History on my doorstep. The First Battle of Newbury.

The cycle home was very different from the one I had made into town.  And I don't mean it was even colder, though it was.  After our brilliant talk from local historian, Dave Stubbs, I was able to imagine the King's Army marching up this hill in late summer, 1943, and Lord Falkland charging to his death just to the west.  I wondered too about all those unknown soldiers still lying in the earth beneath us.  Between three and five thousand died that day.  

Imagine what it must have been like to live in war torn Newbury. 

The first battle of Newbury was held on 20 Sept 1643.  During this era Parliament was challenging the power of the King as he was getting way too big for his boots and taking terrible economic liberties. There were no armies in those days.  Employers armed their workers and told them what side they were on.  Friends and family membes often found themselves on opposing sides. No wonder the town could not talk about the war afterwards. It was not until the Victorian era that a monument was erected in Wash Common, one that took a somewhat biased Royalist apprch to boot. 

Seting the scene for our very local battle, the first point to make is that the summer of 1643 had progressed very successfully for the royalists.  In June, Prince Rupert had captured the country's second wealthiest city, the key port of Bristol. By August most of the South West, was in royalist control. The Severn valley became the heart of the royalist war effort, only the strategically important city of Gloucester held out. It controlled both road and river communication in the region, standing between the royalist headquarters at Oxford and their suppliers, supporters and recruits in the West and South Wales. Charles needed to secure the city.  But the parliamentarian Governor of Gloucester, Colonel Massey, had refused to surrender.  Unwilling to repeat the heavy losses that had resulted from the storming of Bristol, Charles had besieged the city. 

At the end of August the parliamentarian Earl of Essex, with an army some 15,000 strong, set out from London for the relief of Gloucester. On learning of Essex’s approach Charles raised the siege on the 5th September and withdrew southward. Gloucester had been relieved, but Essex still had to safely return his army to London. It was Charles's intention to bring Essex to battle and bring a swift end to the war. 

Newbury was a key location on the main route back to London and the royalists managed to reach the town before Essex, blocking his path to London. Battle was inevitable.  The town was broadly supportive of the Parliamentary cause as the King had really upset them over cloth money.  King Charles took an army of Londoners, and Prince Rupert, leaving the city undefended.  On the morning of 20th September 1643 he fought the battle of Newbury with parliament's main field army under the Earl of Essex.  Although the royalists had blocked his path in the approach to Newbury, the Earl had managed to outmanoeuvre them, forcing them to engage him in a largely enclosed landscape. Here Charles' troops would have great difficulty in exploiting their enormous advantage in cavalry.  Had they had a better understanding of the geopraphy they would have easily won.  Dave Stubbs suggested that a decisive victory for Chrales could well have sewn the seeds for a revolution similar to that seen in France later.  Imagine England as a republic and Newbury being an instrument in that process. 

As it was, Essex's strength was in infantry; in the deep lanes, and in fields with embanked hedgerows, which covered much of the land to the south west of Newbury, giving him a distinct advantage. The resulting action ended in a bloody draw, leaving the road to London open for the parliamentarian army. 

Newbury was perhaps the last point at which the royalists had a real chance of winning the war. In this first battle of Newbury, the Earl of Essex achieved his only major military success, but one which ultimately marked the turning point of the whole war.

Newbury is also one of the major battles of the war where there is real uncertainty about the detailed placing of the action within the landscape and it is one of the most threatened of English battlefields. Already much of the south eastern periphery of the battlefield is built over, with only a small area of Wash Common remaining undeveloped, to the east of Wash Common Farm. In the north east there has also been considerable development, with modern housing on the edge of Newbury continuing to encroach upon the battlefield.  Across the northern edge of the battlefield the Kennet and Avon canal was cut in the 18th century, and far more destructively, the A34 Newbury bypass was constructed from north to south across the field, though probably largely to the rear of the parliamentarian positions.

During this battle Lord Falkland, Lucius Carey, lost his life.  He is an amazing personality and the subject of a future post. 

ack.

UK Battlefields Trust
DAvid Stubbs

St Pancras Old Church

St Pancras Old Church is just five minutes walk from St Pancras International Railway Station and is dedicated to the Christian martyr Saint Pancras, who was executed by the Romans at the age of fourteen when he refused to denounce his faith.  He is the patron saint of children. 

