The Queen has left Scotland for the last time

For Times Radio reporting from St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh, after a weekend at Balmoral Castle, on the final journey of Queen Elizabeth II, this is Calum Macdonald.

PA MEDIA

Balmoral Castle in Aberdeenshire, in the rain on Friday 9th of September, became the focal point for the world. The gentle serenity of constant rain drops, matched the mood of gathering crowds from the surrounding area - contemplative, peaceful. Movingly, they came - in their thousands - over the course of the weekend, through rolling hills, passing misty lochs from sunrise to sunset, arriving at the gates of the peaceful palace - the Queen’s favourite - to say farewell to one of their own. 

Elizabeth, Queen of Scots - a title she embraced when the Scottish Parliament was re-established in 1999 - died at Balmoral last week aged 96 - a place about which her granddaughter, Princess Eugenie said: “I think Granny is most happy there. I think she really, really loves the Highlands.” She was clearly a woman of impeccable taste. 

To appreciate fully how much The Queen meant to those people, you only have to listen to them, any of them and all of them, as they proudly recounted stories of meeting her, talking with her, laughing with her, and dancing with her at local ceilidhs. Paul Anderson, magnificently dressed in full kilt with an accompanying Aberdeenshire lilt, beamed outside Balmoral’s driveway, as he remembered playing traditional Scottish music for Her Majesty. 

Shona Donaldson - a traditional musician, too - reminisced that The Queen loved Ceilidhs. She said it was surreal to be dancing a Dashing White Sergeant in her company…a dance done in two groups of three, joined to make a six, before splitting to link up with a new set of three. This would - inevitably - mean coming face to face with a joy filled Queen Elizabeth on the dance floor. 

Sunday morning, as the sun bathed the black gates of Balmoral, and the gentle hush of the assembled media and mourners, was balanced delicately against the spate of the River Dee, lashing past just yards away, under Balmoral Bridge in the crisp, autumnal Highland morning. Shortly after 10am, The Queen’s coffin, draped in the Royal Standard of Scotland rumbled over the old bridge, on its way to Edinburgh. 

Our encounters with the death of the people we love are surely most stark when we encounter their coffin. The evocative shape, the coldness and the perception of finality in its stillness. The people of Scotland were the first in the UK to say farewell to The Queen. And predictably, they showed up.

Streets and motorways were lined with supporters and spectators on her final journey. The Queensferry Crossing - which the Queen opened over the Firth of Forth in 2017 - carried her into Scotland’s capital. 

Pride was bursting from the cobbled streets of the Royal Mile as the cortège processed eastwards, from the top to the bottom of one of Edinburgh’s most famous streets. Applause broke out as onlookers were moved to respond, somehow, to the service of one they hold so dear. The next day, her family - including the King - accompanied her coffin in the opposite direction, culminating in a service of memorial at the gothic, imposing, magnificent St Giles Cathedral. This gave the first chance for the public to have their own, personal and intimate moment. They queued in their thousands, many moved to tears as they emerged back into Parliament Square, a saltire fluttering at half mast on Scotland’s Supreme Courts behind. 

As her coffin lay in St Giles, off to one side you can see the bell and campaign flag of HMS Howe, on which my grandfather served during World War 2. That generation respected the Queen for the way the Royal Family conducted themselves during the War, refusing to leave London and visiting areas damaged during the Blitz and also for the Queen’s services as a teenager in the ATS. The Howe was a King George V class battleship of 35,000 tons with a crew of nearly 2,000 officers and men. 

A chilly Monday evening saw history made within history. The Royal motorcade approached as the sun kissed the steeples and spires and chimneys of the Royal Mile. The King, wearing Stewart tartan, arrived with the Queen Consort. Princess Anne became the first woman to take part in, what has been known until now as, the Vigil of the Princes. For the third time ever, the children of the monarch gathered to stand guard at their parent’s coffin. Heads bowed, contemplating. A powerful moment of unity, Union, humanity, difficulty and steadfastness. 

Do you know that we used to have vigils with the dead as part of our culture in the Highlands and Islands? The coffin would be kept in the house from death until the funeral - usually two or three days. And, after a short worship service, there would be a vigil - or wake - each night it was in the house. Indeed the Gaelic name for it was tigh-fhaire. Literally meaning watch-house.

That’s the benefit of a country having a long history. We have customs and rituals that hold the country together. There is always a danger in a precipitous rush to change institutions. 

Too often we try to feed our insatiable desire for life to be made up of moments - quick and fleeting - and we go onto the next thing almost instantly - fuelled by addictive devices and apps and a news cycle that just doesn’t quit. 

But pause.

Because, in life there is a seriousness associated with the traditions and ceremonies that we are witnessing this week; there are some things in life that deserve tradition and ceremony and time and deep and heartfelt consideration. And one of those things is death.