The nation stood still for Queen Elizabeth's funeral For one day
Royals and world leaders were inside Westminster Abbey. But outside, there were many more ordinary mourners lining the streets of central London.
And further beyond - in living rooms and parks, pubs, cinemas and town squares - the British public marked the first state funeral for nearly six decades in millions of unique ways.
In Doncaster, Alistair Mitchell brought afternoon tea and sandwiches for his mother, who had not been able to make the journey to London. At the Curzon cinema in Sheffield, there were no pre-show trailers or the sound of rustling popcorn - just an audience dressed chiefly in black as they watched the ceremony. Blackpool's illuminations were switched off.
At 06:32 BST, the final mourner filed past the Queen's coffin at Westminster Hall as her four-and-a-half-day lying-in-state drew close. The Queue had come to an end. But overnight, Monday's crowd was already gathering. At Horse Guards Parade, it was 10-people deep before 08:30. By 09:10, viewing areas for the procession route were entire.
At The Mall, the Rowlassons
- Kyrie, 23, his mum Beverley, 41, and granddad Fred, 72 - had secured a front-row spot after setting off from Birmingham the previous day. All three had spent the night on the ground in their sleeping bags. Had they slept? "Not a wink," says Kyle.
And then, at 10:44, the Queen's coffin began its short journey to Westminster Abbey.
As she went to switch on her television, Liz Perry, 59, was struck by the They have silence outside her living room in Derby. It was, Liz thought, as if a blanket had been draped over the entire streetall her neighbours were tuning in too.
At St Anne's Church , in Bishop Auckland, County Durham, Sue Lalor had taken her seat in a pew. A screen above the altar was showing the service. Sue could have watched at home but that would have meant doing so alone. "This was a moment I wanted to share with other people," she said.
Not everyone in the country has been as caught up in the emotion of recent days but some 250 miles (400km) away in Harwich, Essex, landlord Nick May agreed with Sue. His first instinct had been to close his pub, The Alma, out of respect, but his staff persuaded him to stay open.
"This is a group moment of grief," Nick said. Gathered in the bar were about 35 people from around the coastal town. Several were veterans. Others, said Nick, had lost parents or grandparents and saw the Queen as a reminder of times past.
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