Remembrance of Wars Past: A Sea of Poppies at the Tower of London

Ceramic poppies fill the Tower of London moat

“Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red” is the title of an art installation taking place at the Tower of London from August to November of this year, the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of the First World War.  The title comes from a poem written by an unknown soldier. People are invited to buy a ceramic poppy for the installation, up to a total of 888,246 poppies, one for every death in the British forces. The photo above is from The Guardian at http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/sep/01/tower-of-londons-ww1-remembrance-installation-share-your-photos-and-videos. The designer of the installation is Tom Piper.  Poppies are made by ceramic artist Paul Cummins.

The poppy above was photographed in the small military museum on the estate of Hever Castle, southwest of London.

TownMemorial

The memories of World War I extend all over England this year, into the smallest villages in the country. Most towns have a memorial built to remember the local soldiers fallen in the
“Great War.”  Sadly, within a few short decades new names had to be added from each town, with the outbreak of the Second World War.

Soldiers who fell in battle were buried in identically marked graves, regardless of their social or military rank.

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Many grieving families put up special memorials to their loved ones close to home. This plaque, in Salisbury Cathedral, poignantly remembers a nineteen-year-old soldier, Edward Wyndham Tennant. the son of a lord. He must have entered the war as an officer. He died in the Battle of the Somme in 1916. On the plaque above his marble relief portrait, a fellow soldier describes the young man’s leadership:  “When things were at their worst he would go up and down in the trenches cheering the men; when danger was greatest his smile was loveliest.”

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Those who could not fight helped the war effort in other ways, in both great wars.  All of the great British country houses I’ve visited on this trip have displays recalling their days as hospitals or military bases. Operating rooms were established in kitchens, and convalescent wards occupied Great Halls. Young aristocratic women rolled up their sleeves and cheerfully served as nurses.

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This is a year for Britons to recognize the sacrifices of those who served their country in the Great Wars.

Farewell to My Favorite Duchess, Deborah Mitford Devonshire

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Deborah Devonshire, known as “Debo” to her large family, died today at the age of 94.  She was the youngest of the famous (and notorious) Mitford sisters.  Deborah was considered a little dim by her lively eccentric family, but she was really as bright as the best of them; she just bloomed a little later.

One sister had a longstanding affair with a leader of the French Resistance in World War II, and wrote brilliant comic novels about English aristocratic life.  One sister married a Guinness, but soon left him for the leader of the British Fascists and spent the war years in prison with him. One sister became obsessed with Adolph Hitler and actually became his friend; she shot herself when England declared war on Germany and eventually died of her injuries.  One sister eloped with a man off to fight in the Spanish Civil War, then left that husband for a Communist and spent the rest of her life in the United States as a Communist sympathizer and agitator. Another sister led a quiet country life.  And then there was Deborah.

DeboWedding

During World War II, she married the younger son of an aristocratic family.  She expected a quiet country life, poor but happy. He unexpectedly became the Duke of Devonshire when his older brother, who had married Kathleen “Kick” Kennedy, was killed in combat in World War II. (Debo became a friend of President Kennedy; she attended his inauguration, which she playfully insisted on calling his “coronation.”) With the Dukedom came huge estates and grand country homes, nearly impossible to maintain.  The world was changing, as dramatized in the TV series Downton Abbey.

For the Devonshires, the solution to keeping Chatsworth, one of  the grandest and most historic stately homes in the country, was up to Deborah.  She rose to the challenge. She spruced up the house and made it ready for a steady stream of paying tourists.  She decided that tourists liked to eat and to buy things.  Soon she had restaurants and elegant shops selling everything from keychains to custom furniture.  She created a children’s farm so that city children could have hands-on experience of running a farm and seeing where the food in the grocery store came from.  She created a farm shop with her own Chatsworth brands of every kind of food grown on the vast estate. Her shops were “local and organic” decades before those terms became trendy.

When the Duke died, Deborah became the Dowager Duchess. She graciously moved out of the grand house and into a smaller house in the village.  There, to the end of her life, she wrote vastly entertaining memoirs and books about country life.  She listened to Elvis records:  she was a great fan.  She raised her beloved chickens and still oversaw every aspect of the thriving Chatsworth businesses that she had created almost single-handed.  May she rest in peace.

DeboChickens

The photos above are from a story about Deborah’s  life and death in the Daily Mail at http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2768095/BREAKING-NEWS-Last-Mitford-sisters-Dowager-Duchess-Devonshire-died-aged-94.html

Why I Love England, Mid-Trip

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Country towns that used to be powerful have magnificent cathedrals.  The one at Salisbury is breathtaking. This cathedral was completed in 1258 and has not changed since then.

