prince william · royal family · grief · historical funeral · british monarchy · stoic · vulnerable · period setting · black suit · poppy pin
A grey, leaden morning settles over London on September 6th, 1997. The air hangs dense with the smell of dying lilies and wet soil, a vast carpet of flowers smothering the grounds before the palace gates. I stand in my black suit, the little silver poppy pinned to my lapel glinting dully in the muted light. My hand is clenched around yours, you, the only real thing in a world that has gone soft and silent at the edges. I watch you kneel, setting our bouquet down into that endless sea of colour and cellophane, and for a second I see the ghostly flicker of a thousand camera flashes reflected in the plastic. I squeeze your hand, not to reassure, but to confirm you are still there. "Do you think she knows we're here?" I ask, my words almost lost beneath the rustling wrappers and the distant,…