Category Archives: Historical Figures

Sir Winston’s Cat

When I was planning my trip to England, I read about the new kitten that recently took up residence at Chartwell, the country home of Sir Winston Churchill. When Churchill’s family gave the property to the National Trust to become a museum in 1966, they specified that there must always be on the property a marmalade cat with a white bib and white boots. Sir Winston had owned such a cat for many years. The Chartwell cat must always be named “Jock,” after the family’s beloved pet. Jock V recently retired to Scotland, and the perfect Jock VI was located in a local animal shelter. I wrote about Sir WInston’s unhappy childhood and his determination to create a happy home for his own children in a previous post, “The Bulldog and the Marmalade Cat” at https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/09/12/the-bulldog-an…-marmalade-cat/ ‎

When I visited Chartwell yesterday, I searched for Jock in the Rose Garden, the woodland walkways, beside the pond with the black swans, and in the flower beds beside Sir Winston’s painting studio. I was leaving, disappointed, when who should spring right into my path?

Jock had his eye on something in the shrubbery.

He perched on a branch, watching the ground intently and switching his orange-and-white-striped tail.

Then he turned around and very briefly glanced at me, the tourist excitedly taking his picture. Jock certainly has some of Sir WInston’s charisma and supreme self-confidence. I also think some of Sir Winston’s political acumen has already rubbed off on Jock. He is a busy cat with countless demands on his time. But like any good politician, he took a moment to pose for me. He showed off the “target” design on his side that marks him as a classic tabby.

Sir Winston Churchill was a soldier, a statesman, a Nobel prize-winning writer, and a great orator who led his country to victory over seemingly insurmountable odds. His childhood was lonely and unhappy; his father actively disliked him and never missed an opportunity to tell him that he would never amount to anything. His beautiful mother rarely paid him any attention. Young Winston was ambitious and ruthless in getting what he wanted, but he was also far more compassionate than either of his parents. He was a loving family man with a soft spot for a marmalade cat. I feel that I know Sir Winston better than I did before.

Maybe Jock wanted to get closer? Maybe he fancied being scratched behind his ears? No such luck. Jock was needed elsewhere. The entire estate is his responsibility. Off he went at a gallop. No matter. He made my day!

A Siren and a Siren Suit

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The birth of Winston Churchill, the future Prime Minister, was a shocking surprise and a bit of a scandal. His father, Randolph Churchill, was related to the Dukes of Marlborough, whose seat was (and still is) the over-the-top Blenheim Palace just outside Woodstock. His mother was the famous American beauty Jennie Jerome. The couple’s engagement went on longer than they wished, due to financial negotiations, and the bride was very soon noticeably pregnant. Jennie was a headstrong free spirit. She was not about to give up the admiration of everyone on the dance floor just because of her condition. By all accounts, she was as lovely and alluring as ever in the final stages of pregnancy.

Jennie Jerome Churchill, , circa 1880, Public Domain

So Jennie was dancing, with abandon, in a diaphonous flowing gown when she suddenly went into labor–“prematurely,” or so the story went. Winston was born about two months sooner than anyone expected, in the Palace that many people consider more grand than any palaces of actual British royalty.

The surprise birth took place in a small and rather plain bedroom close to the grand state rooms, where the band played on. A glass box displays the baby’s infant vest.

Much later in life, when he was Britain’s wartime Prime Minister, Sir Winston wore a “siren suit” during air raids. Many people, men and women, had one. We’d call it a “jumpsuit:” a loose full-length garment, designed to be zipped into over pajamas on the way to the air raid shelter.

By today’s standards, Jennie Jerome would be considered a terrible mother–selfish before her child was born, and even more selfish afterward in pursuing her often scandalous social life. She paid very little attention to Winston as he grew up. He was raised almost entirely by a beloved nanny. Yet in later life, Jennie became almost like a sister to her son, advising him and using her wide social and political connections to further his career. The little bedroom in Blenheim Palace is where a remarkable life began.

Winston Churchill: How the Bulldog Got His Scowl

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The iconic photograph of Winston Churchill, with his famous bulldog scowl, appeared on the cover of “Life Magazine” in 1945, toward the end of World War II. When newsman Edward R. Murrow saw it, he remarked, “Ah, there is the face which marshalled the English language and sent it to battle when we had little else.” The photo was taken by Yousuf Karsh in 1941.

