Explainer
Culture
Royalty
4 min read

The seen and the unseen of the coronation regalia

The coronation’s magnificent regalia is not just bling. Ian Bradley unlocks their visual symbolism and the deep meaning linking the objects.

Ian Bradley is Emeritus Professor of Cultural and Spiritual History at the University of St Andrews.

A crown, orb and sceptre rest on velvet cushions.
St Edward's Crown, and the sovereign's orb, sceptres and ring. The first colour photograph the regalia, taken in 1952.
United Kingdom Government, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

In the course of his coronation on May 6 Charles III will be presented (the technical term is invested) with a number of ancient objects and clothed in various special garments. Known collectively as the coronation regalia, all have deep symbolic significance and point to the Christian basis of the ceremony and of the British monarchy. 

Crowning glory

A crown of gold with purple cloth and an orb and cross.
St Edward's Crown.

The crown which will be placed on the king’s head by the Archbishop of Canterbury is, of course, the most splendid and iconic symbol of majesty. Like the other items of the coronation regalia, it was specially made for the coronation of Charles II in 1661 to replace the medieval regalia which had been broken up and melted down during the time of the Commonwealth and Protectorate when England was without a monarchy in the mid-seventeenth century. Known as St Edward’s Crown, it replaced a medieval original which is said to have been made for King Edward the Confessor, a saintly eleventh century king who built the original Westminster Abbey and was officially canonised as a saint in 1161. Weighing nearly 5 lbs and made of solid gold, its rim is set with precious gems and from it spring two arches symbolising sovereignty. Where they meet there is a gold orb surmounted by a jewelled cross, a reminder of the cross of Christ and of His sovereignty over all.  

Placing St Edward’s Crown on the monarch’s head, the Archbishop traditionally says:  

‘God crown you with a crown of glory and righteousness, that having a right faith and manifold fruit of good works, you may obtain the crown of an everlasting kingdom by the gift of him whose kingdom endureth for ever.’ 

The orb’s different empire 

An orb of gold with a cross on top of it.
The Sovereign's Orb.

The crown is not the only conspicuous symbol of Christ’s power and sovereignty that will make an appearance at the coronation. The orb, which is customarily put into the monarch’s right hand before his crowning, is the oldest emblem of Christian sovereignty, used by later Roman Emperors and Anglo-Saxon kings. A ball of gold surmounted by a large cross thickly studded with diamonds and set in an amethyst base, it acts as a reminder, in the Archbishop’s words, ‘that the whole world is subject to the Power and Empire of Christ’.  Its first appearances in Britain are on a seal of Edward the Confessor in use between 1053 and 1065 and in a depiction of the crowning of King Harold in the Bayeux Tapestry. It is significant that the complex planning of Charles III’s coronation is code-named ‘Operation Golden Orb’. 

The wedding ring 

The ring, in Latin annulus, which is next traditionally placed on the fourth finger of the right hand has often been specifically made to fit the new sovereign, although Elizabeth II used an existing one inlaid with a ruby and engraved with St George's cross. It is presented to symbolise the marriage of monarch and country and was known in medieval times as ‘the wedding ring of England’.  

The sceptre’s power 

a golden sceptre topped by a cross lies next to a golden rod with an eagle on top.
The Sovereign's Sceptre and Rod.

The final pieces of regalia with which a monarch is traditionally invested before being crowned are the rod and sceptre, known in Latin as the baculus and the sceptrus. These may originally have derived from the rod and staff mentioned in Psalm 23. The solid gold sceptre has since 1910 contained the largest clear-cut diamond in the world, part of the massive Cullinan diamond found in the Transvaal in 1905. It is surmounted by a cross, which stands for kingly power and justice. The longer rod, also made of solid gold, is surmounted by a dove, signifying equity and mercy.  

Working clothes  

There is also deep spiritual symbolism in the traditional coronation garments worn by the sovereign. Based on ecclesiastical vestments, they are designed to emphasize the priestly and episcopal character of monarchy and are put on immediately after the anointing which is carried out with the king or queen wearing a simple linen shirt to symbolise humility. The colobium sindonis, a sleeveless garment made of white linen with a lace border is to all intents and purposes a priest’s alb or surplice. Over it is put the supertunica, a close-fitting long coat fashioned in rich cloth of gold, identical to a priest’s dalmatic - a long, wide-sleeved tunic. A girdle of the same material put round the waist has a gold buckle and hangers on which to suspend the sword with which the monarch is girded.  A cloth of gold stole is placed over the shoulders. At a later stage the sovereign is traditionally vested in the imperial mantle, or pallium regale, a richly embroidered cope similar to those worn by bishops. 

These garments emphasize that, like priests and bishops at their ordinations and consecrations, monarchs are set apart and consecrated to the service of God in their coronations which are first and foremost religious services. This aspect is further emphasized by the framing of the coronation service in the context of a service of Holy Communion according to the order laid down in the Book of Common Prayer.  

