The Archbishop was conducting the communion service and afterwards the Bishop of Oxford preached the sermon.

George then subscribed the Declaration against Transubstantiation and took the Oath of Coronation.

He left his chair to kneel at the altar where he was anointed by the Archbishop, presented with the regalia, and the ring was placed on the fourth finger of his right hand. When the crown was placed on his head the trumpets sounded and all the guns in the Park and at the Tower fired the salute.

It was an impressive moment. Then the Te Deum was sung and the King sat solemnly on his throne while the peers, now wearing their coronets, which they had put on when the salute had rung out, paid homage to the King.

After that it was the turn of Caroline.

After the coronation in the Abbey, Caroline and George in the centre of the procession returned on foot to Westminster Hall for the banquet.

Seated on the dais with the King and her daughters, Caroline looked complacently about the hall at the long tables at which sat the dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses, and all the nobility.

George, benign but alert for any slip in etiquette or protocol was flushed and beaming. Caroline knew that he had only one regret which was that the father he hated could not be here today to see how well he comported himself and how delighted his people were with him, that he might draw comparisons between his own coronation and that of his son. But of course if the old man were here none of this would be taking place. Yet George would be thinking: If only he could see me now!

Caroline was telling herself that this was indeed the most glorious day of her life and wishing her legs would not throb so. They were more swollen than ever before; and there was that dull internal ache which could terrify her.

Not today, she thought. She must not think of it today.

The first course had been served and the moment for the King’s Champion to enter and make his traditional challenge had come.

How magnificent he looked on his white horse, very magnificently caparisoned, the red, white, and blue feathers in his helmet waving gracefully as he rode, the all important gauntlet in his hand.

His voice echoed throughout the hall.

‘If any person of what degree soever, high or low, shall deny or gainsay our Sovereign Lord King George II of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, son and next heir to our Sovereign Lord King George I, to be the right heir to the Imperial Crown of this Realm of Great Britain or that he ought not to enjoy the same, here is his Champion who says that he lyeth and is a false traitor being ready in person to combat with him and in this quarrel will adventure his life against him on what day soever he shall be appointed.’

Down he flung the glove and there followed a somewhat tense silence for everyone knew that the city abounded with Jacobites who believed that the son of James II was the true King of England and that the Germans should be sent back to Hanover.

Caroline glanced at the King, but George was unperturbed. He had a blind faith in his ability to charm his subjects. He could not believe that they wanted the man across the water who had made a feeble attempt to come back in 1715 when George I had ascended to the throne—a miserable attempt that was no real attempt at all and then had gone flying back to France as soon as King George’s soldiers marched up to the Border.

But no one came forward and twice more the Champion repeated the challenge, and twice more no one came forward to accept it.

The King then called for a gold bowl from which he drank the health of his champion and the bowl was taken to the Champion who drank from it; then bowing to the royal table he left the hall with the bowl as his reward.

That anxious little ceremony over, the Queen felt relaxed and turned her attention back to the table. The two thousand wax candles which lighted the hall were dazzling, but the brightness was tiring and she found herself longing for her bed. Not so George; he was eager for this day to go on. So were the Princesses, particularly Anne who was giving herself, her mother noticed, the airs of a queen.

It was eight o’clock before the banquet was over and the royal party left the Hall for St James’s Palace.

Through the crowded streets to the sound of cheers. At every few yards, it seemed, there was a bonfire and the faces of loyal subjects reflected in the ruddy glow were joyfully bent on pleasure.

‘Long live King George. Long live Queen Caroline.’

Here was George, bowing, hand on heart, yet watchful lest there should be more applause for the Queen than the King.

Caroline was thankful that there was not.

And there was the palace dark against the sky, lit by the glow of bonfires.

To the sound of singing and cheers and the ringing of bells, Queen Caroline sat down heavily in her chair and called to her ladies to disrobe her.

Thoughtful Henrietta slipped a footstool under her feet to rest her aching legs.

The coronation had caught the public imagination. The management of the Drury Lane theatre had the idea of playing a coronation of its own and they staged it to take place at the end of Shakespeare’s Henry VIII in which Anne Oldfield played Anne Boleyn. The pageant of Anne’s coronation which ended the play drew crowds to the theatre; and it was said that Queen Caroline herself was not as splendidly clad in Westminster Abbey as Anne Boleyn was on the stage of Drury Lane. Everyone was delighted with the show except Colly Cibber who was playing Wolsey, and in this new presentation his role was naturally reduced. No one cared for that; crowds went to see the coronation on the stage and night after night the theatre played to full houses.

When the King and Queen went the people stood on their seats and cheered them.

Those were the days of triumph.

IT had always been clear to Caroline that a king and queen who did not show themselves frequently would not be popular with the English people. The money paid to the present King far exceeded that which had been given to his father and the people wanted something in exchange.

They wanted a Court—a gay Court; they wanted to be amused; they wanted to see their King and to enjoy a little gossip at the expense of the royal family.

Walpole visited the Queen in her closet as he always did before an audience with the King; it was a tacit agreement. They would talk almost casually about matters which Walpole considered important, and between them decide on a line of action. Caroline’s task would be to bring the King to their point of view in such a manner that he would think that the project they wished to put into action was entirely his idea. This was not always an easy matter. But Caroline had grown in tact and skill and she was greatly aided by the conceit and blindness of the King.

Caroline would as if by chance be in the King’s closet when Walpole called; they would even make silent signs to each other—when to stress a point, when to speak, when to be silent.

It was a wonderful game of power and politics and Caroline delighted in it. Everything that she had been forced to suffer was of no consequence if only she could keep the position she now held. She and Walpole between them would make England great; and the only concession they must make was to let the King imagine he was the prime mover in all their schemes. Even this difficulty added zest to the game.