All through the war, starting when England faced the enemy alone, Churchill roused and encouraged his people with his words. His most famous phrase was “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” The words were first spoken at Churchill’s first cabinet meeting as Prime Minister on May 13, 1940. He repeated them in the House of Commons the same day, and soon his words of defiance and courage went out over the airwaves to every British home and workplace. The stirring words were, in part, “We have before us many, many months of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I can say: It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny…You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.” The words, even on the page decades later, cause goosebumps. Victory looked very unlikely when the words were spoken.

How did Mr. Karsh, one of the greatest portrait photographers of all time, capture this iconic image? He was sent to photograph the great man on a visit to Canada in 1941, before Pearl Harbor and before the United States became fully committed to the fight. Churchill had just addressed the Canadian Parliament. He was weary. He told the photographer he had exactly two minutes. Then Churchill began chomping on a cigar. The photographer politely held out an ashtray. Churchill continued chomping. So Mr. Karsh walked up, begged Churchill’s pardon, and pulled the cigar out of the Prime Minister’s mouth. (Where did he get the nerve?) By the time the photographer got back to his camera, the bulldog scowl was there. And amazingly, Mr. Churchill softened. He allowed more photographs, but the one that had taken him by surprise became his most famous image.

The photo is from the article cited below.

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2013/03/06/winston-churchills-bulldog-scowl-yousuf-karshs-iconic-photograph_n_2818281.html

Tyntesfield: Mr. Gibbs Made His Dibs

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William Gibbs’s son Antony did not take over the family business as expected. The story went that William would not allow it, after he observed that the boy could not add four columns of figures simultaneously (I wonder how many of us would pass that test?) I doubt Antony was disappointed. He managed the Tyntesfield estates and charities, became an accomplished carver of ivory, and puttered with inventions such as a bicycle which supposedly stored energy going downhill and used it when going uphill. It didn’t work, though.

Instead, William’s nephew Henry Hucks Gibbs took over the company. Henry was elevated to the peerage, becoming Baron Aldenham in 1896. (What exactly is the peerage, anyway? A subject for another post). Henry also became Governor of the Bank of England, earning him the popular jingle which forever followed the Gibbs family: “Mr. Gibbs made his dibs, Selling the turds of foreign birds.” Not very elegant, but it certainly told the story. And he must have laughed all the way to the bank.

The little ditty no doubt followed George Abraham Gibbs, a war hero who moved in higher social circles than his humbler ancestors.

George became 1st Lord Wraxall and Treasurer of the Royal Household–an example of the new commercial and industrial wealth overtaking older titled families.

The 2nd Lord Wraxall, known as Richard, inherited the title at the age of 3. His mother, Ursula, Lady Wraxall, presided at Tyntesfield until she died in 1979. She received an OBE for her services to the war effort. During World War II, the house became a medical distribution center, with the books in the library replaced by bandages. It was also a convalescent home for American soldiers, who stage reunions there to this day.

When he came of age, the 2nd Lord Wraxall (Richard) served with the Coldstream Guards, then took over management of the estate. He maintained the house and grounds as they were, not following the lead of so many great homes in getting rid of Victorian furniture and features as they became unfashionable. He never married, and ended up living alone in the house with most of the rooms closed. When he died unexpectedly in 2001, the place was a treasure trove of Victorian items from the past 150 years.

Join me next time when I consider the very challenging acquisition of the house by the National Trust. It’s one of the chapters in the fascinating story of the history and art of the British Isles.

Moonwalk with Ludwig

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“King Ludwig II of Bavaria,” Ferdinand Piloty, 1865, Public Domain

Ludwig II of Bavaria identified with Louis XIV, the Sun King of France. (In German, Ludwig is the same name as Louis). The trouble was, the French King Louis XIV actually was an absolute monarch who expanded and presided over quite a large and powerful empire.

