We interrupted our recent theatrical pilgrimage to old London Town to have a gander around Westminster Abbey. Regular viewers will know I’m a sucker for an old ecclesiastical pile, and King (and Saint) Edward the Confessor’s ‘West Minster’ is arguably the most famous ecclesiastical pile in the realm. Generally thought to have been founded in the mid-10th century as a Benedictine monastery, the church was rebuilt by the saintly king about 100 years later to serve as his royal burial chamber. What Edward the Confessor actually fessed up to is anyone’s guess.

Following the Norman victory at the Battle of Hastings in 1066, William the Conqueror (or ‘the Bastard’ as he was affectionately known) was crowned King of England at the abbey on Christmas Day that same year; just to make sure everyone knew the old bastard was now in charge. Extended and remodelled down the centuries, the church has been the site of royal coronations ever since. The 14th-century coronation chair sits behind bars to prevent we plebs from getting above our station.

The abbey’s Gothic splendour soars heavenwards while history drips from every statue and every stone. As well as being the most famous house of God in the land, it’s also the most popular. The crowds were too much, particularly when trying to catch a fleeting glimpse of the first two undisputed Queen Regnants* of England – the first Mary and the first Elizabeth – half sisters, one Catholic and one Protestant at a time when you had to pick a side. These two old queens – one Catholic and one Protestant – inched and jostled past the tombs. Of the 16 or so other monarchs buried at the abbey, the tomb of Mary, Queen of Scots is perhaps the most poignant, given her life and times.

*That is, a queen reigning in her own right rather than a queen through marriage to a king.

The list of the dead and commemorated is a veritable who’s who of Britons past: a galaxy of big brains – Newton, Hawking, Darwin; a symphony of composers – Purcell, Vaughan Williams, Elgar; a company of luvvies – including Laurence Olivier; and a society of dead poets and writers – Chaucer, Byron, Lewis Carroll, Dylan Thomas, DH Lawrence, et al.

There is also a parliament of politicians – many either forgotten or best unremembered.