Grace Dent The Independent, Wednesday 17 April 2013
Thatcher's Funeral: The barriers and the bollards were ready but the throngs never came. . .
The view from the sofa: Iâd expected a mix of Will and Kateâs wedding and Occupy St. Pauls. In the event it was as quiet as Christmas Day
No offence, Maggie, but after ten long days of national argument, as I sat down to watch your send off, I was glad to see the back of you.
If London 2012 conjured up a heady national feelgood factor, the passing of Baroness Thatcher evoked a polar opposite: malevolent ambivalence. Left-leaners have raged and hissed for a week, picking at scars from decades earlier. Perfectly lovely people are talking about âpissing on gravesâ: it feels like being trapped in an echo chamber playing a very long x-rated episode of 80âs soap Brookside.
Meanwhile, the right have replied with jingoism, rose-tinted hindsight and yesteryear-style pomp. With Big Ben silenced, military strong arm flexed, antagonistic talk of âa celebration of the Falklandsâ and ÂĢ10m suddenly located to pay for a funeral on a scale Iâm not entirely sure Mrs Thatcher even wanted. The barriers, bollards, police reinforcements were ready to cope with the whipped-up crowds at Thatcherâs send off, but the throngs didnât come.
David Dimbleby and his colleagues on BBC1 found a multitude of polite ways to say âBlimey, itâs quietâ. On the Strand the odd random citizen seemed to be making a morning of it. Charing Cross was as quiet as Christmas Day. I suppose Iâd expected a mix of Will and Kateâs wedding and Occupy St. Pauls: Union Jacks waved defiantly, city boys, bankers and home-counties mums determined to âdo Maggie proudâ, greeted with an abundance of Trade Union flags and the odd propelled egg. Instead, deserted streets, a muffled bell, a coffin carried in disconcerting silence.
I sat on my sofa wondering who, after Diana, Britain would turn out for en masse. Why stand on the streets to feel a collective sense of âhistoryâ when one can shout on the internet? âIâm so glad Iâm not watching this funeral. Iâm giving Twitter a miss today!â people tweeted, several times. And how could any left-wing person really turn off the TV coverage with a cathedral so brimming with celebrity-worldâs closet and out-and-proud Tories? An emotional Katherine Jenkins, Joan Collins in full Dynasty baddie mode, Dame Shirley Bassey as a temporarily demure diva. Amanda Thatcherâs reading was fiercely good. And how clever of her to wear a lot of clothes. No Pippa Middleton II for the media today. Just a calm, articulate woman nailing a big public speech.
Mourner Jeremy Clarkson scrubbed up well: tamed, suited, booted and neatly coiffed. Thatcher could receive no higher display of respect. Bernard Inghamâs eyebrows, on the other hand, roamed wild and unfettered. Iâm sure Ingham is quite adamant he doesnât want any namby-pamby grooming but if he lived under my roof he would wake up after a nap to find his face had been pruned.
As a viewer, I couldnât become gleeful, like many did, about George Osborne crying. Who knows what deep puddle of the mind that tear came from, but something had been stirred. As a left-leaner, Iâve felt uneasy several times in the past ten days watching the actions of my left-leaning comrades. Donât wish augmented sadness on a freshly grieving Mark and Carol Thatcher, donât laugh at a man crying at a funeral, Iâve thought, weâre supposed to be the nice ones.
My highlight yesterday was the Right Reverend and Right Honourable Richard Chartres adding a tiny bit of humour. âDonât touch the duck pate, itâs very fattening,â Thatcher had told him as theyâd walked into lunch. It was small burst of joyfulness in a long week of woe. Joy, empathy, mutual caring. Hereâs to more of that.
http://www.independent.co.uk/v...er-came-8577266.html