The majority of us have known no other monarch: we were born under her reign and came to see her as permanent and unshakeable a fixture of Britain as the very walls of St Paul’s. Politicians would come and go, ripping things up as they saw fit, but our sovereign lady was a constant. Even if everything else had gone to pieces, and the nation was humiliated on the world stage, we still had the Queen to be proud of. I’m sure I’m not the only one of her subjects who convinced themselves that she would somehow never die. How could she? She was woven into the fabric of Britain.

Despite the archaic traditions surrounding her position, Elizabeth II found a way to make the monarchy feel relevant in the 20th and early 21st centuries. Yes, she was reserved, stiff-upper-lipped and spoke with an accent that has now all but evaporated from modern England, but somehow we all felt we knew her. She found a way to connect with and walk among her citizens while maintaining a regal distance, so that she simultaneously felt part of us and apart from us. We understood that she worked for our benefit, and she understood that we kept her kingdom running: we served her, and she served us. We felt a glorious sense of ownership over her, knowing that no other country had a similar figure who could compare.

Detractors of the monarchy have frequently asserted that hers was a pointless, frivolous job – irrelevant and costly, and of no service to the people she claimed to represent. Although it could not be said that Elizabeth II “ruled” over the people of Britain, she most certainly guided us, using her annual Christmas speech to spread words of tolerance, kindness and Christian fellowship. Even without direct intervention in current affairs she was key to our prosperity, providing the EQ to the government’s (alleged) IQ, solidifying bonds with foreign powers through conversation, compassion and hospitality. She existed in a realm above politics, protected from the mudslinging and squabbling of Westminster, and could therefore approach everyone – from religious leaders to foreign dignitaries – simply as people. By treating them to tea in porcelain cups and banquets in ancient halls, she reminded her guests of what it meant to contend with the weight of British history and tradition, all the while talking about her children, the gardens and the dogs. Who would not leave Buckingham Palace feeling that little bit less bellicose? It turns out that, by being “politically ineffective”, the queen was actually our greatest diplomatic weapon.

Elizabeth II was not just someone to look up to but someone to believe in. Like a deity, we rejoiced at her very existence. And with congregation numbers falling post-war, she filled the gap that religion had left: her speeches, public appearances and household pageantry providing the British people a comparable hierarchy, a sense of mystery and, crucially, a reason for bank holidays. From the moment of her accession, people lined the streets to celebrate her, offering her flowers, bowing their heads in deference and reaching out their hands in the hope that she would take them in her gloved palm. They did not need telling – they simply flocked to her, thronging the pavements outside Buckingham Palace to glimpse her on the balcony. There she stood, set apart and pristine, accepting their adoration with a nod and the briefest of waves, knowing that they would all go home feeling as though they’d received a rare privilege.Seldom have I stopped to consider what a burden being such an icon must have been: of people adoring you without knowing you, heaping respect and plaudits upon you without ever having been close to you. Queen Elizabeth II was the poster girl for a country that gave her next to no control over public affairs, but still did an awful lot of things in her name. Bearing the weight of that responsibility, neither being able to share it nor talk about it publicly, for over seven decades, must have been exhausting. And yet she was indefatigable in her duty, undertaking hundreds of official events every year even in her nineties, as well as receiving regular briefings on politics and intelligence. Throughout the 70 years of her reign, she remainable steadfast, unshakeable and divinely committed to her duty.

Beyond all the praise for her wit and humour, her deeply embedded faith and her passion for Scotland, my hunch is that history will record Queen Elizabeth II’s devotion to her role above all else. Her commitment to the British people, no matter what they thought about her or wrote about her in the papers, never wavered, and she insisted on getting on with the job. Her valediction in her moving 70th-anniversary address – “Your servant” – identified quite clearly how she wanted to be remembered.

Whether you believed her position to be ordained by heaven, or whether you considered her unnecessary, Queen Elizabeth II’s unwavering dedication to an all-consuming, life-enduring vocation deserves our admiration. And, most importantly, our thanks.