MPs, noble lords, police officers, 22-year-old parliamentary staffers in their bright green lanyards: all wore a wide-eyed look of nervous disbelief as they lined up to walk through the wide old doors of Westminster Hall. All morning, the parliamentary estate had felt like one of those reality TV show stunts where a young woman leaves the house to go to work only to find her wedding day waiting for her on the driveway.

There was an unmistakable sense that it couldn’t really be happening, even as it was happening. Soon, standing to address them there on those cold stone steps, would be The Man In The Khaki Jumper, Volodymr Zelensky. Grand occasions such as these are never knowingly under-drumrolled. This time we had been given precisely three hours’ notice. It was a thrillingly low-key affair, too. No red carpets, no bugles, not even so much as a seat, for anyone — standing room only. The high and the comparatively lowly of the village of Westminster, all packed in together.

World leaders do address the Palace of Westminster from Westminster Hall from time to time. Nelson Mandela did it. So did Barack Obama and the Pope. And when they did, they were greeted like the great statesmen they were.

Zelensky, on the other hand, was greeted like a rock star. As his combat boots made their slow way up the short steps, and the crowds caught their first glimpse of those famous combat fatigues, it was as if Elvis Presley had wandered on stage at the Grand Ole Opry. They whooped, they cheered, they went as wild as you possibly can in the middle of the working day.

In the flesh, it is clear to see how Zelensky moves almost with a swagger — not of arrogance, but of purpose. As if every step in front of him is one more on the road to victory, and he will get there, however long it takes.

They sat him on a chair at the top of the steps, where a few months ago the new King had been received; a de facto throne for the man who really has emerged as the High Prince of the free world.

It is very hard to pass through the cold and cavernous Westminster Hall without feeling the ghosts of history. But it feels so very historic precisely because history happens there. Kings and Queens and, occasionally, prime ministers lie there in their coffins because they were the living things through which history passed.

This, frankly, was not like that. It was not a moment of history, it was a moment of the present. Zelensky had not come here to give thanks, to pay tribute, to lay a wreath and go back to his day. He was here, in his combat clothes, to rally the troops; to let us know that the fight isn’t over and he needs our help. He has addressed the House of Commons once before, that time over video link and requiring live translation. This time he spoke in English, and with almost his first sentence, said words that will not be soon forgotten by anyone who heard them. Last time round, he deliberately quoted Churchill. This time, he sounded like him, though the words were his own.

“I have come to stand before you on behalf of the brave,” he said. He was about to list precisely who those people are — soldiers, air force pilots, ordinary men and women who are fighting not just for their country but for the ideas they and the rest of us believe in — but he could hardly be heard above the applause. Westminster Hall echoes like an ancient cathedral. Those particular words will be bouncing around the rafters for decades to come. There is always an occasion — be it an anniversary or an untimely death — at which a president or prime minister must stand on a stage and find the best words they can to articulate the values for which people fought and died in a time and a manner that none of them can truly imagine. They say what they have to say, then return to the day job.