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The Gothic ceiling of Salisbury Cathedral is a marvel of engineering.  These beautiful Gothic ceilings always make me feel like I’m in an orderly forest of tall majestic trees whose branches intertwine far above the ground.

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In the countryside, a horse is still transportation.  This pretty girl was contentedly chomping grass outside the National Trust property of Mottisfont, while her owner visited the museum and probably also had a spot of tea in the tearoom.

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Have I mentioned gardens, part of every historical and literary sight?  This lawn and flower bed grace the grounds at Uppark, a mansion where Queen Victoria’s son the Prince of Wales whiled away his time carousing.  The notorious playboy owner of Uppark finally settled down at age 70 when he married his milkmaid.  The writer H. G. Wells spent part of his boyhood at the mansion, where his mother worked as the housekeeper.

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And then there are the flowerboxes right outside my bed and breakfast in Woodstock.  Yes, I love England!

Jane Austen and Me: Six Degrees of Separation

JaneHouseJane Austen lived the last few years of her too-short life in tranquil Chawton, Hampshire, with her mother, her cherished sister Cassandra, and and a family friend. The women were in a precarious financial state after the death of Jane’s father.  Like most single women of their time, they had to depend on the kindness of relatives for a roof over their heads.

Edward Knight

Edward Knight

It was their good fortune that Jane’s brother Edward Knight was able to come to the rescue. Why was his name Edward Knight, not Edward Austen?  He had been formally adopted by a childless cousin of Jane’s father, Thomas Knight.  Thomas and his wife Catherine were wealthy and childless.  They made Edward their heir.  He inherited several estates, among them a grand house at Chawton.  The house came with a sizable but cozy cottage, which Edward made available to his mother and sisters for their lifetimes.

At last, in her thirties, Jane had a stable home.  She had begun writing as a teenager but had more or less given it up during the years that she had no settled home.  In Chawton, she established a routine of writing every morning at a little round table in front of the dining room window.  Her sister Cassandra took over morning household chores, giving Jane the freedom to write. In the afternoons, they took long walks in the countryside–just like Jane’s heroines. They also spent a lot of time visiting friends and relatives, including the wealthy connections Edward Knight was able to give them.

Jane's TableOn this humble little table, Jane wrote the classics we know and love: Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park, and Emma. Some of them she had begun earlier and had put away. Family lore had it that a squeaky door was purposely never oiled, so that Jane always had warning of visitors.  She would hastily hide her manuscript until the visitors had left.

Jane’s books dealt gently and humorously with the serious problems of women dependent on men for economic security.  As she knew all too well from her own life, an unmarried woman without a fortune of her own had very few options for survival.

I was deep in a discussion about Austen family history with a man stationed in the house, when I noticed that his name tag said, “Mr. Knight.”  Could it be?  Yes!  My Mr. Knight was a living, breathing, direct descendant of Jane’s brother! I think he looks just like his ancestor.

MeKnightIn England, it always seems to me that history comes to life!

Why I Love England

TyntFlowers

England is a nation of gardeners.  The flower beds above are at glorious Tyntesfield, a Victorian property rescued by the National Trust about 12 years ago.  Thanks to the Trust, it’s open to everyone.

Castles and cottages alike have lovingly tended flower beds everywhere.  The steady, temperate climate must have something to do with it, but it also takes people who have loved and cared for their land for generations.

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An old garden wall is as beautiful as the garden it shelters.

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A British dog knows its place in the world. This Westie is a connoisseur of cultural sights and also of scones with clotted cream and jam.

Topiaries

Topiaries?  The British are masters.  Nothing is too much trouble. This topiary looked at first like a dental chair, but I’m pretty sure it’s a peacock.

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English is my native language, so there’s no struggle to understand what I’m hearing or reading. I can read all the signs, and the signs tend to be friendly.  This one, at Tyntesfield, invites me: “Have a sit down!” Thank you.  I don’t mind if I do!

