LIZ JONES: How the Queen would have reacted to THAT Kate video and the harsh truths she would have for the royals

Two years on, the tiny details are still engraved in relief: the horseshoe brooch Princess Charlotte wears on her lapel, a gift from her grandmother; the sprigs of myrtle adorning the Queen’s coffin, which come from the same plant that adorned her bridal bouquet in 1947.

The hypnotic swing of the white caps of the sailors in procession. The sound of boots and hooves, like the beating of so many hearts. The empty sky. And Emma, ​​the patient pony, wearing one of the Queen’s Hermes scarves and watching her owner set off on her final journey to Windsor Castle.

There were distractions, too. The fact that Harry was not allowed to wear a uniform, despite his tours of duty. Meghan’s tears, wiped away with a black glove. Her black Stella McCartney caped dress.

And of course Kate, who was dressed impeccably in a chic Alexander McQueen gown, looked solemn yet striking in a Philip Treacy hat and veil and a cream pearl necklace. Meghan looked as if she didn’t even exist, keeping a watchful eye on her children and Prince William. Kate knew that this day was not for her.

Ultimately, this was not a tragedy, a life gone too soon. There were none of the visceral sobs that shook Princess Diana’s procession in 1997. It was more of a celebration, a pause before something new. It was an acknowledgement of all that the Queen stood for, a chance to show the world that, in the words of Carly Simon, no one does it better.

The queue for the Queen’s wake had been, for me, a revelation. There was no pushing or jostling, except for the occasional TV presenter. The long line of mourners had been a symbol of what it means to be British. The mood was not sentimental at all – it was joyous. In my group, people were offering to go and get provisions: “Oh look, an M&S! What does everyone want? Wine?” Inside the hall, tears were flowing, everyone bowed their heads before leaving, moved, moved. It was a sense of an end, but also a warm sense of optimism about what was to come.

That first year, the transition seemed positive and smooth. Charles’ coronation in May last year went off without a hitch. He and Camilla, now queen, have been warmly welcomed on their outings.

And then… the Dutch version of a book by Omid Scobie named two so-called “royal racists.” The Princess of Wales was forced to apologize for confusion over edits to a “doctored” Mother’s Day photo. And, of course, Charles and Kate announced their cancer diagnoses within months of each other. Suddenly, the Royal Family seemed frazzled, directionless. Wild speculation about Catherine’s absence from public life earlier this year, before she revealed she had cancer, swirled around the internet, and the Queen’s mantra of “never complain, never explain” seemed as outdated and restrictive as a corset.

The Queen would be heartbroken that, after waiting so long to wear the crown, Charles has become so frail so quickly.

Yet in some ways her accession to the throne at such a young age (in 1952 she was just 25, remember?) was a tougher cross to bear. She had no real family life, no freedom, no privacy, no room for an opinion, a slip-up, a tantrum. When Charles vented his frustration over a leaky pen as he signed the visitors’ book at Hillsborough Castle just days after his mother’s death (telling courtiers he “couldn’t stand the bloody thing”), didn’t we all think: “Well, the Queen would never in a million years have done that?” The Elizabethan era of “heavy-handedness”, uncomplaining service and restraint finally ended at that point.

Then there is the matter of Harry. I think the Queen would have advised Charles to give Harry more time when he flew to Buckingham Palace following the news of his father’s illness in February this year. She would have told her son that it was not a good look to be so ungenerous. And I think she would have also firmly told William to be careful with Harry.

I imagine Charles’s more recent hardening against his younger brother Prince Andrew (wanting him to move from the Grade II-listed Royal Lodge in Windsor Great Park to the empty Frogmore Cottage) would also have her frowning: after all, the Queen made sure Andrew accompanied her to the memorial for Prince Philip, a rare act of putting family before duty.

He was not afraid of hard truths and advised Liz Truss, whom he asked to form a government in what would prove to be her last official duty, to take things easy. How inappropriate it seems now, re-watching his funeral, to see our least mandated prime minister give a reading. To hear the dulcet tones of the now utterly embarrassed Huw Edwards, staining the collective memory like a blot.

How different our streets seem today from that crisp autumn by the Thames as we meandered towards his coffin. How sad he would have been at the murder of the children in Southport, how swift his message of condolence would have been. That he was spared from seeing hate-fuelled riots is a blessing; I fear he would have felt that his life’s work, building the Commonwealth, was about to crumble. I am reminded of something so many families say: “I’m glad Mum isn’t here to see this.”

The Queen would perhaps be dismayed to know that her generation, the one that built this country, is apparently being unfairly punished by a new Labour government, although of course she would have kept her political views to herself. That is what I miss most: her ability to remain silent when there is so much unsolicited and ill-informed noise.

But how proud she would have been of William and Kate to see the touching video announcing that the princess had finished chemotherapy. She would no doubt have rolled her eyes at the soft approach, surely made in response to the tyranny of privacy we all demand these days. But she would have seen herself in Kate – her lack of self-pity, her upright posture and her stoic lack of complaint. And I am convinced that the late Queen would be comforted by the knowledge that the family, currently so fractured, is in very good hands.