The Drama of Queuing

Foreigners may find the complexities of our unwritten queuing rules somewhat baffling, but to the English they are second nature. We obey all of these laws instinctively, without even thinking about it. And despite all the apparent contradictions, irrationalities and downright absurdities I have just described, the result is, as the rest of the world recognizes, that we are really very good at queuing. Admittedly, most of the rest of the world does not say this as a compliment – when people talk about the English talent for queuing, they generally do so with a slight sneer, implying that only rather dull, plodding, sheep-like creatures would actually take pride in their ability to stand patiently in orderly lines. (‘The English would have done well under Communist rule,’ they laugh, ‘you are so good at queuing.’) Our critics – or those damning us with faint praise – will readily acknowledge that a man in a queue is a fair man, but point out that he is not exactly what you’d call dashing or exciting.

But that is because they have not looked closely enough at English queues. It’s a bit like watching ants or bees. To the naked eye, an English queue does indeed look rather dull and uninteresting – just a tidy line of people, patiently waiting their turn. But when you examine English queues under a social-science microscope, you find that each one is a little mini-drama – not just an entertaining ‘comedy of manners’, but a real human-interest story, full of intrigue and scheming, intense moral dilemmas, honour and altruism, shifting alliances, shame and face-saving, anger and reconciliation. I now look at the ticket-counter queues at Clapham Junction and see, well, perhaps not quite War and Peace, but . . . something a bit more understated and English, let’s say Pride and Prejudice.

A Very English Tribute

One of the things that amused me about media coverage of the death of Princess Diana was the reporters’ constant breathless amazement at the ‘un-Englishness’ of the public response. This was invariably described as ‘an unprecedented public outpouring of grief’ or ‘an unprecedented public display of emotion’, amid extravagant claims that this extraordinary disinhibition marked a ‘sea-change’ in the English character, that the stiff upper lip was trembling, that we were all now wearing our hearts on our sleeves, that we would never be the same again, and so on and so forth.

And what, exactly, did this ‘unprecedented display of emotion’ consist of? Look at the pictures and videos of the crowds. What are all those people doing? Queuing, that’s what. Queuing to buy flowers, queuing to lay flowers, queuing for miles to sign books of condolence, queuing for hours to catch trains and buses home after a long day of queuing. Then, a week or so later, queuing to catch buses and trains to get to the funeral; queuing overnight to secure a good position to watch the procession; queuing to buy more flowers, drinks, flags, newspapers; standing patiently in lines for hours waiting for the cortege to file past; then queuing again for buses, coaches, tubes and trains. Quiet, orderly, disciplined, dignified queuing.

Certainly, there were tears, but we did not scream or wail or rend our clothing or cover ourselves in ashes. Watch the videos. You will hear one or two rather feeble ‘wails’ as the coffin first emerges from the Palace gates, but these are clearly deemed inappropriate, quickly shushed, and not taken up by the rest of the crowd, who watch the procession in silence. The first people to turn up on the day after Diana died laid flowers; this was taken as the correct thing to do, so all subsequent visitors dutifully laid flowers. After the funeral, a few people started throwing flowers as the hearse drove past, and again the rest obediently followed their example. (No-one threw flowers at the horse-drawn coffin earlier, of course: however overcome by unprecedented, un-English emotion, we know better than to frighten the horses.)

So, there were tears and flowers – neither of which strikes me as a particularly abnormal response to a bereavement or funeral. Apart from that, the English paid tribute to Diana in the most English possible manner, by doing what we do best: queuing.