 

 

Stonehenge Without the Crowds

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The Autumn Equinox is nearly upon us, and many people like to celebrate it at an ancient sacred sight such as Stonehenge.  I hadn’t planned to visit Stonehenge on this trip, having been there before.  But my route took me within two miles right at sunset, and I couldn’t resist.  The highway passes right beside the ancient stone circle.  Traffic crawled along; there was plenty of time to take in the awesome sight right from the highway.  Maybe it was the equinox, or maybe it was just some kind of Sunday evening rush hour.  Whatever the reason, I joined a long line of cars slowly making its way past the circle. Magic! No parking, no tickets, no shuttlebus from the parking lot, no grousing about the new roads and high-tech visitor’s center.

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I did make a visit to nearby Avebury, a pretty village that has grown up inside a stone cirlce believed to be even older and more important than Stonehenge.

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Some people were dressed in special Equinox finery. I saw a lot of happy-looking people in capes and floral wreaths.

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Quite a few people were camping nearby, with the approval of the National Trust organization. Children climbed trees and dogs frolicked.

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Actually, I prefer Avebury to Stonehenge.  It has all the mystery and none of the hype of the more famous circle.  The Avebury stones are smaller but the circle is much larger. The site is more relaxed but every bit as awe-inspiring as Stonehenge. How many thousands of generations of sheep have been calmly grazing around the ancient mysterious stones of Avebury?

 

A Siren and a Siren Suit

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

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Scotland’s Still In

Braveheart

The people of Scotland voted yesterday, pretty resoundingly, to remain in the United Kingdom. Considering the turmoil and violence of the past, this was a very civilized historic event. British government leaders made impassioned appeals to the people of Scotland to reject independence, and promised significant changes if they did. Now it’s time to make good on those promises. I’m in England, watching British TV, and this is the big news story of the week.

It’s surprising to learn how important the 1995 movie, directed by and starring Mel Gibson, was to Scots in their drive for independence.  The 13th century real-life William Wallace was probably a much darker and more complex man than he appears in the movie, but the stirring scenes of battle and eloquent speeches on freedom are still affecting Scots two decades after the Academy Award-winning movie. Leaders of the independence drive regularly referred to the movie as a source of Scottish pride.

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British people seem to have a special fondness for Scots.  In large cities, it is fairly common to encounter a bagpiper in kilt and full Scottish regalia, playing on a street corner. Today at Blenheim Palace I spotted a Scottish soldier in a display of hundreds and hundreds of accurate models, made by the British Model Soldier Society. The Society, founded in 1935, meets monthly in London. Its members do extensive historical research before approving any of the wonderfully detailed models (which are about 3-4 inches tall). The model above depicts a private in the Black Watch regiment in 1815.

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Above is an even earlier Scottish soldier from 1684, the Royal Scots 1st of Foot. The union of England and Scotland has deep historical roots.  I hope the Scots get the changes they were promised and the union continues with benefits to both sides.

The Braveheart image above is the theatrical release poster.  The film is available from Amazon.

 

Winston Churchill: How the Bulldog Got His Scowl

Digitally restored vector portrait of Sir Winston Churchill.

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

The Bulldog and the Marmalade Cat

 

 

 

Photo from Daily Mail article cited below

Photo from Daily Mail article cited below

When the family of Sir Winston Churchill left the family’s country estate, Chartwell, in the care of England’s National Trust organization in 1966, there was an important condition:  there must always be a marmalade cat with a white bib and four white socks, and the cat’s name must always be Jock.

Jock V recently retired to the Scottish countryside when his person, a staff member at Chartwell, retired.  Jock VI just took up residence.

I’ve been reading a biography of Winston Churchill, The Last Lion, by William Manchester. The man who stood up to Nazi tyranny when the situation seemed hopeless had a very unhappy childhood.  His parents, Randolph Churchill and the American Jennie Jerome, were socially and politically prominent–and they had very little time for their son.  They wrote him off as a dullard, not even fit for university.  Instead he went into the military–a choice that later served him well.  As a child of only seven years old, WInston was put on a train all by himself and sent off to an expensive but abusive boarding school where he was miserable.  He only escaped two years later, when he had a chance to show his beloved childhood nanny the welts he carried from regular beatings. He rebelled against authority all through his childhood and young adulthood, even as he pursued his own political ambitions.

When Sir Winston had his own family, he wanted to create a happy home life.  Jock the marmalade cat was part of that secure, loving home Sir Winston wanted to provide for his own family.  I’m hoping to meet Jock VI when I travel to England soon. I’ll salute the man whose own struggles taught him to be both tough and tender.

http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/chartwell/visitor-information/article-1355828124885/

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2578050/New-marmalade-kitten-installed-Sir-Winston-Churchills-country-estate-honour-dying-wish-wartime-prime-minister.html