A cold night but a warm atmosphere

Inside Westminster Abbey the final preparations were being made for the Queen Mother's funeral; outside dawn broke over a shanty town of nylon and canvas. The cold had reduced a crowd estimated to number around 200 to an almost indivisible huddle of heavily-insulated humanity. Except for the draped Union flags and the posters of the former Queen, the scene resembled wartime sketches by Henry Moore of slumbering Londoners in Underground stations. The Queen Mother would perhaps have recognised the picture.

Blanketed almost up to his bejewelled cap, 81-year-old Edward Larkin, a Pearly King, had bagged his spot outside the QEII Conference Centre. He met the Queen Mother for the first time in 1942.

University student Hamish Newhouse had come from Teeside on the spur of the moment. Kimberley Hamblin and her aunt Phyllis Retief had flown from Montreal. Others came no distance at all. Anne Simpson, 62, has a smart flat round the corner but wanted a good vantage spot even if it meant camping all night. "My husband thinks I'm mad. I think I'm mad but it just seemed the right thing to do."

It was a chilly 3C - twice as cold as the seasonal average - but the atmosphere was peaceable and friendly. At 10pm a Scottish piper serenaded the crowds. By the early hours the queue to the catafalque was so short that you could see the Queen Mother's coffin almost immediately. Among the final people to pay their respects was cab driver Roy Walsh, 64, from Chelmsford. He said: "I took a chance on coming at 5am after hearing there was no queue." At 6am, Westminster Hall closed.

For some of us, the comparison was with Diana's funeral vigil five years ago. Back then the world's Press was everywhere. The US nightly news anchors bestrode the streets like great beasts. Last night only Sky's Adam Boulton and the BBC's Jeremy Bowen could be spotted.

Above all, the difference this time was that there was no anger and no ugliness. In 1997, shocked and verging on hysteria, the crowds squabbled and refused to clear the roads when police asked. Last night was conducted in a wholly different spirit. Sue Swayles and Jan Sneesby, from Basildon, complained mildly about a rowdy group who had deprived them of sleep. "We brought flasks. They brought cans," they said. Had they said anything? Of course not. They did not want to spoil the Queen Mum's day.

She would have been proud of them, one of us hazarded. "No," said Sue, "we were proud of her".