DURING the past ten days there has been an unprecedented level of ceremony and history, the likes of which most of us have never seen before.
I have had the incredible privilege of getting a ringside seat at some of those important, solemn and poignant events marking the astonishing life of Queen Elizabeth II.
Despite the sadness there were magnificent recollections and moving memories from people who had met the Queen
I felt so lucky and proud that day to swear my oath of allegiance to the King
I was even chosen to sit opposite our new King and Queen Consort as Charles delivered an address to MPs and peers in Parliament’s historic Westminster Hall on Monday.
Some of the most memorable days of my life began last Saturday when I was at the House of Lords.
It was only the sixth time since the start of World War Two that the Commons has sat on a Saturday.
It was to pay tribute to Her Majesty and to agree on a Humble Address of condolence for King Charles, which was to be presented on the Monday.
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Despite the sadness there were magnificent recollections and moving memories from people who had met the Queen.
Baroness Seccombe said that the Queen loved to know a secret — but refused to share details with us. And Lord Griffiths of Burry Port actually sang in the chamber, to great applause.
I felt so lucky and proud that day to swear my oath of allegiance to the King, which all peers must do, either after a general election or when there is a change of monarch.
We stood in line and one after another pledged. Solemn and respectful. All of us spoke with real, genuine feeling. It was the most unusual and historic of days: Sad, moving, heartfelt and uplifting all at the same time.
Just two days later, I attended the Presentation of Addresses by both Houses of Parliament to His Majesty King Charles III in Westminster Hall.
As I picked out my outfit for the momentous day — a respectful black dress and Louboutin boots — I felt such a sense of duty and responsibility.
Inside the grand, 900-year-old Westminster Hall, we all quietly took our seats. I chose the first I came across, near the back. Minutes later a door keeper said I had to move.
He walked me to a seat in the front row (he must be a West Ham United fan) directly opposite the two striking, ornate gold thrones covered in deep-salmon silk damask where King Charles and Camilla were to sit.
The King moved slowly towards them, clearly exhausted emotionally and physically, Queen Consort Camilla half a pace behind him.
They sat directly in front of me and there were just eight stone steps between us. He looked straight at me.
I smiled solemnly, trying to express with eye contact my deep sympathy. I didn’t get a response, I didn’t expect one. I will never forget the pain and grief etched on his face.
He looked like he had a heavy cold but it wasn’t a virus that was plaguing him, it was his heartache.
He and Camilla looked at each other in that way that only people deeply in love do. It was as though she was trying to reassure him, it was like a hug with her eyes so to speak, giving him comfort and strength, willing him to be OK.
After he’d settled in his chair he kept perfectly still. There was none of the fidgeting or playing of his cufflinks or signet ring which I have seen before.
Despite the deep grief he exuded authority and un- shakeable confidence.
I spotted Camilla’s breathtaking diamond and pearl necklace twinkling against her black dress and her small handbag and sensible flat shoes. It made me regret my own sky-high Louboutins.
The pomp and ceremony that day was astounding.
There were eight Yeomen of the Guard with giant spears, who processed up the central aisle, followed by the Gentlemen at Arms.
The only sound you could hear was their footsteps, perfectly in sync, on the stone floor.
Then they stood totally still throughout the 30-minute service. It must be part of their training but to me, who had never witnessed anything quite like it before, it was mesmerising. The sorrow and loss around the room was palpable.
Both Speakers — Lord McFall, the Speaker in the Lords, and Sir Lindsay Hoyle, Speaker of the Commons — expressed their sadness at the death of the Queen and how difficult it must be for the new King at such a time.
I sang my heart out to God Save The King. We all did.
It was an opportunity to show this man in mourning, who has such a gigantic task in front of him, that he has both our respect and warmth.
Unexpected tears
On Thursday I was one of 35 peers chosen to represent the Conservative benches at Westminster Hall for the arrival of the Cortege for the lying in state. I felt honoured.
I wore my CBE medal, awarded for services to women in business and entrepreneurialism in 2014, with sensible flats. But I was flustered when I got there.
The area around Westminster was closed from Victoria to Embankment, and there was nowhere to park by bike.
After a flurry of panic — and begging — the police allowed me to park up in the Lords courtyard. At the Chamber we were placed into four sections which were to form our route to Westminster Hall.
I was in section two and told to stand on the steps next to the choir, which is when the sensible shoes really came into their own.
When the coffin was carried into the hall I had unexpected tears in my eyes.
This place, which is usually so busy, filled with the bustle of visiting schoolchildren and throngs of people meeting, was eerily silent.
We were told not to bow or curtsy as we passed the coffin, but I simply couldn’t do that.
The Queen has done so much for this country that it felt disrespectful not to pay my final respects.
I am pleased I did. Everyone behind me followed my lead.
I felt so proud to be so close to British ceremony at its best.
That evening I returned, off duty, to Westminster Hall to take my family to pay their respects. When my mother cried, I cried all over again.
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I feel immensely fortunate to have had this opportunity to say goodbye to our Queen, and to her era, and to welcome in the new King.
I have been able to show my loyalty and allegiance to them both.
It has left me feeling very fortunate and proud to have become a small part of British history.
