It’s the wedding of the year – but from the roped-off section reserved for the villagers of Englefield, it’s not always entirely clear what’s going on

In these troubled times, it is only fitting that the nation should turn for solace to the one thing we can be sure to excel at, the core of our strong and stable way of life, a facet of our national character that will endure even beyond the challenges that lie ahead: the celebrity wedding.

And so to Berkshire and Englefield – English field, no less – for the nuptials of Pippa and James, she famous thanks to her brother-in-law and her bottom, he for being her fiance and his ability to fund hedges.

“Welcome to Englefield! Have a lovely day! Welcome to Englefield! You look lovely madam! Welcome to Englefield!” The woman at the edge of the throng of onlookers, gawpers and assorted media has taken it upon herself to enliven the sedate procession of frocks and top hats from car to church by bellowing encouragement at them.

“Welcome to Englefield!” Startled out of their composure, some pause in their studied progress to essay a cheery smile for the cameras. A few even wave while taking care not to disrupt the line of their frock.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest James Matthews, Pippa Middleton and the Duchess of Cambridge. Photograph: UK Press via Getty Images

“Welcome to Englefield!” she calls to a young couple, “You look very elegant!”

The man pauses. “Thank you,” he calls back.

“Not you, sir! Welcome to Englefield!”

As the well-groomed guests descend from their well-groomed cars, it is like watching a slow-mo fashion parade, the beautiful people putting on a show. A gaggle of villagers, distinguished by their blue wristbands, have been allowed to stand in a designated area on the lawn flanking the drive, the peasantry acknowledging their betters.

But who are they, these beautiful people? “All we’ve had so far is Donna Air and some woman off Byker Grove,” grumbles a photographer.

Just then, a call goes out as a distinguished looking man in a grey frock coat walks rather stiffly to the church.

“Roger! Roger!” Although no one is entirely clear why Roger Federer is here, we are all pleased: it casts aside the pall of disappointment that had threatened to deflate the enthusiasm of the modest crowd. For while everyone present undoubtedly holds some affection for Pippa Middleton and wishes the lovely couple well, there is a new kid in town. The arrival of Meghan Markle in London to accompany Prince Harry to the wedding threatened to upstage the society wedding of the year, the royal wedding of the year and the celebrity wedding of the year at a single stroke. Markle had inadvertently allowed herself to be photographed leaving a spa on Friday, prompting speculation that, in the same way that the lovely bride had upstaged her own sister’s wedding to Prince William, the American actress might use Pippa’s big day to reveal to the world what the Sun described as her own “toned behind”.

But the quest to find Miss Markle descended into mystery. Where was she? Indeed, where were Harry and William? A brief flutter of excitement rippled through the throng as a helicopter flew overhead half an hour before the ceremony was due to begin. Lenses swivelled to the sky. Phones were consulted. Did it contain the princes? Would we glimpse their royal selves? Then the whisper ran through the crowd: “There’s another entrance.” Could it be so? Were we all here to watch the stars of Byker Grove parade past while the real talent was being spirited in by a side entrance?

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Roger Federer and his wife Mirka arrive at the church. Photograph: Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP

“This is a little bit taking the mickey,” said one local, with a sniff. “It’s disappointing we can’t get closer. The church is lovely.”

Through the trees in the distance part of the church was just visible.

“They’re closing the gate,” someone said. The security men with their earpieces and thousand-yard stares had shut the parking and turned their backs on the drive. No more guests. Miss Markle, it turned out, was skipping the ceremony. But where was the bride? The groom? And what about the ones everyone had come to see: George and Charlotte, page boy and bridesmaid respectively?

A minute before the scheduled start of the ceremony at 11.30, two vintage grey cars approached the church in the distance and two small figures could be briefly glimpsed. Small enough to be children, for sure, which meant that they were almost certainly the third in line to the throne and his sister.

Two minutes later another vintage car – grey, open-topped – drew up and a large white dress got out. A small cheer went up from the peasantry gathered on the lawn. The dress turned and floated into the church.