The Church is believed to be one of the oldest sites of Christian worship in England, perhaps dating back to AD 314. Roman tiles, Norman elements and Saxon altar stone have all been found on the site.  There are references to the Church in The Doomsday Book.  

In the fourteenth century the local population abandoned the site and moved to what is now Kentish Town.  The River Fleet, which is now underground, runs through the churchyard and made it very vulnerable to flooding and this probably prompted the relocation. The Church subsequently fell into disrepair.  It was then used by Catholics, being one of only the only places where they were able to be buried.  J C Bach was buried here along with many French refugees.  It seems to have been a place for outsiders.  Quick weddings were also performed with no questions asked.  Mary Wollstonecraft, the early feminist, was married here when pregnant in 1797.  She died soon afterwards and was buried here.  

In the mid 19th century the Church was restored.  There were further restorations in 1888,
in 1925 when the plaster ceiling and the side galleries were removed, and in 1948 following

bomb damage. The building was designated a grade II* listed building in 1954. 

Inside the Church is small, simple and homely.  The surrounding area has seen massive

development and the Church's community appears to thriving.

The Churchyard is mainly grass and tended by Camden Council.  However before it's closure in
1854 it had seen almost 100,000 burials in 150 years.  As well as Mary and J C Bach, 
John Soane, (see my earlier post about his museum) and his wife Eliza are buried here along
with their eldest son John in the wonderful mauseleum which John Snr designed for Eliza.  It's
style was very unusual at the time and later influenced the design of the telephone box.  It is now 
a Grade 1 listed building. Edit

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As you can see, one side is blank, I wonder if it were intended for George, the rebellious younger son, who fell out of favour.

During the building of the Midland Railway in the mid nineteenth century, the graves needed to be relocated. This task was painstakingly overseen by none other than my hero, Thomas Hardy.  Here are some re-arranged tomb stones by the 'Hardy Tree'.


At the beginning of this century, the graveyard was once again thoroughly excavated to make way for High Speed 2. 

And below is Mary's grave.  Her remains were removed during the upheaval of the Midland Railway and taken to Bournemouth. Mary, who died in her late thirties as a result of childbirth wrote 'The Vindication of the Rights of Woman'.  If she had lived longer and thus had more impact, I think feminism may have been upon us sooner.  The child she gave birth to was Mary Shelley, the well known writer.

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An afternoon at the Royal Academy

I visit the RA whenever I can; not only to see the wonderful exhibitions they put on, but also to take my lovely girl out to lunch. 

First I saw Premiums, the mid year show for RA schools. Total fun!  Art in all it's forms, performance, video and paintings.  I cannot wait till the final show this summer. 

It has been suggested that the latest exhibiton 'Painting the Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse' was designed to pull in crowds.  Obviously it is a diffiicult one; foot fall is needed to pay bills but surely making art available and of interest to all is an honourable objective.  And this exhibiton goes so much deeper than mere entertainment.  I was really moved, especially by the final rooms.  Jonathon Jones' review says it all. 

http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2016/jan/25/painting-the-modern-garden-monet-to-matisse-review-royal-academy-london

Despite the crowds I soon relaxed into this fantastic show.  I had not realised that Monet was a keen gardner. How many people did he employ in his gardens?  I wonder. Gardening as a pastime was just coming into it's own in the late nineteenth amd early twentieth centuries, which are the focus of the exhibition.  Many of Monet's contemporaries shared his enthusiasm for gardening and depict garden in their work.  The impressionists Renoir, Pissarro, Caillebotte, Matisse and Van Gogh are all here.  I also loved the input from Klimt and Munch.  The finale is the best.  As an old man Monet painted weeping willows, and water lilies full of gloom and sadness. This was in response to his widowerhood and the appaling brutality of First World War.  There are three large canvases forming sides of a hexagon which he was working on at the time of his death, all portraying simple, sad water lilies. They are currently reunited for the first time, normally being in three seperate galleries in the US. 

I wanted to cry.  My girl gave me a hug. 

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Sir John Soane's Museum, Lincoln's Inn Fields, London.

