It started with a single person and ended with a nation united: in grief, respect, togetherness and gratitude. The queue to see Queen Elizabeth II lying in state at Westminster Hall last year was the people’s farewell to the longest-serving sovereign in British history – a 70-year reign defined by restraint and quiet servitude.

Yet curiously, for an event born from death, it quickly took on a life of its own. At its peak, ‘The Queue’, as it became known, snaked through central London for 10 miles with a waiting time of 24 hours. More than 250,000 mourners joined it.

Over five days, following the monarch’s death on September 8, it became a public outpouring of grief and an act of remembrance for someone who had always prioritised the nation’s needs above her own.

But it also became a social phenomenon, with tales of camaraderie, a live tracker watched by millions and, at one point, a queue to join The Queue.

Thus this quintessential British activity became something greater in the process – a cultural footnote of our time. One that was so powerful in its resonance, it has now been immortalised in fiction by the author and journalist Alexandra Heminsley in her new novel.

“The Queue has become one of those moments that if you sat next to someone on the bus or popped into the corner shop to get milk, you could mention it and know they would know what you’re talking about,” she explains.

“It transcends class, age and race… it hit us all emotionally deeply.” Heminsley’s book follows fictional trio Suzie, 69, Mike, 42, and Abbie, 19 – three very different people who meet and become friends as a result of The Queue.

“I was really interested in the dynamic of just turning up and not knowing who you’d be next to,” she adds. Heminsley was inspired by the people who trod the riverside path and formed strong bonds with those standing next to them. Having watched The Queue unfold in real-time, Heminsley later interviewed 20 people about their experiences.

“About half the people I spoke to said they hadn’t kept in touch: they loved the people they met and the experience was profound but they felt they were never going to see them again,” she says.

“The other half said, ‘Yes we have dinner every month, I love them. We’re in a Queue WhatsApp group for the rest of our lives!’”

I too understand the pull of these strong emotional ties, having written about my own experience of queueing to see the late Queen lying in state for the Daily Express.

As one of the first few hundred people, I never experienced the line’s full length as it wound past the London Eye, Tate Modern and The Shard.

Nor did I stand shivering in the dark at 4am when spirits dipped as low as the temperatures before the start of a new dawn.

But I did encounter the camaraderie that so many others experienced.

I met Doreen and Lynne, in their seventies and sixties, who adored the late monarch and had attended numerous royal weddings and funerals throughout their life.

We befriended others and formed a tight-knit group over the course of many hours, swapping snacks and stories as we crossed Lambeth Bridge in the sunshine before silently paying our final respects to the late monarch.

There were superfans of the royals there, of course, and almost all had Queen Elizabeth II foremost in their minds.

But Heminsley was struck, as was I, by the breadth of mourners who had travelled from every corner of Britain and across
the world. Some had journeyed miles while others joined the back of the line in their work uniforms after 10-hour shifts.

The first mourners pitched up their tents 48 hours before the line, on the south side of Lambeth Bridge, officially opened.

Much later, young and old walked stoically through the night, catching 40 winks when they could. “It’s a testament to the Queen – she was a huge international figure and was beloved,” says Heminsley of the huge turnout.

“No one disputed her forbearance.” Furthermore, she says, people were fully aware this was the end of an era. “We were having such a high turnover of politicians at that point but the late Queen had been this complete steadiness,” Heminsley continues.

“There are few people alive who can remember a monarch before her so there were definitely people who wanted to mark history and say they were there.”

Before the Queen’s death was announced, the author had considered writing the literary equivalent of a TV “bottle episode”, in which characters interact in a confined space – but suddenly she found herself presented with this situation set in the context of a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

It was too good an opportunity to miss. Heminsley did not join The Queue with others as she was caring for her young child at home but a close relative of hers did,

feeding her regular live updates through a family chat group. The pair later walked the route together, allowing Heminsley to fill in any gaps in her knowledge. She crafted her characters from everything she learned.

“I wanted someone older who remembered the Queen’s long life and understood her cultural significance, with real memories of the Silver Jubilee, which is Suzie,” she explains.

“Then I wanted a younger character, Abbie, who wanted to be part of something and was caught up in the moment. “Plus someone in the middle [Mike], who questioned the Empire but saw the bigger picture surrounding communal grief, history and ritual.”

The grief Heminsley is referring to stems from the pandemic period. She encountered a surprising number of people who had lost parents or grandparents to Covid, or who had been bereaved during the months confined at home.

Many had missed funerals or had been forced to watch them online because of mandatory social distancing restrictions.

“They hadn’t felt there had been a safe space to put their grief, which we had taken for granted before Covid arrived,” she says.

She believes the opportunity for people to walk and talk, free of their everyday responsibilities, acted as a communal healing for a nation still overcoming loss.

“I realised how tethered the queueing was to the period of extreme isolation we had all experienced in the preceding years,” she says.

“There were so many false starts coming out of lockdown and people felt togetherness at different points. “This seemed to be the first moment where a communal experience was cherished by a majority of people.”

My own experience began after 9am on day one, when the line remained straight and hadn’t yet reached Westminster Bridge.

Everyone seemed fresh from the morning chill and we were all eager to receive our wristbands marking our historic queue
place and number.

The ardent royalists were at the front, proudly decked out in Union Jack garb, talking to journalists from across the world.

I joined the line next to the Covid memorial wall stretching for 500 metres opposite the Palace of Westminster. It was a talking point for everyone.

Heminsley says the poignant messages, scrawled across red hearts, felt particularly profound for people who arrived at this point in the route late or hungry, with low energy and emotion.

“I was very struck by how visceral the sense of mourning was before you crossed the river,” she says. Both of us noticed a surprising number of individuals who had made the journey for someone else, be that an ill friend or a dearly departed relative.

“People queued for people,” Heminsley says. “There were a lot of people doing it for family members who couldn’t go and who were participating in live WhatsApp groups.”

She chatted to one woman who queued twice – the second time just to accompany a friend as “that’s what my grandmother would have done”.

She also encountered servicemen who felt enormous grief at losing their commander-in-chief and queued in uniform through the night.

Many individuals talked about having “life-changing experiences”. “One lady was very overweight and had been diagnosed with a serious illness but, after a spell in hospital, she realised that if those strangers cared about her, she should care more about herself,” Heminsley explains.

“She has since lost four stone and got off painkillers.” While the author was inspired by their experiences, she didn’t incorporate people’s actual stories.

“It was too much of a personal and emotional experience for me to hijackwhat other people had individually experienced,” she explains.

Nor did she write about the politics of the day or the celebrities who attended. David Beckham, Tilda Swinton, Sharon Osbourne and Dame Kelly Holmes were among the famous faces who patiently waited for hours to pay their respects.

TV presenters Holly Willoughby and Phillip Schofield, by contrast, were widely criticised for “jumping the queue”. Instead, Heminsley peppered her writing with quirky anecdotes and wrote about the homeowners en-route who opened their doors for toilet stops or rejuvenated flagging walkers with shorts of brandy at midnight.

“It is unimaginable that two and a half years ago, you wouldn’t let your best friend into your house, let alone have total strangers use your loo,” Heminsley laughs.

“That felt stark and several people mentioned that. It felt cathartic to know we hadn’t lost the ability to be welcoming.” While the event was broadcast worldwide across news and social media channels, queuers enjoyed the chance for self-reflection and contemplation.

“There was a randomness to the relationships formed,” Heminsley says. “None of these people were doing it for an audience, it was the opposite of an online algorithm.”

But the author doesn’t think we’ll ever see a queue like it again. “Well, we certainly won’t for a monarch unless a serious level of infinite ageing is invented,” she jokes.

“No matter how wonderful Charles’s reign is, it’s not going to be 70 years long. That idea of the baton passing between generations will never be as profound.” And perhaps, for a monarch who gave her life so selflessly for so long, that’s exactly how it should be.

• The Queue by Alexandra Heminsley (Orion, £8.99) is out now. Call 020 3176 3832 or visit expressbookshop.com. Free UK P&P on online orders over £25