Who's Calling

The Opening of City Hall 

It was the opening of the new city hall. Designed by Norman Foster, the building sits like a crystal carbuncle affronting Tower Bridge and The Tower of London. I had been photographing for the GLA for a couple of years now and for some reason they were entrusting me to be the only photographer at the gig which was being attended by The Queen. 

I had no prep at all except to be told I was booked for it and that I would get the brief on the day and not to worry. Of course I was having kittens. No brief, no idea what the building was like inside, no schedule of the day and definitely no plus one. The lead up to the event was fraught as I checked and double checked and triple checked the equipment. 

Finally the big day arrived and as far as any details I was still totally in the dark. I walked from  London Bridge Station and as I approached City Hall the surrounding area was already lined with  a neat semi circle of barriers and crowds shovelled right up to the edge of them, their coats and bags oozing through the gaps, the tired arms flapping over the top. It could have almost been the photo pit at Glastonbury. 

 I was immediately met by a woman in a dark suit and she announced that she would be my escort for the day and to follow her instructions. I felt on solid ground here as being told what to do and follow orders was easy. 

She led me through the entrance and said she’d wait for me on the other side of security. There was a short queue all filing through a make shift security area similar to an airport security gate. This was 2002 and security was still immensely tight a year on from 911. As the various VIPs went through they were ordered to remove bags, jackets, belts, shoes  and any other loose garments and a large notice over the security gateway reminded you to turn off your mobile phone. In 2002 it  was still early enough for a mobile phone to be a novelty but late enough for most people to own one. Definitely everyone who was invited to this gig probably owned one. 

A few people studiously ignored the sign but security were on it and we were all asked individually if we owned a mobile phone, to bring it out and turn it off in front of security before we could proceed. We all complied. Some people amazingly tried to argue the necessity of keeping their phone on but no one got any dispensation, whoever they were. 

My woman met me the other side and I expected her to take me aside and give me a long list of don’ts and short list of do’s  and an even shorter one of the photos I could take, but she simply grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and spoke firmly in my ear.

“Don’t worry. Just walk backwards in front of the Queen, keep you camera to your face and take a photo every time I do this” and she clenched her fist so her knuckles pressed against the back of my neck. She was of average build, and looked fairly innocuous in her black, tailored suit but I could feel a firmness in her grip that was not to be argued with. 

“Don’t I have to curtsey or anything?” I was really hoping I was going to be shown how to do this by an expert.

“No. And don’t try to speak to her. Don’t listen to anyone else, only me. Just walk backwards and take a photo when I do this. Do not cross her path. If we don’t keep in front of her then the shoot is over” The knuckles again. 

I felt a bit uneasy. What if I tripped?  What if someone bumped into me? What if I needed the loo? We waited by the entrance amongst the hustle and bustle for what seemed like an eternity. Then as if by magic the hustle and bustle fizzled away. The VIPs stood attentively to attention. All became calm. A long black, glossy car surrounded by motorbikes drew up. The back door opened and a dainty foot emerged. I felt a hand on the back of my neck give a gentle tug and I glued the camera to my face  and started to walk backwards as if in a dream. 

The Queen’s party floated casually towards us, and I kept walking back looking only through the viewfinder. The expert hand suddenly felt like the safest place in the world. The Queen went to shake a hand, the knuckles, I clicked, and got the exact moment the hands connected.  The party came towards us, the knuckles, I clicked, and another fantastic moment captured. 

I just walked backwards, pulled on and on by the hand. I never tripped once. We made it in this fashion to the main auditorium. Everyone had been decanted into this impressive room with floor to ceiling glass windows over looking the Thames. I had a prime spot for photos and having been duly planted in it, my chaperone relaxed and said I could take as many as I liked during the speeches. It was the usual formal stuff with the usual  people saying the usual things. The Queen finally got to her feet, said a few gracious words and as the ceremony came to a close it was just the National Anthem to get through the dignified but uneventful event. But it’s never over til the fat lady sings.

The familiar strains of God Save the Queen started up and almost immediately, as if on cue, the distinctive sound of a mobile phone rang cheerfully through the air, amplified by the excellent acoustics of the hall. It was that really annoying ring too. The standard Nokia 

“…da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da-daaaaaaaH!...” 

