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Claremont at the coronatation
CLAREMONT AT THE CORONATION JUNE 2ND 1953
By Margert Willis
On cue, the double doors of the Assembly Hall opened and in swept Miss McAfee, her gown floating behind her. “Good morning Girls”, she said from her podium. “Good morning Miss McAfee”, we replied as always in unison before the daily hymn was announced. I had been a pupil at Claremont for just a couple of months and enjoyed walking up from the Close each morning to join the whole school for Assembly. Miss McAfee (1944-65), was a formidable woman, striking both awe and unease in her presence, though she did have a kindly approach under that strong presence seen mostly only at the podium.
However on this day in 1952, after the hymn, readings, and the daily notices which were often boring, there was one that captured my attention so strongly that I forgot about the hard floor digging into my crossed legs. I couldn’t wait until Assembly ended. She announced: “The school has been given ten places on the route of the Coronation. Two will be taken by teachers, so if any pupil is interested, please come and see me.’
As a collector of many books and newspaper clippings on the royal family, it seemed a dream coming true. So it was with great trepidation that I slipped away from my class line and, with knocking knees, tapped on her study door. “Well’ she said, What do you want?” I told her that I would like to be put on the list for a place. She asked why and if my parents would give permission as I would be the youngest allowed to go? The decision would be made in a few months, she stated as I rushed off to my classroom. The agony of waiting was challenging. But finally, the list was announced, and there was my name, representing Form 2. I started counting the days until June 2nd 1953.
That day finally dawned. My first task was to get to school by 5:30am to join the others for the two mile walk down to Esher Station where special early morning London trains had been put on to cope with the expected crowds. I lived in Raynes Park, ten miles away , and as we didn’t have a car, my dad and I cycled on the Kingston by pass— (now the A3)—to school, starting at 4:15am. I rarely rode a bike, so this was a huge undertaking, but it was also an indication of how much I wanted to be part of the day . Being so early, there was very little traffic going in our direction, and we arrived at school about an hour later. I parked my bike at the Close and marched up the hill to the Mansion in good time to set off for London with the other seven girls, (who had all come to school by car), Miss Doran and Miss Ison (My dad cycled back home, while I took my bike back on the train when to school returned to normal again.)
Looking back, I don’t remember any sense during the whole day of weariness from the early start and the exertions of cycling, plus the immediate walk to the station. It was the expectation of the exciting and historical day that lay ahead of us that energised everyone. Arriving at Waterloo, we made our way in an orderly fashion across Hungerford Bridge, along with dozens of other school children, all marching like hordes of busy ants, each group toting a hand-made wooden pole aloft on which was a letter and a number so we could be directed to our officially marked out places on the Coronation route. Everywhere there were huge decorations, brightly coloured bunting and flags, and, of course, a tremendous buzz of excitement and anticipation. Over 30,000 schoolchildren gathered there on the Embankment, their places for the historic occasion reserved by order of the Queen herself.
As the roads were officially closed to traffic, we all walked down the middle of the Embankment to our allocated places. We reached ours and sat down on the cold, hard concrete to rest a while. Once settled, brown boxes were given to the leaders of each group, and sandwiches and milk— and later, even ice lollies— were tossed like tennis balls to each of us. Now,
munching happily, we could take in all the activity around us. The site was very promising, so close to the road that we would be able to see everything clearly and take photos with our Brownie box cameras which had to be held awkwardly at stomach level to use. Having arrived at 7am, it seemed a long time to wait for the official procession to begin, but there was plenty to watch in the meantime—the redjacketed Canadian Mounties and the Gurkhas with fancy headgear who passed en route to their locations, the occasional official car and motorbike. However the man who got us cheering and laughing was a small road sweeper who trundled up and down with his cart and broom, searching for rubbish and always taking a bow, with cap off, when he got cheered for finding something.
Sadly that turned out to be a dream as, just before the first contingent of military units passed, such as the marching and playing, redjacketed Grenadier Guards with their huge busbies, followed by Horse Guards, riding on glossy black steeds, in shiny uniforms and plumed helmets— a veritable fleet of Marines in white pith helmets appeared and stood at intervals along the curb of the whole processional route. Suddenly our lovely panoramic view was diminished and it seemed as though we weren’t going to see clearly. However our policeman sympathetically moved out of the way for the ‘important’ guests and we did get clear, if brief views of grand people like Winston Churchill, Queen Salote of Tonga, (with her wonderful tall single feather on her head, riding in her open landau which she refused to close even when it started raining), various royal family members, including the coach with the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret. Out came our cameras despite the challenges, since, it started to drizzle. Undaunted by the weather, the school children heartily cheered them along, delighted to have action at last!
Then from a distance, even louder cheering could be heard—The Queen was coming. This was the moment we had all been waiting for, the reason why we had woken up so early that day, why we had sat on a cold damp pavement for several hours, and the great occasion that would give us memories to last a life-time. And suddenly here it was in front of us—the wonderful Gold State Coach (straight out of a Disney fairy-tale) drawn by eight milk-white horses and glistening in the light. Beefeaters and livery men walked alongside as it trundled slowly past, giving ample opportunity to view its occupants. There, waving to just us (so we felt), and accompanied by her handsome husband, the Duke of Edinburgh, was the young beautiful Queen, looking petite and regal, and perhaps a little apprehensive at the herculean ceremony awaiting her. She was everything I had dreamed of. (But why, oh why, did that boy scout pass right in front of me as I pressed my Brownie camera for a memorable photo?) The cheering of 30,000 school children was deafening as they tossed their caps and berets in the air in jubilation.
What a moment to cherish over the next 75 years!!
Policemen were everywhere and we had a very friendly and chatty one for our site. He asked all about each one of us and told us just when things were expected to start, the timings of the day and who would be in the official cars and carriages. How fortunate we were, we thought. And with just him standing there, we would get a wonderful view of the day’s processions.
Thank you to Margert Willis for this wonderful story in what has been a historic year for the Royal Family. If you would like to submit to the alumni magazine please do email us.
