BY STEWART SLATER

George V was dying. That was well known. A bulletin was issued stating that “The King’s life is moving peacefully towards its close.” From the point of view of the Court, however, he was dying too slowly. If he survived the night, there was a risk that he might not survive the morning, raising the risk that his death would be announced in the “less appropriate…evening journals”. Far better, it was decided, to help him on his way so the news could be broken in the more salubrious pages of The Times.

His granddaughter’s death was announced on Twitter.

But the old formalities were not entirely ignored. Footmen attached a death notice to the railings of Buckingham Palace. Flags were lowered. The Prime Minister addressed the nation. Gun salutes were ordered. Sporting events were cancelled.

Such a mixture of the ancient and modern is fitting for Elizabeth, for the story of her reign is the story of the monarchy bending with the times. She used modern transport to become the best-travelled monarch in history and possibly met more people than any individual in history. She used modern communications to address her people and the world, allowing some light in on the magic by offering glimpses of her domestic life. In contrast to the studied formality of her predecessors, as she aged, she was happy to be pictured in her tweeds. It is hard to imagine any previous monarch jumping out of a helicopter with James Bond and taking tea with a cartoon bear.

Whereas in her youth, she had done her duty, often, in the later years, she appeared to be having fun. Over her reign, her iconography changed from the stiff young queen whose image was consciously designed to evoke Britannia to the global granny, the twinkle in her eye suggesting that she was looking for an opportunity for a giggle.

For her death was not just a British event, it was global news. King Farouk of Egypt may not have been strictly correct when he said, “Soon there will only be five kings left – The king of England, the king of Spades, the king of Clubs…” but she was the only monarch to maintain a global profile, the real world analogue of the childhood stories of Kings and Queens with which everyone grows up. Front pages across the globe carried the story. Partly this reflected her role as Head of State of 15 countries across the globe. Partly it reflected her position as the only remaining monarch of a large power. Partly, it was something about her.

But it also reflected her longevity. A reign of seventy years means there are few alive who can remember a time when she was not a presence on the world stage. She formed the backdrop to everyone’s life. For those who met her, a brush with her stardust formed an unforgettable memory. For those who did not, she was always there, a constant in changing lives. Like the air we breathe, she might not have been noticed, but she was always there.

In this, she contrasted with political leaders, here today, gone tomorrow figures. As monarch she represented continuity whereas democratic politics must represent change (or at least the possibility of it). Her glamour contrasted with the often shabby reality of public life – a pasty-faced politician in an ill-fitting suit could not stand comparison with a monarch decked out in the full regalia of state.

But if she stood in contrast to politicians, she was also useful to them. The length of her reign meant she had met many of the great figures of the recent past. Meeting her was a useful way of placing oneself among their number. She came to serve as a global imprimatur of significance, being photographed with her, one of the boxes politicians ticked to show their importance, a State Visit a useful carrot for the British government to dangle before foreign powers.

But if her death was a global event, it was of particular significance to Britain. For she was a much greater presence here. Her annual broadcasts were woven into the timings of every British Christmas. It was she whom we asked God to Save whenever the national anthem was sung. It was, formally, her government which ruled us, and her Revenue and Customs to which we paid our taxes. Not just an ongoing presence in the background of our lives, but front and centre in every aspect of the nation’s life.

But, in addition to her formal role, there was a unique factor about the Queen which makes her death particularly significant for the British – the link she formed to its past.

Serving in the Forces during WWII, and coming to the throne when Churchill was still in office, she gave Britain an ongoing connection to that time, the key part of Britain’s historical mythology. While to say that Britain won the war, or even “stood alone” against Germany, is historically debatable, to the British popular imagination, there is no doubt that this was the country’s Finest Hour, a time to be harked back to in times of need. The Queen’s address to the nation during the pandemic consciously referred to the unified national effort which is thought to have characterised that period while her public conferring of a knighthood on the veteran turned charity fundraiser “Captain Tom” suggested that the Blitz Spirit which had got the nation through the War would get it through the pandemic. While the Queen was alive, Britain was still the country which had “Won the War”.

The tributes to her in the media have focused on her “old-fashioned” virtues – perseverance, self-sacrifice, commitment and faith – the implicit assumption being that such are no longer widely shared. There is no doubt that the country she leaves is radically different to the one she inherited. While many of the societal changes, such as the improved opportunities for women and the increased diversity of public life, have been positive, it is hard to avoid the implication that while Britain has improved, the British, in their hearts, believe that they have not.

An ongoing link to the “greatest generation”, the presence of the Queen allowed us to think that we were still the same people they had been back then. Those who had won the war were still with us, so we were them. Her reign may have seen the dissolution of the Empire, and a diminution of the country’s power, but she served as an ongoing symbol of national greatness. In her absence, the country has to face up to the fact that it may no longer be what it once was. It is not that the country wishes to re-fight the War, but that it doubts whether it could do so again, not just in military but in spiritual terms.

Born after the War, King Charles is perhaps a more realistic reflection of the society he now leads but his accession forces his country to confront the fact that it may no longer be what it would like to believe it is. Just as he lacks his mother’s star power, so the country lacks the power and influence it would like to claim. A country which no longer has an exceptional monarch may find it harder to believe it is an exceptional nation.

About two centuries after the Romans left Britain, a group of Anglo-Saxons formed a new community called Lundenwic, near the abandoned ruins of Londinium. Unable to explain the presence of the monumental ruins, far bigger than anything they could construct, they called them “enta geweorc” – the works of giants. For the British, the Queen may be the last of our Giants.

Stewart Slater works in Finance. He invites you to join him at his website.