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Esther Addley discovers that sharp elbows are the weapons of choice for position-protecting royalists One doesn’t choose to spend the night on the pavement, wrapped in a union flag and wearing a Burger King cardboard crown, for the quality of the rest, and so the huddled forms stretched out on the Mall were in no position to complain about the impromptu bursts of God Save the Queen, some time before 5am. What does matter a great deal, however, is the view. And so any attempt to step over an occupied sleeping bag and into a prime spot was policed ferociously by the early arrivals on behalf of their neighbours. From such territorial alliances, relationships were forming. “We’re new friends!” said Moira Smith from Penrith of Mancunian Marilyn Hughes, whose camping chair was perched next to hers, a few rows back from the barriers and opposite Clarence House. They had been talking about what their menfolk were up to (“I hope mine is painting the kitchen,” said Hughes) and the quality of bras from Primark, but also, of course, about what a lovely girl Kate seemed to be, and what a good king William would make, and how this was a little slice of history in the making. It was, perhaps inevitably, that sense of historical significance – the rarity of the event, the memorable experience for the children – that was cited again and again by the eager flagwavers lining the Mall and Parliament Square. “It just seemed like a fun thing to do,” said 16-year-old Ruairidh Morgan from Reigate, who had gallantly spent the night in a chair so that his Canadian cousin and her friends could take the tent. He’d had a bit of stick from his mates for coming – “there was some hating, but it’s cool”. Ultimately, though, he said: “You don’t get many chances to do this, do you?” Six friends from University College London had dressed in charity shop wedding dresses – “to upstage Kate” – with a number of them still wearing their pyjamas and furry boots underneath. Greg Kendrick and Susan Simmonds had travelled from Ontario especially, bedecking themselves in maple leaves. “Well, he’s Diana’s son,” said Simmonds, “and I cherished her. I mean, I wouldn’t have come if it had been Princess Beatrice getting married.” Mostly, she said, they felt they really had to see it. Quite what they were going to see was unclear, however. With the Metropolitan police estimating spectator numbers at a million, half of them on the Mall alone, many of those who came for “the spectacle” will have seen little more than a brief flash of helmet, or a glimpse of a yellow hat. The most devoted, of course, took no chances. Among professional royal watchers, the most sought-after pavement real estate was that outside the west door of Westminster Abbey, with a prime view not only of the bride and groom in their first moments together as man and wife, but also – if they were lucky – glimpses of Ben Fogle and Tara Palmer-Tomkinson. Here the true royal devotees, identified by their well-worn union flag hats and jackets and detailed knowledge of the workings of the camera crews, waved small plastic flags on demand and bellowed at the assembled broadcasters to interview them (“Don’t talk to her, she’s just arrived,” one shouted). Eleanor Abadesco had flown from the Philippines for the occasion. “I’m a bit of a royal addict,” she said. Chandrani Kasturiratne was here for Charles and Diana in 1981, and arrived here early on Wednesday with her granddaughter Daniella. Having followed the lives of the royals so closely for so long, it felt like a family occasion, she said, expressing as did several others a sense of pride in William, on behalf of the absent Diana. “I think he’s the son she would be really proud of.” But things had changed since 1981: “I wouldn’t say the atmosphere is as electric as it was then. There’s no one singing and dancing in the streets.” Daniella, 17, had been shocked at the “feisty” territorial aggression. “Everyone’s been fighting over their plot. When you go to sleep, people are trying to move you out of the way. I think people are a bit nicer on the Mall.” That was a moot point. On the Mall they were still arriving but with the crowd already seven deep on both sides of the boulevard, there were some attempts at sharp-elbowed manoeuvring. The police, dressed in traditional uniforms rather than fluorescent jackets, were beginning to be concerned about the crush at the end of Horse Guards Parade and were sending newcomers on lengthy detours. Though the dedicated royalists and committed overnighters in the front rows were overwhelmingly white, the crowd mingling more loosely behind them was much more diverse, with young Asian families in headscarves and union flags mingling with tourists from Brazil, China, Mexico and elsewhere. At about 10am, things finally started happening, as dignitaries and the royal B-list set off from Buckingham Palace in hired minibuses – which at least could be glimpsed, if not seen into – followed by smart black cars. The Sperlings from Staines, on the St James’s Park side of the Mall, had found a couple of periscopes; even with them, however, they could see no more than the top inch or two of what may have been the Earl and Countess of Wessex. Kate Middleton and her father were carried up the Mall by a bubbling cheer that started with a murmur and swelled to an excitable shriek as they passed. Finally, when the procession had passed, the ranks broke and made a bolt for the burger vans and the long rows of portable toilets. After the service – Jerusalem got a cheer and the national anthem got the full last-night-of-the-Proms flag-waving – it was back in position for the return leg. “William and Kate are on the Mall!” someone shouted. Then: “I saw something! A bit of white!” and “Did she have a tiara?” It didn’t matter that they had seen less than almost anyone else with an interest in the day, watching at home on TV. “We’ve got it videoed at home,” said Susanne Parsons from Eastbourne. “We’ll be watching it tonight if we can find our coach home.” Finally came the much-anticipated opening of the Mall and Buckingham Gate, though the decision to shepherd the crowd along the length of the road was met with testy shouts and even some booing among those closest to the palace, many of whom had been there longest, who suddenly found themselves at the very back of the crowd. “Everybody’s tired,” said one woman to her agitated neighbour. One mother, witnessing the swelling roadblock of bodies around the Victoria Memorial as the royals emerged from the palace, grabbed her two young daughters by the hands and halted them were they were. “Right, William and Kate are on the balcony,” she said, relaying events from a radio speaker in one ear. “He’s on the right, she’s on the left, the bridesmaids are there. They’re pointing and waving.” A cheer. “OK he’s kissed her. Come on girls, let’s go.” Royal wedding Monarchy Weddings Prince William Kate Middleton Esther Addley guardian.co.uk