It had stopped raining and the sun was out.  I was off again on Phyllis the Bike to the station to have another day in London.   First to the Wellcome Collection to have a second look at the exhibition on Tibet's Secret Temple and a coffee.  Then after lunch with the lovely girl I planned to visit Lincoln's Inn Fields,  the largest public square in London, which dates from the 1630s, and is home to the Sir John Soane Museum. http://www.soane.org/.  The museum is the white building on the left of this photo. 

Lincoln's Inn Fields. 

Sir John (10 September 1753 – 20 January 1837) was a celebrated and prominent architect. The son of a bricklayer, he rose to the top of his profession, becoming professor of architecture at the Royal Academy, where earlier he had been educated, and from which he had gained a scholarship to Italy for two years. His best-known work was the Bank of England, a building which had a widespread effect on commercial architecture, and which cemented his reputation. He also designed one of our favourite places, The Dulwich Picture Gallery. 

His museum comprises his former home and office, which comprise three of the original adjacent houses which he aquired over time.  Left untouched at Sir John's request, the museum displays the art works and architectural artefacts that he collected during his frequent European trips. These include Greek and Roman bronzes and sculptures, Roman mosaics, Greek ceramics as well as Medieval tiles and glass. Sir John also acquired eighteenth century Chinese ceramics and Peruvian pottery.

His paintings include works by Canaletto and Hogarth’s eight canvases of the Rake’s Progress and Humours of an Election. Sir John also acquired three works by his friend J M W Turner.
There are also over 30,000 architectural drawings in the collection. These pertain to himself and other contemporaries including Sir Christopher Wren.

Sir John purchased 12 Lincoln’s Inn Fields for £2100 in 1792, having acquired a legacy from the guardian of his heiress wife, Elizabeth (Eliza) Smith. The pair had met in 1784 and they soon became close. They had began married life in Margaret Street, Westminster, for £40 per annum, where all their children were born. (Several decades later the first female British doctor lived in the same street disguised all her life as Dr James Barry; read more at http://carrying-on-as-best-i-can.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/medical-tour-2.html ) 

The young couple's first child, John, was born on 29 April 1786. The second son, George was born just before Christmas 1787 but died just six months later. The third son, also called George, was born on 28 September 1789, and their final son Henry was born on 10 October 1790. This youngest son died the following year from Pertussis, a dreaded illness of the past against which we can now vaccinate.

To me the house, I am sorry to say, felt too cluttered and his message fell mainly on stony ground. Two images did however capture me. For some reason I was drawn to family tragedies. Firstly to this 'Model for the monument to Penelope, daughter of Sir Brooke Boothby in Ashbourne Church, Derbyshire', by Thomas Banks, plaster 1791-93. It is so beautiful and life like. 

I needed to investigate the story behind this.  Doing so, I realised I could visit the actual tomb in St Oswald's, Ashbourne on my next trip to Macclesfield and Lichfield. This is the tale. 

Sir Brooke Boothby, (1744–1824) was a linguist, translator, poet and landowner, based in Derbyshire.. He was part of the intellectual and literary circle of Lichfield, our old stomping ground. He was a contemporary of Erasmus Darwin and Rousseau. 

Several portraits were also made of Sir Brooke's only daughter, Penelope, one by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Often called "The Mob Cap", it is one of the most famous of English child portraits. On 19 March 1791, disaster struck when Penelope died at the age of five. This tragic event permanently affected Sir Brooke and his wife and he subsequently published a book of poetry, Sorrows Sacred to the Memory of Penelope. 

Well has thy classick chisel, Banks express'd
The graceful lineaments of that fine form,
Which late with conscious, living beauty warm,
Now here beneath does in dread silence rest.
And, oh, while life shall agitate my breast,
Recorded there exists her every charm,
In vivid colours, safe from change or harm,
Till my last sigh unalter'd love attest.
That form, as fair as ever fancy drew,
The marble cold, inanimate, retains;
But of the radiant smile that round her threw
Joys, that beguiled my soul of mortal pains,
And each divine expression's varying hue,
A little senseless dust alone remains

Sir Brooke had the remarkable tomb constructed for Penelope which included a life-size statue of her sleeping. It is considered to be a materpiece.  Exquisite and highly realistic, it is made from Italian marble. The connection between the model and the Sir John Museum and the tomb is not clear to me. 

