Epilogue

Representatives of every nation on Earth were calling 'God save the Queen'. The European Union, the United States and the Japanese had made generous reconstruction grants, although Britain would continue to remember their inaction during the Dying Days for some considerable years. There was a great deal that needed doing, especially in the northern cities. Things were changing, there was a new sense of optimism, of hope for the future. Perhaps it would get worse before it would get better, but everyone knew that it would get better.

Behind the various ambassadors and heads of state stood the senior military men and other heroes of the Invasion. Outside, the crowds were cheering again, the sound percolating through the thick walls of the Abbey.

'It's a shame the Doctor couldn't be here.'

'Oh but he is, Doris.'

'Where?'

'See that chap with the scarf and the tin dog?' Lethbridge-Stewart pointed across the aisle.

'Oh yes. Is the blonde girl with him?'

'Judging by her dress-sense, I would say so.'

A couple of people leant over, stern looks on their faces. Alistair smiled back at them. When they recognised him, they mumbled their apologies and returned their attention to the ceremony. Montserrat Caballe had taken her place in front of the choir and now began to sing the Recoronation Aria, the specially-commissioned piece by Lord Lloyd-Webber. Future historians would count this as the first moment of the New New Elizabethan Age, when British art and literature entered a brief, but prolific resurgence.