A SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK I had never been at the Maundy Money
ceremony till this year. The offer of a privileged place close to the sanctuary where the King and Queen sat was not to be declined lightly—or indeed at all. The brilliance of the scene, with the grey walls of the Abbey as setting, was striking—the King in naval uniform, the Queen in her favourite mauve, the clergy in robes of different colours, and the Yeomen of the Guard, with their scarlet and gold, the most brilliant of all. Holders of strange offices (" The Clerk of the Cheque," " The Serjeant of the Vestry of H.M.'s Chapel Royal ") swam impressively into ken, and officials of Royal Almony, girt with symbolic towels, recalled the origin of the ceremony—the washing of the apostles' feet ; so, for no obscure reason, did the nosegays of sweet herbs which they carried. Something else was recalled, toc—the fantastic stories circulated in certain quarters about the state of the King's leg and his inevitable incapacity to fulfil his duties. In the Abbey last week King George stood, like everyone else, through a large part of the hour's service, and made two journeys, down one side of the long choir and far into the nave, up the other side, and then down and up again, distributing the different alms to the twenty-four aged men and twenty-four aged women who sat in the front rows, men on one side and women on the other. Each got three bags, one containing money in lieu of clothing, one more money and a third silver pennies, twopences, threepences and fourpences amount- ing to as many pence as the years of the King's age. The silver cannot be spent, but it can be sold at much more than face value. There should, incidentally, have been fifty-five old men and fifty-five old women, but only twenty-four of each were able to attend the ceremony. * * - * *
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