Bagehot: Once in a lifetime BEFORE Queen Elizabeth's Silver Jubilee in 1977, the villagers of West Hoathly in Sussex were placed under secret observation. A file was drawn up, noting their views on the monarchy, the country and the impending celebrations. The royal family was marvellous but these festivities had better not cost too much, said one villager, recorded as "Nurse, female, 50," explaining: "People are not in the mood." West Hoathly was reliably monarchist, the file records, with anti-republican sentiment boosted by recent American elections ("Fancy having Jimmy Carter," a villager shuddered). But still its Jubilee enthusiasts sounded a bit bleak. We're due a celebration, said "Male, 53" - we've made it to 1977 without a nuclear war. The files were commissioned by Mass Observation, a private social-research project that has studied the British since the 1930s. In all, 107 volunteers were recruited to record the Silver Jubilee. Their diaries and notes, together with complementary files on the 2002 Golden Jubilee, now form part of a vast archive held at Sussex University. On the eve of Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee - to be marked from June 2nd to 5th - the archives offer a remarkably evocative glimpse of the recent past. The 1977 files describe a country that was tired and riven by industrial conflict. Its people talked of feeling a bit lost, and yet - from a distance of 35 years - they seem enviably grounded in a shared culture with deep roots. There was striking uniformity to their celebrations. Invited to have fun, people first grumbled then formed committees. It is remembered that at previous royal jubilees children were given commemorative mugs, prompting endless rows about paying for them. The Vicar! He needs grinding up afresh, that one," fumed a farmer's wife in north Wiltshire, on learning that her Women's Institute branch must buy mugs. "Not that I'm criticising him, of course," she added hastily. Celebrations in 1977 involved children's food - sausage rolls and jelly, hot dogs and ice cream - and beer for the grown-ups. There were violent sporting contests, from tugs-of-war to free-form football matches. To conquer reserve, fancy dress was worn, often involving men in women's clothing. From the West Midlands came news of an all-transvestite football game, with the laconic annotation: "all ended up in the canal." London displayed both patriotic zeal (flag-draped pubs in Brick Lane, big street parties in Muswell Hill) and hostility (cheerless housing estates, slogans declaring "Stuff the Jubilee"). Scotland was a nation apart. A file reports "total apathy" in Croy. In Glasgow the anniversary was called "an English jubilee." Snobs sneered along with Scots. At Eton College, a wooden Jubilee pyramid was smashed by old boys. At Oxford University, examinations were held on Jubilee Day, in a display of indifference. The Silver Jubilee is not really about the monarchy, asserts a file from south Wiltshire: the day is about "people wanting a bit of fun." A report from Wimbotsham in Norfolk, close to a royal estate at Sandringham, stands out for its focus on the queen's 25 years on the throne. Locals held a service on the village green, praying for the monarch in "happy togetherness" under dripping umbrellas before a tug-of-war, races and tea for 700. By 2002 and the Golden Jubilee, Britain comes across as a busier, lonelier, more cynical place. The royal family was "just showbiz," sniffed a diarist from Sussex. There is angry talk of Princess Diana and how her 1997 death was mishandled by the queen. There are fewer street parties than in 1977, all agree. This is variously blamed on apathy, the authorities (whose job it is to organise events, apparently) and above all on health-and-safety rules. In 1977, in contrast, one Wiltshire village cheerfully let a "pyromaniac" doctor take Jubilee fireworks home to add extra bangs. The 2012 Jubilee finds Britain changed again. Diamond jubilees being rare (the last was achieved by Queen Victoria in 1897), the queen is firmly at the centre of the celebrations. Local councils have received more than 8,000 applications to close roads for street parties, suggesting that 2002"s passivity is fading. The country is not returning to 1977 and its home-made fancy-dress costumes or Coronation bunting dug out of attics. Today's shops heave with Jubilee cakes, disposable decorations and flag-emblazoned baubles, letting consumers buy patriotism out of a box. After 60 years on the throne, a jubilee about the queen Visiting Wimbotsham, Bagehot is shown elaborate plans: cake-baking contests, pony rides, a teddy bears" picnic, a sports day, a pensioners" tea. But there will be no tug-of-war (people might hurt themselves) and the face painters have liability insurance. Still, the festivities will dwarf those seen in 2002, locals say. The monarchy endured a "big lull after Diana," suggests David Long, the driving force behind Wimbotsham's Diamond Jubilee. As the queen grows older, she is "more highly thought of." Linda Nixon, a Wimbotsham pensioner, credits Prince William's royal wedding with reviving enthusiasm. Prince William and his brother Prince Harry are "like everyday people," she says. In the Mass Observation Silver Jubilee files, critics grumble about the monarchy costing too much or entrenching privilege. Supporters say the queen confers global prestige or offers a bulwark against constitutional meddling by politicians. In short, the debate is about the best way to organise society. In both Golden and Diamond Jubilee Britain, by contrast, the issue is whether the queen deserves to be respected, and whether the public can relate to her. In short, individualism is all. Diamond Jubilee Britain seems to be a hybrid. As in 1977, an unhappy nation fancies being cheered up, and the monarchy fits the bill. As in 2002, a truculent nation demands a monarchy on its own, emotional terms. Is that sustainable? Perhaps not, but it promises to be a fine party.