Louis XIV by Rigaud, Public Domain

Louis XIV was also a warrior. He actually led his own forces in the battlefield. Ludwig? Not so much. And he had little interest in the day-to-day work of government. Ludwig was a monarch of the kingdom of Bavaria, which was much smaller and less powerful than France. Through no real fault of Ludwig’s, Bavaria was more or less eaten up by Germany, under Kaiser Wilhelm I of Prussia, during his reign. But while Bavarian independence lasted, Ludwig was a much-loved monarch of a proud independent kingdom.

He visited Versailles early in his reign. When he came home, he decided to build a dream home–or maybe two or three or four dream homes. Linderhof Palace, where he actually spent a lot of time, was designed as a mini-Versailles-for-one. It is in French Rococo style and has any number of references to the Sun King, including this ceiling medallion in the main entry.

But Ludwig called himself the Moon King. He often stayed up all night and slept all day. He was fond of moonlit sleighrides. Pulled by four white horses, he rode in solitary splendor, enjoying the spectacular Bavarian landscape of mountains, foothills and farms.

During these forays into the countryside, he would often stop and visit with the locals, who adored him. His life was lonely, but by all accounts at least some of his servants and a few of his peers became loyal and trusted friends. The movie Ludwig, directed by Luchino Visconti, touchingly describes some of these friendships, which lasted to the untimely end of Ludwig’s life.

Michael Jackson in Vienna, Austria, 1988, Zoran Veselinovic, Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike

If I had to make a modern comparison, I would compare Ludwig IV to Michael Jackson. I would not want to offend fans of either man by carrying the comparison too far. But both of them were romantic, idealistic, talented, misunderstood, and wildly famous but still lonely. Both of them died far too early in mysterious circumstances. And both died accompanied only by their physicians. Sometimes the past can help us understand the present.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe!

Linderhof: “Mad” King Ludwig’s Real Home

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Last fall I was finally able to visit Linderhof Palace, King Ludwig II’s favorite home, at a time when the grotto was open. I was anxious to see it, especially after watching Luchino Visconti’s very fine film Ludwig, about the life and mysterious death of the notorious Bavarian king.

Ludwig built Linderhof as his own personal getaway. In fact, it was the ultimate bachelor pad. But he enjoyed the place in solitary splendor; he rarely if ever had visitors. He built a special music room for his favorite composer, Richard Wagner, but Wagner never saw it. The grounds are breathtaking, and because the palace is quite small, each room looks out onto a beautiful manicured view with pristine mountains in the background.

Linderhof Palace

In Visconti’s 1972 film Ludwig, the king is played by Visconti’s real-life romantic partner and muse, Helmut Berger.

It is hard to say how accurate the life story is. But it is certain that Ludwig was an eccentric and dreamy romantic. His people loved him, but he was not much of a king when it was time to hang the ermine in the closet and get some work done.

One of Ludwig’s very few friends was his cousin, the Austrian Empress Elisabeth, nicknamed Sisi. She was famously married to the Emperor when she was only 15, and spent the rest of her life wanting out. She is played by Romy Schneider (who also played Sisi in the very silly but entertaining semi-fictional series of Sissi movies).

The grotto was built up the hill behind the castle. The entrance looks like a fort a very ambitious child might build.

But the grotto itself is as jaw-droppingly weird and beautiful as it was in Ludwig’s day. He had Wagner’s operas performed inside for his own personal pleasure. The water was heated, so that he could swim in it if he tired of being rowed around in his gilded shell boat. And the lighting could change colors depending on his mood, or the mood of the opera scene.

Ludwig’s Grotto

The grotto is still festooned with the floral swags that Visconti’s movie crew put up. The film has a fantastic scene where an Austrian actor is taken into the grotto to meet Ludwig, who wants him to recite dramatic speeches 24/7. Helmut Berger, as Ludwig, floats out of the gloom in his shell boat, wearing a dark overcoat and a black Homburg–with an enormous diamond brooch pinned to the side. He fixes the actor with an imperious, piercing stare. The actor tries hard to be Ludwig’s New Best Friend, but the friendship ends badly and Ludwig is alone again.

Nearby Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau Castles are justly famous, but they are overrun with tourists. Armed with a Bavarian Castles Pass, I actually went to Linderhof twice during my last trip. One day it was rainy, the next it was sunny. I can’t say I had the place to myself, but there was time and space enough to ponder the mysterious life of Ludwig.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe!