Jubilee Bash for the Liz They Love

It was, said Prince Philip, "a good excuse for a party."

And what a party it was. In a spontaneous outburst of powerful feelings, millions of Britons last week celebrated the Silver Jubilee of Elizabeth II, who for the past 25 years has been "by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith." Despite cool weather and gray, overcast skies that occasionally exploded in rainstorms, it was a week of exuberant festivity, offering the kind of stately pageantry that no other nation in the world can equal. Silver trumpets blared fanfares, batteries of cannon fired multigun salutes, Union Jacks bedecked homes and shops throughout Britain.

Hilltop Fires. Cynics dismissed the Jubilee as an exercise in irrelevance at best and a needless extravagance at worst. A fairer view was that Britons--in a mood for a holiday from such irksome problems as inflation, unemployment, trade-union troubles and political woes--genuinely wanted to pay affectionate tribute to a gracious lady who has been a symbol of stability, humane decency and traditional values during one of her nation's most difficult quarter-centuries.

The week of festivities* began at Windsor Castle. As a crowd of more than 200,000 looked on, Elizabeth ignited a 35-ft.-high bonfire atop a hill near the ancient castle. Within minutes, 101 more hilltop fires were flaring from one end of the British Isles to the other. It was a reminder of a difficult moment in the reign of her namesake and ancestor, Elizabeth I; similar fires had been set in 1588 to warn the country of the approaching Spanish Armada.

The day after the bonfire, there was a regal procession from Buckingham Palace to St. Paul's Cathedral for a solemn thanksgiving service, followed by a lavish banquet at nearby Guildhall. By midmorning, men, women and children were standing 20 deep along the tree-lined mall that links the palace with Admiralty Arch. At 10:25 a.m., a carriage procession of members of the royal family clattered through the King's Door in the Royal Quadrangle, accompanied by a mounted escort of the Blues and Royals cavalry regiment. Princess Anne (expecting her first child in November) and her husband Captain Mark Phillips led the procession, followed by Princess Margaret and her two children* and Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester, 75, Elizabeth's aunt. Then came the other royals: the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, the Duke and Duchess of Kent, Princess Alexandra, Prince Michael of Kent, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother accompanied by her daughter's younger sons, Prince Andrew, 17, and Prince Edward, 13.

At 10:42, following an honor guard of half a dozen elite units, the gilded state coach rumbled out of the Palace Gate, drawn by eight grand Windsor grays, each guided by a walking groom in gold-trimmed scarlet uniform. Inside the coach (originally built for George III more than 200 years ago) was the Queen, wearing the rose-pink dress with matching coat and hat she wore when she opened the Olympics in Canada last year. She looked subdued and pensive. Beside her was her husband Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, resplendent in the dress uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet. Riding directly behind the state coach--and ahead of such quaintly titled assistants to the household as the Master of the Horse, the Crown Equerry and the Silver Stick in waiting--came Prince Charles, in the in ceremonial scarlet-tunic uniform of colonel-in-chief of the Welsh Guards. An inexpert equestrian, the heir to the throne later evoked the day's first broad smile from his mother when he required help in dismounting outside St. Paul's. Later Charles confided that it had been a marvelous day: "At least I didn't fall off my horse."

At the steps of St. Paul's, the Queen was greeted with a fanfare by the Household Cavalry's trumpeters and welcomed by the Lord Mayor of London, who was carrying his pearl sword. Throughout the 50-minute thanksgiving service, the Queen listened attentively. She seemed moved as the Most Rev. Donald Coggan, the Archbishop of Canterbury, proclaimed: "Our nation and Commonwealth have been blessed beyond measure by having at their heart an example of service untiringly done, of duty faithfully fulfilled and of a home life stable and wonderfully happy." After His Grace pronounced the blessing, the 2,700 invited guests, including 33 officials of Commonwealth countries who were in London for their eight-day conference, rose and robustly sang God Save the Queen. As voices, organ and silver trumpets rose in a crescendo, Elizabeth seemed near tears.

Melted Reserve. Outside the cathedral, the Queen's reserve melted as she engaged in one of her periodic "walkabouts" to meet her subjects. For 35 minutes she strolled slowly toward Guildhall, joking and chatting with spectators, many of whom had been in wait all night for a chance to see her. Elizabeth appeared to pay particular attention to black and brown faces in the crowd. One little girl pressed a bouquet of violets into her hands; other subjects shouted, "We love you, Liz!'"

In Guildhall, Elizabeth lunched (salmon, filet steak and melon, accompanied by hock and red Burgundy) with some 650 carefully chosen guests--the Commonwealth officials, representatives of foreign countries (Washington's envoys: President Carter's son Chip and Chip's wife Caron) and British political, commercial and cultural dignitaries. In her brief remarks, the Queen poignantly recalled that "when I was 21 I pledged my life to the service of our people, and I asked for God's help to make good that vow. Although that vow was made in my salad days when I was green in judgment, I do not regret nor retract one word of it."

Conga Line. From Guildhall, Elizabeth and Philip returned to the palace, riding this time in an open carriage. There she and her family appeared on the balcony and waved to the roaring crowd. During the rest of the week the Queen's activities were a bit more relaxed. She gave a dinner for the Commonwealth's representatives, cruised leisurely up the Thames and watched a massive display of fireworks. On Saturday the Queen, riding sidesaddle, closed the Jubilee with the Trooping of the Color ceremony on Horse Guards Parade.

Although Elizabeth was the center of the celebration, the Jubilee's festivities were not limited to her. Throughout the country Britons organized street parties, ox roasts, raffles, puppet shows and picnics. In London alone, there were 4,000 street parties. On Hammersmith's Daffodil Street, for example, the semidetached brick houses of this lower-middle-class neighborhood were decorated with portraits of the Queen and festooned with balloons and bunting. In the working class's East End, a banner proudly proclaimed JUBILEE STREET OK FOR LIZ, while in wealthy Kensington, a bobby--sporting two Union Jacks in his helmet--led a conga line of 300 residents, including four Tory M.P.s and a handful of diplomats.

The Jubilee inspired, inevitably, its share of schlock. Among the overpriced jubiliana being hawked in London were necklaces, beer mugs, T shirts, jeans, egg timers, shopping bags, ashtrays and thermometers. One London sex shop offered a matching bra-and-panties set, boldly emblazoned with the Queen's state coach and horses. Two British breweries offered pub customers a brace of special celebration brews: Queen's Ale and Silver Jubilee Ale.

A few spoilsports tried to dampen the Jubilee spirits--with scant success. Dustmen in Hammersmith, who had originally demanded $58 in extra pay to clean up post-Jubilee litter, eventually settled for $17. The Socialist Workers Party managed to sell some badges urging STUFF THE JUBILEE, and the Movement Against a Monarchy claimed great success in its sale of auto bumper stickers proclaiming ROT ALL RULERS. But an anti-Jubilee rally in London attracted a grand audience of eight.

A bizarre threat by Ugandan Dictator Idi Amin to upstage the Jubilee by crashing the Commonwealth Conference, which opened last week, never materialized. Amin had been advised that his presence would be "inappropriate" because of his regime's brutal tyranny. Then Radio Uganda suddenly announced that Amin was on his way to London, setting off a flurry of rumors that his plane was circling various airports in Europe looking for a place to land. It turned out to be a hoax; Big Daddy never left Uganda at all.

The striking lack of antimonarchist sentiment was perhaps the most impressive tribute to Elizabeth's quarter-century reign. The vast majority of her subjects clearly appreciate the manner in which she has fulfilled her unique constitutional role: embodying the nation's unity, providing historical continuity, standing above party strife and class divisions. "We yearn for symbols of national unity," wrote Tory Elder Statesman Lord Hailsham in the Sunday Telegraph. "The Americans have their Constitution and flag. In addition to our flag, we have our Queen." Nonetheless, as Hailsham told TIME London Bureau Chief Herman Nickel, he fears that the institution of the monarchy remains "vulnerable to a bad monarch" and that even a good Queen like Elizabeth "cannot serve as a court of appeal against the follies of democracy." For that reason, he now feels that Britain also needs a written constitution and a bill of rights. Some critics maintain that the monarchy may be an obstacle to such reform because the existence of the ancient institution gives too much legitimacy to tradition.

Secret Papers. Whatever the merits of the debate about the monarch's value, Elizabeth has worked hard at her job--traveling, appearing constantly at ceremonial openings, carefully studying the secret government papers in the red "boxes" (leather dispatch cases) that follow her wherever she goes. The seven Prime Ministers who have served her have attested to her impressive grasp of state affairs. Despite the rigid order of palace life, she has tried in small ways to make the monarchy a bit more modern socially--with her walkabouts, for example, or by substituting relatively egalitarian garden parties for the stratified debutante balls of old.

Political Writer John Grigg, once a harsh critic of the monarchy, who now feels that Elizabeth "is to be hailed as an unquestionably good Queen," told TIME that he was "almost moved to tears" by her stroll from St. Paul's to Guildhall last week. "Until quite recently," Grigg noted, "the stuffier kind of monarchists felt that the Queen couldn't behave in an informal manner without demeaning herself. But in fact it enhances her. Not only can she do it, but she clearly enjoys doing it."

Despite her success as a sovereign, Elizabeth II has not presided over a new Elizabethan age--for which her subjects, perhaps unrealistically, hoped when she ascended the throne. While living standards in general have risen almost 70% during her reign, a large part of these gains has been purchased by mortgaging the future through the amassing of a huge foreign debt (although the North Sea oil is beginning to change the economic picture). Indeed, the past quarter-century has witnessed enfeeblement and decline--the end of an empire, the shrinking value of the pound sterling, near stagnation of a formerly innovative economy. It is this grim reality that the Jubilee briefly banished. But it will still be there to challenge Britons when their party is over.

* Technically, the Jubilee should have been celebrated on Feb. 6, the date on which she ascended the throne following the death of her father George VI. But Buckingham Palace decided that the country, to say nothing of tourists, would enjoy the festivities more in June than during the chill of an English winter.

* Her estranged husband Lord Snowdon traveled to St. Paul's by car and sat a discreet eight rows behind the royal family during the service.

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