Sir Brooke's life went into decline after his daughter's death. After Penelope's funeral, his wife Susanna returned to her parent's home in Hampshire and settled in Dover. Her death was recorded under her maiden name, Bristoe. Clearly, the tragedy had unfortunate and lasting repurcusions. In addition, Sir Brooke, who had had an extravagant life style suffered economic ruin. 

The next image to capture me was William Owen's portrait of John and George Soane, 1805. 

I found a sadness in the eyes of the older boy, John and a light hearted compassion in George. The volunteer in the room confirmed that the brothers were close. The rest of their story shocked and saddened me and really drew me in. 

Sir John had hoped that one or both of his sons would also become architects, but both became increasingly 'wayward' in their attitude and behaviour, showing not the slightest interest in architecture. I feel for them. I have friends who were told what to do and pushed about their parents. This horrifies me. My parents left me alone to do what I wished and be what I wanted. This is not to say there were not pressures. Mine was the post war 'baby boomer' generation; all had the chance of a university education for the first time. The responsibility was implicit and acutely felt. 

The elder son John was said to be 'lazy', but also suffered from ill health, probably TB. George had an 'uncontrollable temper' (I wonder why).  John was sent to Margate in 1811 to try and help his illness and it was here that he became involved with a woman called Maria Preston. Sir John agreed reluctantly to John's and Maria's marriage, on the agreement that her father would produce a dowry of £2000.  This never materialised.

Meanwhile, George who had been studying law at Cambridge developed a friendship with James Boaden. He started a relationship with Boaden's daughter Agnes and one month after his brother's wedding married. He wrote to his mother 'I have married Agnes to spite you and father'. George tried to extort money from his father in March, 1814 by demanding £350 per annum, and claiming he would otherwise be forced to become an actor.  (Shock, horror!)  Agnes gave birth to twins in September, one child died shortly afterwards. By November her husband had been imprisoned for debt and fraud. In January 1815 Eliza paid her son's debts and repaid the person he had defrauded to ensure his release from prison.  In September,1815 an article was published in the Champion entitled The Present Low State of the Arts in England and more particularly of Architecture. In the article Soane was singled out for personal attack.  Although anonymous, it soon emerged that his son George had written the article. Eliza declared ' He has given me my death blow. I shall never be able to hold up my head again'. She died on 22 November 1815, having suffering from ill health for some time. She was interred in the churchyard of St Pancras Old Church. Sir John designed the tomb above the vault in which his wife is buried.  Interestingly, the  tomb avoids any reference to Christianity. John was a Deist. The design of the tomb was a direct influence on the design for the red telephone box!  Sir John wrote in his diary for that day 'The burial of all that is dear to me in this world, and all I wished to live for!'. He took the death very badly. Although he was absent a lot and probably self obsessed, this suited Eliza and they had, I believe, a happy marriage. 

The elder son John died on 21 October 1823, and was also buried in the vault.  Maria, the daughter-in-law, was now a widow with young children including a son also called John, in need of support. So Sir John set up a trust fund of £10,000 to support the family.  

Sir John found out in 1824 that his son George was living in an unorthodox set up with his wife and her sister by whom he had a child called George Manfred, as well as his own son, Fred. John's grandson and his mother were both subjected to domestic violence by George, including beatings and in Agnes's case being dragged by her hair from a room. John refused to help them while they remained living with his son, who was in debt. However, by February 1834 he relented and was paying Agnes £200 per annum.  He was also paying for Fred's education, in the hope that Fred would become an architect. When Fred left school, John placed him with architect John Tarring. However, in January 1835 Tarring asked Sir John to remove Fred, who was staying out late often in the company of a Captain Westwood, a known homosexual. (Shock, horror!) I am making a modern interpretation of all of this: it is the fall out from a controlling father. This is opinion and conjecture, it warrants further investigation at the British Library. 

In 1833, Sir John obtained an Act of Parliament,  to bequeath the house and collection to the British Nation in order that it be made into a museum. He was disappointed that his sons did not take it up as a going concern. George Soane, realising that if the museum was set up he would lose his inheritance, tried stop the bill, but failed.

Sir John Soane died a widower, estranged from his surviving son George, whom he felt had betrayed him, and contributed to his wife's death. Having caught a chill, he passed away in 13 Lincoln's Inn Field on 20 January 1837. Following a private funeral which, at his own request was 'plain without ostentation or parade' he was buried in the same vault as his wife and elder son. 

Within days of his father's death George Soane, left an annuity of £52 per annum, challenged the will. Sir John stated that George was left so little because 'his general misconduct and constant opposition to my wishes evinced in the general tenor of his life'. To his daughter-in-law Agnes he left £40 per annum 'not to be subject to the debts or control of her said husband'. The grounds for overthrowing the will were that his father was insane. On 1 August 1837 the judge rejected the challenge. George appealed but soon dropped his suit. George died in 1860 having made a meagre living as a writer.  

A sorry tale.  I intend to learn more about this family.  Reflecting on Penelope, it is clear that wealth does not buy happiness.  The child had a marble tomb but the family was destroyed. 

I should mention that a decent cup of tea, with a reduction for museum visitors can be had at 
http://www.benugo.com/restaurants/fields-bar-kitchen where this research was performed. 

Oxford Unitarians : Mindfulness Retreat

This was held yesterday in Abingdon at Ethelwold House.  How lucky the town is to have this legacy as a 'spiritual' centre. Incidentally, they used to brew beer there in the seventeenth century. 

http://ethelwoldhouse.com/

There were about fifteen of us, all of a certain age.  I reflected on how younger people in mainstream family/work life do not often have time for the luxury of a spiritual existence in our society. Having said that the morning was not about the spiritual side of mindfulness but more the clinical side. It was run by two women, Ruth Baer is visiting from the US and gave a really clear and very good presentation.  I asked her questions and have clarified the boundaries between CBT, mindfulness and the more spiritual aspects. 

http://www.ruthbaer.com/contact/index.php

You can read about Mindfulness here. 

https://psychology.as.uky.edu/users/rbaer

People who live in and enjoy the present are known to be happier than those who dwell in the past or the future.  It is about being and not thinking and it aids compassion. 

Sheila Bond is a mindfulness practitioner having been a physio in Newbury in an earlier life. 

http://livingwellmindfulness.com/

I discovered that some people are more mindful naturally than others. It struck me how happy my husband is 'in the moment' most of the time.   He notices lots of things, and enjoys them. 

I think I must be quite mindful too. We did a short exercise which had us shutting our eyes and being aware of our breathing and bodies etc. A lot of people were unable to be aware of their clothing. It turned out I am the only one in the room to be aware of 'feeling their clothes on their body' I was totally gob smacked. I thought everybody could. 

The afternoon was about 'mindfulness based art or self awareness through art' with Jan Laker an art therapist.  I was a bit sceptical at first and didnt know where it was going but I emerged perhaps clearer about how I am feeling.  First Jan reassured us that it wasn't about being an artist or good at art.  Then we had to make a picture with a partner (chosen by identifying someone in similar colours) , just copying each other in turns. I realised quickly that I wanted to make a nice neat design, which again didn't tell me anything about myself I didn't know (I am a tidy person and a perfectionist!) but it was good to have some confirmation. 

Then we had to make a mandala. We had to have 4 quadrants for feelings, thoughts, intuition and senses. 

This is mine. 

I have done a lot of tears for feelings (sadness), my Dad's caterpillar badge for thoughts (I miss my parents, had not realised how much ) and a blue perfect space for intuition (knowing I am coming to terms with all this) and then for sensing I did a lot of jagged stuff which was about the fact that everything is an effort at times. 

Then she sent us in the garden to find something we were drawn too and stand by it being mindful. (OMG I thought) However I was soon drawn to one of those wooden things for plants to grow up. It reminded me of a stupa or Maselow's heirarchy I think; anyway it helped me realise I was getting to the top of some kind of summit. Blablabla. We had to come in and draw it in another mandala.  

Then Jan made us do a third mandala combining elements of the first two and reaching some sort of conclusion. It was quite satisfying. 

I drew the tears at the bottom and the caterpillar somehow taking me to the perfect space at the top. 

It was a great, uplifting day.  At the end Catherine thanks our leaders and commented that we were becoming a real community. 

Mi Oruga que tiene los ojos rojos.

Mi padre, Bob Baker, nació en 1921 en Manchester. Se convertió en una persona que tenía principios nobles y creencias fuertes. En 1942 se ofreció para Bomber Command, una división muy peligrosa; 50% de los miembros perdieron las vidas y uno de cada diez fue detenido como prisionero de la guerra.

