A 50-hour wait… then a memory to last for ever: JANE FRYER meets the mourners who are braving the elements to pay their last respects to Her Majesty

• Tuesday’s sad little queue has transformed – not just in size but in cheeriness
• People are waiting to see the Queen lying in state in Westminster Hall
• It was a bit like a giant chat-a-thon with children on laps and memories shared
• But the closer they get to the coffin, the quieter the mood, until there is silence
• Full coverage: Click here to see all our coverage of the Queen’s passing

What a difference a day makes. In Westminster, Tuesday’s sad little queue has been transformed.

Not just in size – from the soggy group of 47 waiting to see the Queen lying in state the evening before her coffin was brought to Westminster Hall, to 600-odd by 6.30am the next day and well over 4,000 by 3pm; the line snaking in great swirly loops around the London Eye, and beyond.

But more in cheeriness. Yes, when I arrive mid-morning, there are gritty eyes galore, damp clothes now steaming in the warm and a lot of stiff, tired people who’ve spent most of the night with their legs crossed. ‘I haven’t dared drink anything,’ says Sharon from Southend. ‘I’m probably very dehydrated by now!’

The atmosphere is completely different. Something has happened here on the cold concrete on the south bank of the Thames.

People are chatting to their neighbours, making friends, sharing squashed egg sandwiches and cups of tepid tea.

Royal superfans camp along the River Thames opposite the Houses of Parliament for a chance of seeing the coffin of Queen Elizabeth II as she lies in state at Westminster Hall

The queue to view the lying in state of the late monarch in Westminster Hall ran along the Albert Embankment to Southwark Park

Marian Kaewthont queuing in Lambeth with the hopes of catching a glimpse of the coffin of Queen Elizabeth II lying in state

Tuesday’s sad little queue has been transformed – not just in size but more in cheeriness. People are chatting to their neighbours, making friends, sharing squashed egg sandwiches and cups of tepid tea

Amanda Drake, 63, from Sydney, queuing in a tent in Lambeth as people are set to wait for hours to be in with a chance of catching a glimpse of the late monarch

‘There’s something uniquely British about queueing. We’re good at it. We’re professional queuers,’ explains Duncan Rasor, 48, a former member of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, who served for four months at Balmoral in 1999, now works in insurance and is immaculately laundered and festooned in medals. A dozens yards along, Patrick Hughes, 22, from Kent is in full morning suit with his brother Tom. ‘We just thought we should,’ says Patrick.

Not everyone is as crisp and rested. Neighbours Kenneth Taylor, 72, and Nathalie Hickson, 51, from Reading, bought a tent along, only to be thwarted by security.

‘We started on the grass, but that wasn’t allowed, then we moved to the concrete until, finally, they relented,’ says Nathalie, still doing her best in a black lace fascinator bobbing in honour of the Queen.

Grandmother Truus Nayman, 85, had a total nightmare. After a night in the elements, she was so cold and wet she went home to Richmond at dawn to change, but on her return, no one would let her back in for ages. Wasn’t she daunted at the thought of a night on the streets? ‘Oh no! I did it for Winston Churchill, in the winter. But I did decide not to mention it to my five children until afterwards,’ she adds.

Andrew Israel, 55, a big bearded chap in a lumberjack shirt who flew in especially from Minnesota, US, adopted a different approach. ‘I bought some crisps, an umbrella and four very strong fruit ciders, so I was warm and I was happy.’

Meanwhile, there were yet more rumblings about Vanessa, Anne and Grace, the ladies lording it up in spots one, two and three of the queue who, by all accounts, were absent for long stretches in the night. ‘They’ve hardly been there,’ mutters someone further back. ‘They’ve just swanned in and out.’

Oh dear. Thank goodness that now the wee dark hours have passed, the mood is increasingly buoyant. Particularly when, at 11am, the much-promised wristbands are finally handed out, guaranteeing entry to the first 2,000 in the queue and, perhaps, rather more pressingly, the chance to dash to the loo without jeopardising their place.

David Carlson – the old boy who had a funny turn yesterday – brandishes his number 12 band. ‘I’ve got my golden ticket!’ he beams.

As the morning wears on, some of the hardcore double overnighters change into clothes seemingly magicked out of the air, including Sarah Langley (number 4), who slips into a black dress and cardie, and says: ‘We wanted to look our best for the Queen.’ By early afternoon – despite a few rogue shouts of ‘we’re moving!’ – the mood is positively carnival. Posh chocolate truffles and custard creams are shared. A team of vicars in hi-vis vests offer emotional support. Staff at St Thomas’ hospital loll on the wall above in their pink scrubs, and every time a troop of soldiers or police march past, everyone cheers and claps.

Then come the celebrities. London mayor Sadiq Khan and The Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, cause a bit of a stir. But far more exciting is the surprise arrival of TV personality Sharon Osbourne who, teeny and smooth-skinned, performs her own royal walkabout, chatting to queuers flanked by a TV crew. ‘How nice was that? Made my day!’ exclaims Julie, 53, from Cheltenham to her two pals. ‘And didn’t she look so young!’

On it goes. A bit like a giant chat-a-thon with children on laps and memories shared.

Joyce Dawson, 54, from Middlesbrough, tells how, despite never having been to London before, she jumped on the midnight coach last night. ‘It was a spur of the moment thing!’

And former cabin crew Paul Mason, 67, recalls how, when he flew with the Queen on her 1986 trip to Nepal, she asked for ‘vegetables only’ and thanked everyone beautifully afterwards.

Finally, soon after 3pm, the ‘top 20’ are ushered through to the first stage of the long march across Lambeth Bridge towards Westminster Hall.

As they walk, they exchange numbers and promise to stay in touch. But the closer they get, the quieter the mood. And by the time they reach Westminster Hall, silence. Inside lies the Queen’s oak coffin, high up on a raised platform and draped in the Royal Standard.

Some bow. Others curtsey. All share a private moment. But in a minute, it’s all over and they emerge blinking and pink-eyed into the sunshine.

Many have spent more than 50 hours waiting in the wind and rain for this brief moment. All insist it was worth it.

Additional reporting: Isabelle Stanley and Connor Stringer

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