Trevor had slept well under the railway arches. The frosts
of early May had given way to more clement night-time temperatures. His ex-army
sleeping bag, lined with last week’s Evening Standard, (superior insulation
quality to the free Metro) had staved off the night chill.
It was 8am on Saturday and Slough was far busier than he
could remember from his previous stopovers. Of course he knew why – the very
reason that had brought him back down south.
Two miles away in Windsor Castle the sixth-in-line to the
throne was nervously contemplating a day in which two billion people would
watch his every move during a uniquely British piece of theatre.
Trevor was fascinated by royalty. His mother had been a
staunch monarchist. He still remembered the Coronation mugs that she had
collected. Seven years ago he had jostled with the huge crowds in The Mall,
waiting to see William and Kate drive past. Somehow, even the briefest glimpse
made the spectator a part of the event – a witness to history being made.
His mother had died too young, with the subsequent breakup
of the family sending Trevor into army service, where the horrors he witnessed
in Northern Ireland resulted in his discharge on mental health grounds. A life
on the road followed soon after.
Back in the castle, Harry was donning the frock-coat
military uniform of the Blues and Royals. A couple of attendants made sure that
everything was immaculate.
Trevor didn’t need any time to dress. He had slept in his
‘uniform’. He packed the sleeping bag into his huge rucksack (containing his
worldly possessions) and entrusted it to the care of the Salvation Army manager.
He’d be back for it in the morning. The facilities in Slough had allowed him to
shower on Thursday and had fed him on Thursday and Friday. He filled a bottle
with water and was given a sandwich and an apple for his journey. Windsor was
just a couple of miles away.
At Eton he crossed the Thames. Halfway across the bridge he
stopped at a bench which offered a view of Windsor Castle. The crowds were
building fast. He moved on. Having crossed the Thames, the highly visible
presence of armed police and special services made him glad that he’d left the
rucksack behind. It would have caused alarm for the police and difficulty for
him.
Passing the castle took an hour – the crowds were far larger
than he expected. He made slow progress down High Street and into Kings Road.
Thousands of people lined the route that Harry and Meghan would take in their
open top Landau carriage, before returning to Windsor Castle along The Long
Walk.
‘You look amazing’, said Harry to Meghan (according to the
professional lipreaders) as she joined him in St George’s Chapel.
Giant TV screens allowed the crowds to follow events in the
Chapel. Trevor inched forward, getting as close to the barriers as he could.
After what seemed like an age (he wasn’t comfortable in large crowds) the
newlyweds were on their way. Most people were waving Union Jacks and taking photos with their Smartphones. The cheering
was deafening – he stood on tiptoes and finally, there they were! It seemed
that Meghan looked directly at him – such a happy face!
It’s an odd thing. All that effort from a gentle homeless
man. A society reject. The bottom of the heap. Why would he feel anything but contempt
for the fabulously wealthy? Yet, there was no anger. He actually felt a glow in
his heart and he realised that he’d done this for his mother. He made his slow
way back to Slough. No sleeping bag tonight but he had hidden a woollen blanket
under the arches. Today had been a good day – tomorrow Trevor was heading
north.
14 June 2018