The unseen 

Some will dismiss the ancient regalia with which the monarch is invested, which have also traditionally included golden spurs, bracelets and swords, as anachronistic medieval mumbo jumbo out of keeping with our modern world. Yet they symbolise in powerful visual terms the sacramental nature of our Christian monarchy which points beyond itself to the majesty and mystery of God. In the words of a former Archbishop, Cosmo Gordon Lang, writing just before he presided at the coronation of King George VI, these ancient rites and ceremonies demonstrate ‘that the ultimate source and sanction of all true civil rule and obedience is the Will and Purpose of God, that behind the things that are seen and temporal are the things that are unseen and eternal.’ 

Article
Community
Culture
Football
Friendship
4 min read

As the season starts, here's why fans go mad for football

The game is part of life, but not all of life

Henry Corbett, a vicar in Liverpool and chaplain to Everton Football Club.  

  

A football stand displays a long banner with text on it.
Everton F.C.

“I hate football,” said the mother of two mad keen footballing children. The clue to the hatred is maybe in the ‘mad keen’. Why do children and adults care so much about football? 

“That Champions League music is so pompous…!” 

“It’s only a football match! They make it too important. If their team loses then they are miserable for the whole weekend.” 

“We can’t plan holidays until the fixtures come out.” 

The money spent, the jobs refused, lost or short-changed, all because of football. A giant banner at a recent Everton home game read “I simply love you more than I love life itself”. 

And there is football manager Bill Shankly wisdom: “Football is not a matter of life and death. It’s more important than that.” At least that was a typical Shankly quip, hyperbole for effect.  

Why do some of us love football so much? 

It often goes back to childhood. Playing with mates, scoring a goal, saving a goal, enjoying the togetherness, the shared aim, the friendships formed. Then there’s that first experience of going to a match. Up the stairs and there before you is a great huge rectangular expanse of green grass. Back in the day, it was maybe not so green, but still way more impressive than your back garden or the local park. Then comes the drama, unscripted, of the game. The sways of emotion, the joy, the frustration, and all experienced as part of a bigger community. When you kick a ball with your mates aged 50, or go to a game aged 80, you are doing something that connects you with your childhood enthusiasm, joy and wonder. 

Then there are the family connections. You may have gone to that first match with your Mum, Dad, Grandad, older brother or sister. When Everton supporters were asked about their feelings at the last Premier League game at Goodison Park, again and again they referenced family members who they had gone to the match with. Some passed away, some no longer able to go, even some whose ashes were buried behind the goal. 

There are the great memories of games seen or even played in. That win from 2-0 down, that last minute goal, the euphoria of a Cup win against the odds. And the memories are shared ones, with family, with friends. Football can write some miserable scripts, 0-0, 0-1, 0-6, but it can also write some wonderful memorable dramas.  

Love for family, for friends, for a team, for players is a deep emotion and when that love is linked to victory or defeat the stakes are raised. 

There is another reason which can touch us all, football-lovers or football-haters. Deep down we all want to be winners in life, not losers. The feeling of victory, not defeat, is such a treasured one. And the win, or loss, is a shared one: we are part of a group together, an identity together. Love for family, for friends, for a team, for players is a deep emotion and when that love is linked to victory or defeat the stakes are raised. In life we want goodness to win over evil, kindness to win over cruelty. The reason every Church shows the symbol of the Cross is because there was the ultimate demonstration of purposeful love, the sacrifice for the sins of the world, down the ages, across the world. When the apostle Paul writes to beleaguered, persecuted Christians facing death at the hands of Emperor Nero, he tells them “We are more than conquerors,” more than winners.  

Football, playing or watching, taps into that deep feeling of victory. “We’re on the march with (manager’s name here!) army…. And we’ll really shake them up when we win the FA Cup…” When my team faced the prospect of relegation I wondered why I was feeling butterflies, and more than butterflies, in my stomach. Why did I care so much about this game of football, and the result at the weekend? Yes, because it affected people’s lives, because it would mean loss of income and job losses at the club if relegation happened. But also, because the feeling of defeat, of failure, would hang over us, and that feeling goes deep, to the pit of the stomach.  

So why do some of us care so much? Because football taps into deep feelings; of family and friendship, joy and elation, togetherness and identity, and that wonderful feeling of victory… or the sorrow of defeat. Those feelings go deep. The problem is that football, unlike the Cross, sometime delivers, but definitely doesn’t always. That’s a reason why the mum of those those two mad-keen football-loving children should try and make sure that her two sons have other interests besides football, another faith beside faith in their team. Football is part of life, but not all of life. I also hope she stops hating what can be a beautiful, enchanting, community-fostering game, with many a helpful story to tell. 

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