They still show it on the telly, now sandwiched inbetween Saturday Kitchen and Football Focus. But if you want to experience the full historic pageant in all its feathered floaty glory you need to turn up in the City and watch the multitudes go by. This year's procession was in honour of the 695th Lord Mayor of London, Alderman (and management consultant) Michael Mainelli, the first American to ride in the gold coach while doffing a tricorn hat. I arrived too early to see him escorted by watermen past the Mansion House, but I did still manage to see almost the entire parade by walking around 'backstage' as the participants formed up.
A lot of the pomp comes from the horses, some head-dressed and others merely here to haul coachfuls of dignitaries round the ceremonial circuit. A squad of trucks follows behind spreading sand on the road lest those who come after get their boots mucky. The military presence is also very high, from cosplay pikemen to modern officers atop armoured vehicles advancing like a coup d'état through the City streets. They're partly here to stir the soul but also to act as a subliminal recruitment drive, kickstarting spectating cubscouts and schoolkids on a career path from cadet force to full-time beret-wearer. Purchase the official programme and you can unlock the mystery of what each participating regiment is, and have something heavy to read during the wait for something new to go past.
The main body of the procession masses along London Wall, many thousands in number, chatting in costumed groups as they wait for the off. Many must have got up really early, given the distance they've travelled and the fanciful uniforms they've hoicked themselves into. Hats and robes and tunics are commonplace, also smartly-scrubbed buttons, white stockings with garters, flags, quarterstaffs and ill-matching footwear. One group are wearing giant spiky blue head-dresses as if this were the Notting Hill Carnival, but they turn out to be solicitors masquerading as the City skyline. Others are dressed in colours so ostentatious this could instead be Pride, but in fact it's all to celebrate their financial institution's branding rather than a personal statement.
Representatives from all the Livery companies are present, this year's chosen few on floats and the remainder on foot. They smile, they network, they wrap their cloaks around them to keep out the chill and they must be looking forward to a slap-up lunch later back at HQ. A soldier in khakis holds up the crest of the Worshipful Company of Tax Advisors beside an open-topped vintage car. The Worshipful Company of Makers of Playing Cards, incorporated in 1628, are standing around in a pack dressed as Jacks, Queens and Kings. The Basketmakers are positioned near the front of the melee with their 14-foot willow-work renderings of Gog and Magog. The Paviors' inflatable pig waits up a sidestreet until it's needed.
And then there's the music, most of it military or institutional so predominantly brass and drums, but with the occasional flute and bagpipe interlude. A lot of zone 6 has turned up, plus what would be zone 7, including the Romford Drum & Trumpet Corps, Surbiton RBL Youth Marching Band and the 1st Claygate Scout & Guide Band. The greenjackets of the Spielmannszug Marienloh have come all the way from Germany to celebrate their golden jubilee with a Bavarian blast. Bringing up the rear, almost as far back as Farringdon Crossrail station, are a phalanx of naval officers with their ceremonial bayonets poised. And if you linger patiently enough on Cheapside they'll all go past, not just today but every November forever, in this proud City celebration of trade and tradition.
National March for Palestine
Meanwhile in the West End hundreds of thousands gather to protest against the ongoing situation in the Middle East. The route of the march, carefully drawn to go nowhere near Whitehall, ends at the American Embassy and starts on Park Lane. A flood of humanity converges on the edge of Hyde Park as the clock ticks down, pouring seemingly endlessly from stations and the surrounding streets bringing traffic around Marble Arch to a complete halt. They bring hand-drawn placards and a huge number of black, white, green and red flags, far more than a warehouseful, and set about making themselves seen and heard.
They are young and old, including families with small children and white-haired gentlemen with sticks. They are from varied cultural backgrounds, ticking all the boxes on the census form but majority Muslim. They are university friends and women's groups, they are trade unionists and activists, they are fast food workers and congregations, and they are also those who simply felt they had to be here. They're wearing keffiyehs in solidarity or just what they'd normally wear to the shops. Many are chanting as they go, the most common collective cries being 'Free Palestine' or 'Ceasefire Now'. They represent a broad spectrum of displeasure, from hoping for an end to fighting to seeking a reversal of occupation, and all potential solutions inbetween. And they'd all rather not be here, but world events require.
Oxford Street isn't even part of the main route but they're marching along it anyway to try to reach the official start. If you were hoping to get some Christmas shopping done best start further down. The crowd generally polices itself but a row of motorbike cops waits mid-gyratory where the Mound used to be watching over the clustered throng. The Communist Party and Socialist Worker have set up small tents for distribution purposes, and may be finding more fertile grounds for recruitment than they normally experience. It's a similar situation down by Hyde Park Corner, another human overflow, and although there's anger it's not somewhere you'd feel afraid to be.
Winter Wonderland is proving a problem, not because it's open yet but because its enclosure occupies a massive swathe of Hyde Park close to where the march intends to launch. Early arrivals filter towards the gates, flags aloft, or wait further back taking photos, listening to drummers or queueing for kiosk coffee. Two rows of believers line up facing Mecca and kneel for prayers, some laying out their Palestinian flags on the grass to keep their trousers dry. A number of marchers are also wearing poppies, because seeking an end to warfare takes many forms, and one is even carrying a double flag with a 'Lest We Forget' banner uppermost. With the two minute silence safely past, the collective shuffle to Nine Elms can begin.
Every few years London sees a massive turnout for a march, and this was one of those. Quite possibly the largest since the Anti-Brexit one, not quite on the scale of the Iraq War one, and about the same size as the Countryside Alliance green welly one (but with an entirely unoverlapping demographic). It'd be nice to think the National March for Palestine was a one-off, that the simplistic messages on some of the placards might come to pass, but the complex intractability of the situation suggests that many of these marchers will be back in even larger numbers on some future weekend. I'm glad I experienced it in person rather than relying on second hand reports in the media, even if I had no intention of joining in. Like the Lord Mayor's Show it was more than possible to get a full flavour of the event without hanging around for the main procession and seeing it through to the finish.
