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Conga Line. From Guildhall, Elizabeth and Philip returned to the palace, riding this time in an open carriage. There she and her family appeared on the balcony and waved to the roaring crowd. During the rest of the week the Queen's activities were a bit more relaxed. She gave a dinner for the Commonwealth's representatives, cruised leisurely up the Thames and watched a massive display of fireworks. On Saturday the Queen, riding sidesaddle, closed the Jubilee with the Trooping of the Color ceremony on Horse Guards Parade.
Although Elizabeth was the center of the celebration, the Jubilee's festivities were not limited to her. Throughout the country Britons organized street parties, ox roasts, raffles, puppet shows and picnics. In London alone, there were 4,000 street parties. On Hammersmith's Daffodil Street, for example, the semidetached brick houses of this lower-middle-class neighborhood were decorated with portraits of the Queen and festooned with balloons and bunting. In the working class's East End, a banner proudly proclaimed JUBILEE STREET OK FOR LIZ, while in wealthy Kensington, a bobby—sporting two Union Jacks in his helmet—led a conga line of 300 residents, including four Tory M.P.s and a handful of diplomats.
The Jubilee inspired, inevitably, its share of schlock. Among the overpriced jubiliana being hawked in London were necklaces, beer mugs, T shirts, jeans, egg timers, shopping bags, ashtrays and thermometers. One London sex shop offered a matching bra-and-panties set, boldly emblazoned with the Queen's state coach and horses. Two British breweries offered pub customers a brace of special celebration brews: Queen's Ale and Silver Jubilee Ale.
A few spoilsports tried to dampen the Jubilee spirits—with scant success. Dustmen in Hammersmith, who had originally demanded $58 in extra pay to clean up post-Jubilee litter, eventually settled for $17. The Socialist Workers Party managed to sell some badges urging STUFF THE JUBILEE, and the Movement Against a Monarchy claimed great success in its sale of auto bumper stickers proclaiming ROT ALL RULERS. But an anti-Jubilee rally in London attracted a grand audience of eight.
A bizarre threat by Ugandan Dictator Idi Amin to upstage the Jubilee by crashing the Commonwealth Conference, which opened last week, never materialized. Amin had been advised that his presence would be "inappropriate" because of his regime's brutal tyranny. Then Radio Uganda suddenly announced that Amin was on his way to London, setting off a flurry of rumors that his plane was circling various airports in Europe looking for a place to land. It turned out to be a hoax; Big Daddy never left Uganda at all.