The whole room became ice.

“…da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da-daaaaaaaH!..”  insisted the phone.

All eyes were on The Queen as the National Anthem bravely soldiering on (it was a tape machine)

“..send her victorious…”

“da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da-daaaaaaaH!” 

The Queen’s face was immobile. 

“da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da-daaaaaaaH!” 

Whoever it was was not going to admit it was theirs by hurriedly rifling through their pockets or bag to shut the thing up but thankfully the caller must have felt the vibe and the ringing ceased. 

The relief was palpable. The second verse where no one really knows the words  struck up :

“Oh Lord our God arise…”

“da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da-daaaaaaaH!

The call must have been urgent. 

“da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da, da-da-daa-da-daaaaaaaH!

Again, no one moved and the anthem staggered on, battling against the relentless trilling and still no one was gong to own up and turn the damned thing off. People were starting to look shiftily around. It was coming from somewhere directly in front of the Queen but I couldn’t swear exactly where. In that area the people in the immediate vicinity all wore a look of indignant innocence but it had to be one of them.

I was full to the brim with embarrassed laughter and tears ran down from my eyes as I shook with the effort of bottling my giggles as I photographed the Queen who bore it all with quiet dignity and looking at her I knew I didn’t have a drop of blue blood in me. How she kept it together I don’t know. 

The Anthem came to an end and thankfully so did the ringing. The hand closed over my collar.

“We can’t go in the lift” said the disembodied voice behind me. “They are all reserved for the Queen and her party. We have to take the stairs and if the lifts beat us we won’t be able to take any more shots as we are not allowed to cross in front of her”.

That wiped the smile off my face. The stairs in the carbuncle are a graceful, glass, sweeping, glacier of wobbly spirals, with the steps spaced exactly one and a half strides apart, so you either have to really stretch out and almost hurdle up the damn thing or take stuttering shorter steps and use the same leg all the time to haul yourself up, doing a sort of do-si-do when that leg got tired so the other one could take up the slack. And it was eight flights up.

We wasted no time, as we all (me, security, web-team, a couple more security) hopped, skipped or staggered up the stairs, depending on the length of our legs, how fit we were and how much equipment we we carrying.

We reached the top just as the lift doors opened and my chaperone dragged me across the landing and we lurched directly in front of her majesty as she floated, completely unperturbed out of the lift doors. I must admit I was sweating a bit now but it did not seem to bother my now almost siamese twin as we took off where we left off with me being dragged backwards, camera stuck to face. This time it was a lot more crowded. The reception room was full and there was only a narrow corridor for us to navigate. I became aware of more security surrounding me, holding the crowds back as The Queen and Ken Livingstone advanced towards me, smilingly fixedly. Hands came in and out of my viewfinder and people nodded encouragingly at me to take a photo but there were no knuckles. 

We did a round of the room, with the occasional snap, then we were led to the quiet of the private offices away from the crowds. Ken and the Queen exchanged a few polite words and seemed relaxed. I decided to brave it and whispered to the hand

“Can I take one now?”

The knuckles seemed undecided and then relented and gave a couple of squeezes. 

We watched as the party descended to a private party beyond our scope and I was allowed a short rest. 

The end was nigh, and my partner in crime took me back down to the entrance. The Royal guests were going to do a short walk about before leaving and I was allowed to follow them for the first minute or so. 

As we exited the building, the crowds cheered and the sun shone and The Queen smiled as she waved a gloved hand and settled herself back in the long, black, glossy car. 

I started to walk back to London Bridge, paused, dug out my phone and turned it on. 

Years later I’m still wondering who’s phone it was that rang and whether the caller managed to get through in the end. 

Lights: Floor to roof-top daylight form convex windows of squat round skyscraper.

Camera: The infinitely better than the D1, DX2 but still only able to take JPEGS at this stage.

Lens: The wonderfully versatile but overly priced Nikon 24-70mm F2.8 (its the F2.8 that makes this lens the price of a diamond ring - My partner made me choose)

Film: Microdrive whch are no longer available as they are so unreliable.

Location: The Old City Hall which was then the New City Hall, AKA The Glass Testicle (Livingstone) and upgraded to Glass Gonad (Johnson)