En el verano de 1943, la avión de Bob fue derribado. Se tiró en paracaídas, aterrizó en un invernadero, perdió dos dientes y fue escondido por la policía local por pocos días. Entones, llegaron los alemanes. Sus padres recibieron una carta del Cura del campo quien lamentó mucho que no supieron el destino de Bob.

De hecho, Bob pasó los dos años siguientes en Stalag Luft 3. Mi prima me dijo que dijeron que cuando volvió era un hombre diferente, cambiado.

Bob, como la mayoría de los hombres del norte de esa época, era un hombre callado quien no hablaba sobre sus sentimientos y emociones. Pero, cada día en el que se recuerda a los caídos en las dos guerras mundiales; veía el servicio en la tele y lagrimas calladas le corrían por la cara.
De lo contrario, nunca hablaba de la guerra y yo nunca le preguntaba. De niña la guerra no me interesaba y cuando era un adolescente enfadada me quedó pacifista y me sentía reñido por Bomber Command y la segunda guerra mundial.
No obstante, estaba muy orgullosa de mi padre y no podría imaginarme como se sentía cuando se cayó por el cielo.

Después de la muerte de mi madre encantadora busqué entra sus cosas esta cosa pequeñita.

No supimos lo que era pero en las tiendas de antiquedades en Hungerford descubrimos que para tener una insignia de oruga para la solapa tiene que ser miembro del 'Caterpillar Club'. Este es un grupo de personas quienes se han tirado en paracaídas con éxito desde una avión que había sido inutilizada naturalmente. Su lema es 'la vida depende de un hilo de seda' Es obvio que Bob ganó cuarenta seis años de la vida y yo debo mi existencia a un hilo de seda. 

Bob y Yo en 1983

 

El Club de la Oruga 'The Caterpillar Club'

El Club de la Oruga (The Caterpillar Club) es una asociación informal de personas quienes han usado con éxito un paracaídas para tirarse de una avión que ha sido inutilizada. Después de confirmar por el fabricante del paracaídas, solicitantes para el ingreso como miembro reciben un certificado y una insignia de una oruga de oro para la solapa. No hay que pagar. Orugas quienes tienen los ojos verdes pertenecen a las personas quienes han aterrizado en territorio amable y las que tienen ojos rojos son de las personas aterrizando en países enemigos.

La nacionalidad de la persona salvando su vida y la propiedad de la avión no son factores que determinan el ingreso como miembro; cualquiera persona quien hubiese salvado la vida por paracaídas es elegible. Es esencial que la avión ha sido inutilizada naturalmente. Así, esos aficionados del paracaidismo haciendo saltos recreativos y esos involucrados en saltos de entrenamiento militar son excluidos. Como consequencia, RAF Sgt. Nicholas Alkemade, quien durante la segunda guerra mundial se tiró de una RAF Avro Lancaster sin paracaídas y aterrizó sin daño en un ventisquero de nieve, fue excluido por no haber usado un paracaídas.
El club fue fundado por Leslie Irvin de la Irvin Airchute Company de Canadá en 1922. Irvin fue destacado por inventar el paracaídas en 1919. Sin embargo, paracaídas almacenados en latas habían salvados las vidas durante la primera guerra mundial, cuando había globos y aviones militares.

El club se llama "Caterpillar Club" haciendo referencia a los hilos de seda que fueron usados para hacer los primeros paracaídas y así reconociendo la deuda al gusano de seda.

"La vida depende de un hilo de seda " es el lema del club, y yo debo mi existencia a uno.

William O'Connor era la primera persona ser salvado por un paracaídas el 24 de agosto 1920 cerca de Ohio. El 20 de octubre, 1922, Lieutenant Harold Harris saltó de una avión inutilizada. Poco después dos periodistas sugirieron que un club fuera formado. Harris se hizo el primer miembro. John Glenn era otro. Leslie Irvin consintió que daría una insignia de oro a cada persona salvada por uno de sus paracaídas. El numero total de personas salvadas es estimado ser 100,000. Además 30,000 fueron salvadas durante la segunda guerra mundial, incluso mi padre. 

El proceso continua hasta ahora.