What can centuries-old royal carriages teach us about modern innovation?
By Peter Zanatta, Liveryman, Coachmakers’ Company / Managing Director, Attanz Research
________________________________________
Earlier this May, my partner Elena treated me to a rather original birthday trip: a few days in Stockholm combining two things I’d never done before — visiting the Royal Coach Museum and attending my first-ever ice hockey game. Quite the combination, and as it turned out, one with far more overlap than I might have expected.
Elena, being far more versed in the intricacies of ice hockey than me, secured us tickets to the Ice Hockey World Championships at Stockholm’s Avicii Arena, where Austria faced off against Finland. Finland won — though unexpectedly, according to her running commentary — but for me, the real spectacle was the atmosphere itself. There’s an undeniable energy in seeing a game live, even if, from my vantage point, it mostly seemed to involve a lot of people bashing each other with sticks (legally most of the time, I’m assured).
But the main event for me was found a little more quietly beneath the Royal Palace itself: Stockholm’s Royal Coach Museum — or more formally, the Royal Armoury (Livrustkammaren), located in the palace’s underground vaults. For those of us in the Coachmakers, it offers more than simply an afternoon’s diversion; it’s a quiet but vivid reminder of why our livery company exists in the first place.
Stockholm in May is charming, even if the weather was still a little brisk by British standards — 12°C on a good day. The city itself is beautifully clean, safe, and meticulously organised, which rather throws into sharp relief the somewhat less orderly state of London these days. The Old Town (Gamla Stan), where both the palace and museum sit, offers a maze of cobbled streets, narrow alleys, and excellent restaurants — highly recommended to anyone visiting. And as you wander, you quickly become aware of Sweden’s royal history and its once sizeable Scandinavian empire, which at various times included Finland and parts of the Baltic. I was particularly intrigued to learn that Swedish Vikings — unlike their Norwegian and Danish cousins — were more focused on trade than pillage. Given that my family traces its lineage back to the Vikings, I’m still left wondering whether I descend from the trading stock or the slightly more “active acquisition” branch.
The Royal Coach Museum itself is easy to miss if you’re not looking for it — included with the wider Royal Palace ticket, it lacks the fanfare of larger royal collections. But once inside, you’re greeted by a remarkably preserved set of royal state coaches, sleighs, harnesses and liveries, spanning several centuries of Swedish ceremonial history.
Having visited the Royal Mews in London more than once, I was struck by how comparable — and in many ways complementary — the Swedish collection is. The threads of craftsmanship, ceremony, and the blending of form and function run through both. What particularly caught my attention was the sheer variety on display. The state coaches are, as one might expect, the centrepieces: gleaming with gilded panels, intricate carvings and royal crests, reminding us that these vehicles were as much about projection of power as they were about practical movement.
Yet equally fascinating were the winter sleighs — entirely logical when you consider Stockholm’s often brutal winters. Unlike the weighty carriages, the sleighs were stripped back for practicality: simple, elegant, and surprisingly modern in their design efficiency. Standing before these enormous state coaches — some weighing several tonnes — one couldn’t help but wonder how on earth they ever navigated frozen or snow-covered roads. The sleighs, by contrast, represented a masterclass in adaptation: built for purpose, dictated by environment.
The decisions these craftsmen made weren’t simply aesthetic — they were solutions to very real operational problems. This constant balancing act between elegance and functionality, ceremony and utility, feels oddly familiar even today, whether one is dealing with engineering, aviation, or any number of complex modern industries. The language of design constraints, it seems, hasn’t changed much in several centuries.
And behind these magnificent carriages sat the craftsmen themselves — wheelwrights, painters, metalworkers, upholsterers, and of course, coachbuilders — whose combined expertise produced not just beautiful artefacts, but highly specialised machines, built to operate in the particular demands of Sweden’s climate. This blend of applied engineering and artistry remains just as relevant today as it was centuries ago — whether applied to physical transport or to the digital infrastructures that underpin much of the modern world. While the technologies may have changed, the core principles endure: understand the environment, adapt the solution, and deliver both form and function. And occasionally, add just the right amount of gold leaf to remind everyone who paid for it.
In many ways, visiting collections like Stockholm’s is not merely an exercise in nostalgia or historical curiosity. They provide an opportunity to reflect on how enduring these principles truly are. Markets evolve, technologies advance, but solving complex, practical challenges with a mix of ingenuity and applied craft remains at the heart of many fields — whether building coaches or building companies.
All in all, Stockholm’s Royal Coach Museum proved to be a hidden gem — and one I would recommend to anyone with even a passing interest in craft, history or simply well-built things. For a Coachmaker, it serves as a vivid reminder that while the vehicles may have changed, the essence of the craft — the thoughtful combination of design, function, and execution — continues to endure, quietly informing how we still approach problem-solving today.
