minute on the proviso that we did not even consider sitting down). The dress rehearsal with its glimpses behind the scenes, its compère and its stand-in dressed-up “king” was in many ways the most interesting part: some metaphor for School and Real Life there, perhaps. School on the day before was ghostly, summoning memories of that other, far less joyful, “time-of-our-lives”, though it is certainly true we preferred being locked in to locked out. In school alone, we stockpiled supplies, we had breakfast in isolation. All 44 of us were ready to begin.

We were willing when it came to it, subdued, serious, as we felt the hands of if not history then generations of previous scholars on our shoulders. Living locally, the final leg of our quest was thankfully short: we nipped round to the Great West Door in the drizzle at 9.50am, though many others had been in their seats for hours. The Abbey looked glorious: did we rise to the challenge when the cameras moved off the entering monarchs and panned upwards to us for the critical 12 secs? Of course. We were good, I think, in loud voice and the right level of jubilant, some said the best since film records began. We saw the act of the two crowns being placed first-hand, and milling afterwards, we were congratulated and photographed by more than one departing Head of State. It was over, we had done it for King Charles, for the glory of Westminster, but most of all to make Mr Mann proud, and I think we did.

There is a rumour, probably apocryphal, that when filling in a survey on uses of chapels at school, an (unnamed) previous Head Master of Westminster answered “assemblies, carol services, Coronations etc”. I suppose for a month or two this happens to be true. For me, the night before the Big Day was the last one ever that I would spend drifting off to sleep as Big Ben chimed (and then again, and then again, like… clockwork). I wondered if King Charles felt the end of things and the beginning of other things in the same way. I expect beforehand we both felt nostalgia and nerves in equal measure. Biology A Level permitting I will embark on new life come October. Things are changing, and there is nothing either of us can do to hold them.