News about Henry Purcell

DAISY GOODWIN: My mother died ten years ago, and the closest memory I have is sitting in a small country church sobbing over Henry Purcell's Lament. She had not been a good mother in the traditional sense. When we were children, she begged my father, a film director, to marry a novelist eight years her junior. No one said what was going on. My brother and I, then aged three and five, were sent to live with my paternal grandmother in the country for two years before my father remarried. Every other weekend and in the holidays, I saw my mother, but I never knew her. Perhaps because of the distance and the lack of domestic intimacy, I worshipped her as a child, but when I had my own children, I was able to excuse her for what she had done.

As she told well-wishers marking Queen Elizabeth's death on the first anniversary of her reign, she spoke for the nation: "We all have fab memories of her." We have to stick with them.' She and Prince William arrived at a service of commemoration in St Davids, Wales, where they laid a bouquet of white roses in front of a portrait of the late monarch - a beloved mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother - before bowing in sombre contemplation. The solemnity of the occasion was in stark contrast to Prince Harry, who was photographed by a tourist in Windsor, alone, before heading out of the country at lunchtime.

PATRICK MARMION: I said a little prayer after nearly three hours spent being witness to the Elton John musical about American television evangelist and gay icon Tammy Faye Messner. I wished that next time I see a musical about Tammy Faye, where I might learn more about the woman behind the long hair and extra thick mascara. The Almeida's latest film, unfortunately, is best described as an ecstatic but otherwise unholy amalgamation of TV's Strictly and Songs Of Praise.

DOMINIC SANDBROOK: Of all the spectacular shows that have unfolded in our country's capital over the past 70 years, there has never been one like Queen Elizabeth II's funeral. It was also Britain's saddest day and our best, utterly stunning and yet poignant. And amid the pomp and glamour, it was difficult to forget that this was a farewell to an individual human being, a wife and mother with dreams and concerns that we may never know. And as I watched her children and grandchildren, I was reminded of many humbler funerals, much removed from the world's view. Of course, this was not just a private function. Such is the burden of monarchy. Even in death, there can be a great deal between the personal and the public for a queen.