JUST after the quarter-hour struck a hush rolled like mist from the steps of St Paul's Cathedral to the streets below.

A solitary bird launched itself from the great dome, swooping through the rare quiet. Then it began: the slow boom of the black-clad drums and the rattle of gun carriage wheels as the coffin made its way into view. For the lady who was not for turning there was no turning back.

"We can still put on a good show, can't we?" whispered someone as the coffin carrying Lady Thatcher passed by, just feet away. Others threw flowers – long-stemmed roses, dyed blue for the occasion, white roses, and in one case a tulip daringly close to red – while still more joined in polite applause.

The occasion could only have been more British had Elevenses been dispensed.

Lady Thatcher, who had been involved in the planning for her funeral, codename Operation True Blue, would have seen yesterday as a great British occasion. This was not the full state funeral afforded to her hero, Winston Churchill, but it was all the pomp and circumstance that the state, and an estimated £10 million, could provide.

While the weather was as dreich as when Churchill was laid to rest in January 1965, this was a very different occasion for the simple reason Britain today is a different country. At Churchill's funeral the cranes on the wharf dipped their heads in respect. Here, the crowd raised their phones and took photos. Churchill's mourners were a sea of NHS specs and bobble hats; yesterday's crowds were an expanse of leisurewear. The well-heeled made their way into the cathedral itself, the scarlet of Louboutin soles here and there providing one of the few colours other than black on show.

There were other differences between that day in 1965 and yesterday. Churchill had been a wartime prime minister. Lady Thatcher, the original binary politician, had ruled over a country that at times seemed at war with itself. On the morning of Churchill's funeral the billboards declared "The Nation Mourns". The night before Lady Thatcher's funeral the internet was abuzz with rumours of large-scale protests.

In the event, any protests were either silent, the turning of backs, or fleeting and small-scale. Near St Paul's, one person turned up with a banner protesting at the cost of the funeral, but after the photographers had their fill it disappeared. Later, a cry of "Shame on you!", addressed to no-one in particular was met by a jokey shout of "Sit on him". One plucky vendor was selling "The witch is dead" badges for £1.50 a pop. He had no takers.

Gwenda Wilkie, 70, was relieved the event had passed peacefully. She and her daughter had got up at 4am to catch the first train from Gravesend in Kent.

"Most of them weren't even born," said Mrs Wilkie of the protesters she had seen in the papers in the past week. "Obviously she upset some people because she had to, but she's got a family, they're in mourning. There's a time and a place for everything and today is not the time or the place."

Lady Thatcher's final journey began at Westminster, the place she had entered as the MP for Finchley in 1959. The coffin had lain overnight in the Chapel of St Mary Undercroft before being taken by hearse to St Clement Danes Church, the RAF chapel on the Strand, and transferred to a gun carriage from the King's Troop Royal Horse Artillery.

The route taking in Westminster, Whitehall, Fleet Street and the City was a journey through her life and concerns. Despite the grocer's daughter image so beloved of her PR men, this was a woman shaped far more by London than she had ever been by Grantham. London spoke to her from the moment she first visited at the age of 12. She was dazzled by the place, and in time it would be dazzled by her.

So London shined the bridles and the cap badges, the brass buttons and the shoes, it struck up the military bands and it put on a show.

Tim Fell, 32, from Edinburgh, was among those glad they did. He had travelled to London from York, where he is studying history at university. Twin Saltires marked his spot at the crowd barrier.

"When you are thinking about Margaret Thatcher you have to think about what Britain was like beforehand. Has any prime minister reversed the economic policies she has been so criticised for? Britain was in a complete mess beforehand and she was the only one who stood up to that. Before she came along there was an idea of managed decline, and she was the first person who said no, we're not going to decline."

But what of Scotland, where the Thatcher legacy is viewed differently than in England?

"It's understandable because Margaret Thatcher has been turned into a myth. Especially in Scotland she seems to resemble everything everyone hates. But I think we need to remember she got 20 or so MPs elected in Scotland."

His support of Lady Thatcher was echoed by Brenda Ring, 68, and her husband Terry, 70. "We thought she put the great back into Britain," said Mr Ring. "We could do with her now."

Even those who might not be thought of as natural Tory supporters seemed to take their cue from the sombre, respectful tone of the event. "Bones" Brough, 55, lives on the streets. Born in Luton, of Scots-Irish descent, Mr Brough says he is not "political" but he believes life has become worse since Lady Thatcher left office. "People say Maggie done this and that but she did good as far as I'm concerned."

Though she was never known for her literary tastes, Lady Thatcher once chose A Tale of Two Cities as her favourite Dickens. What her critics would say she left behind is a tale of two Britains, forever divided on her legacy. But the Britain that decried Thatcherism was largely absent from central London yesterday.

Some, though, were prepared to be that lone voice in a wilderness of supporters.

Simarjit Kaur, a 46-year-old teacher from London, said the Thatcher era had been one where political activity and freedom of expression had been suppressed. She thought there had not been many protests because people were unsure what they were allowed to do.

As for Lady Thatcher's legacy as Britain's first female prime minister, her opinions were mixed. While it was inspiring to have a woman prime minister, Ms Kaur felt she did not do much to empower women.

"What she did at the end of the day was act like a male prime minister, like Indira Gandhi did, and stay part of the whole machinery of what's there."

At two minutes before 11am the pall bearers, among them Lance Sergeant Paul Quayle, 31, of East Kilbride, the Scottish son of a Falklands War veteran, carried the coffin inside. The great central doors of St Paul's closed. Instead of silence there was the low hum of a day, and a debate, beginning again.