LIZ JONES: How the Queen would have reacted to THAT Kate video and the hard truths she’d have for Harry

The small details are still sharply etched, two years later. The horseshoe brooch on Princess Charlotte’s lapel, a gift from her grandmother. The sprigs of myrtle on the Queen’s coffin, grown from the same plant that adorned her bridal bouquet in 1947.

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

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

And of course Kate, impeccably dressed in a razor-sharp Alexander McQueen coat dress, looking solemn yet striking in a Philip Treacy hat and veil and ropes of cream pearls. She acted as if Meghan didn’t even exist, but kept a close eye on her children and Prince William. Kate knew the day wasn’t about her.

Ultimately, this was not a tragedy, a life taken too soon. There were none of the visceral sobs that plagued Princess Diana’s 1997 procession. It was a celebration, a pause for something new. It was a recognition 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 funeral had been a revelation to me. No pushing, no jostling – well, apart from the occasional TV presenter. The long line of mourners was a slow-moving symbol of what it means to be British. The mood was far from sentimental: it was joyful. In my group, people were lining up to get supplies: ‘Oh look, an M&S! What does everyone want? Wine?’ Inside the hall, tears were streaming, everyone bowing their heads before emerging, shocked and moved. It was the sense of an ending, 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 of last year went off without a hitch. He and Camilla, now queen, were warmly received during walks.

And then… the Dutch version of a book by Omid Scobie named two so-called ‘royal racists’. The Princess of Wales had to apologise for the confusion over editing of a ‘manipulated’ Mother’s Day photo. And of course Charles and Kate announced their cancer diagnoses within months of each other. Suddenly the royal family seemed exhausted, rudderless. Wild speculation about Catherine’s absence from public life earlier this year, before she revealed she had cancer, circulated online, and the Queen’s mantra of ‘never complain, never explain’ seemed as outdated and restrictive as a corset.

The Queen is said to be devastated that Charles, having waited so long to wear the crown, has become so weak so quickly.

Yet her accession to the throne at such a young age – she was only 25 in 1952, remember – was in some ways a heavier burden to bear. She had no real family life, no freedom, no privacy, no room for an opinion, a misstep, a tantrum. When Charles vented his frustration at a leaky pen while signing 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 wouldn’t have done that in a million years!” The Elizabethan era of stiff upper lip and uncomplaining subservience and reserve finally ended at that moment.

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

I imagine that Charles’s most recent hardening of attitude towards his younger brother, Prince Andrew, – who wanted him to move from the Grade I listed Royal Lodge in Windsor Great Park to the empty Frogmore Cottage – would also raise eyebrows: after all, the Queen arranged for Andrew to accompany her to Prince Philip’s memorial service, a rare act where family took precedence over duty.

She was not afraid of hard truths, advising Liz Truss, whom she had asked to form a government in what would prove to be her last official role, to take it easy. How inappropriate it seems now, as we rewatch her funeral, to hear our shortest-serving prime minister deliver a lecture. To hear the now utterly embarrassed Huw Edwards’s dulcet tones, which stain a collective memory like a stain.

How different our streets seem today from that crisp autumn by the Thames as we wound our way to her coffin. How sad she would have been at the murder of the children in Southport, how quick she would have sent her condolences. That she was spared the sight of hate-fuelled riots is a blessing; I fear she would have felt that her life’s work of 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 might be upset that her generation, who built this country, are being seemingly 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 in the face of so much unsolicited, ill-informed noise.

But how proud she would have been of William and Kate, watching their moving video announcing the completion of the Princess’s chemotherapy. She would have rolled her eyes at the soft focus, no doubt in response to the tyranny of intimacy we all demand these days. But she would have seen herself in Kate – her unflinching, upright, stoic lack of self-pity. And I am sure the late Queen would be comforted that the family, currently so divided, is in very safe hands.