Category: Kristine Hughes

Parlez-Vous Français?

Well, I don’t speak French. Or I didn’t until a few months ago when I realized I’d better learn the fundamentals, at least, if I were going to Paris. Being extremely lazy, I went to the library and got “Learn French” cd’s, which I’ve been listening to in the car. I can now say écouter et répéter in my sleep (listen and repeat), although as a tourist in Paris, I can’t see how that phrase is going to be of much use to me.

I do believe that I now know the fundamentals of French, at least. Or un peu = a little.  I find that the biggest obstacle to learning French is the fact that I know some Spanish, which tends to get in the way as far as grammar and numbers are concerned. And it took me the longest time to substitute pas for no or not. Another problem is that I’m learning French by listening and not actually reading the language. In the past, whenever I ran across French phrases in period diaries and letters, I’d ask my pal Jo Manning to translate them for me. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll now be able to suss out enough words to be able to make heads or tails of them on my own. Maybe.

Being practical, in addition to lazy, I made sure to learn the most important phrases first, beginning with
Je voudrais boire = I want a drink. Lazy I may be, stupid I’m not. I can now tell someone that, in addition to myself, my son, daughter, husband and wife would also like a drink. And I can order a specific drink – Un rhum et coke avec de la glace, s’il vous plaît.


The next phrase I learned was Avez-vous quelque chose en rapport avec le duc de Wellington? = Do you have anything related to the Duke of Wellington? It was only when I had this phrase down pat that it dawned on me this might not be the most politic question to ask a Frenchman. But, what the hell? = Mais, qu’est-ce l’enfer? If I get deported, so be it.

The last of the phrases I made sure to learn was Je veux aller au boulevard Saint-Germain, à côté du Café Lipp = I want to go to the Boulevard St. Germain, next to the Cafe Lipp. I figured it would behoove me to be able to get to my hotel, a portion of which is visible in the photo above, just to the right of the Cafe Lipp. It’s directly on the Boulevard, just facing three other famous Parisian landmarks, Aux Deux Magots café, Café de Flore and the church of Saint Germain des Prés. The Boulevard is tres chic and embodies Hemingway’s Paris with its galleries, antique shops and high end designer boutiques. Ralph Lauren just opened a 23,000 square foot mega-boutique, complete with his first restaurant, Ralph, just steps from our hotel (hamburger 36 euros). I point these prestigious landmarks out to you in order to keep you from gazing too hard at the prominent toilettes sign smack dab in the center of the photo above. At least I won’t have far to go for a rum and coke. Or a pee.

Here’s a link to a video tour of the St. Germain area.

As Jo Manning has wisely warned me, I might not want to show off my French language skills in Paris, as people might think that I actually speak, and understand, the languange and may therefore launch into a spate of conversational French, for which I am not prepared, mon ami. I promise to report back here after my trip to let you in on the success or failure of my attempts to parler français. And on the state of the toilettes at the Cafe Lipp.

P.S. In addition to offering charming rooms, the Hotel has an authentic sedan chair in the lobby. How could I have stayed anywhere else?

The Young Victoria – My two Cents Worth

And here I thought that spending an inordinate amount of time researching the Duke of Wellington and Queen Victoria was a good thing . . . it seems not, since all that I’ve learned gets in the way of my enjoying films like Young Victoria. It was a visual delight – the sets, the costumes, the interiors – but I felt that the story itself was disjointed. I followed it with no problem, but I can see that anyone who doesn’t know the full story of Victoria’s early life would be lost. Here are just a few points that grated on my nerves:

We see Victoria with her doll collection, it’s referenced in a conversation between Princes Albert and Ernst, but there’s no explanation of what it means. Why insert it into the film if you’re not going to make a point?

Why show King Leopold getting all pissy over Albert’s neglecting to correspond with him if you’re not going tell the film goer the importance of this?

We see a somber, dark clad woman in attendance on Victoria in a few scenes – then we see her being sent away in a carriage and Victoria telling Albert, “I needed her so much at one time.” Needed who? Do you think the average viewer would have cottoned on to the fact that this Lehzen, Victoria’s nurse and rock through most of her life?

Albert takes a bullet . . . . . I won’t comment.

As I said, these are just a few points. Imagine how my head was spinning while I actually watched the film. I’m surprised it wasn’t more historically accurate, or cohesive, what with Sarah Ferguson being one of the producers. As she is quick to remind us, she’s an authority on Queen Victoria.

I thought the casting was spot on in some places and way off the mark in others. Baron Stockmar, Prince Leopold and Sir John Conroy were excellently cast, as were the Duchess of Kent and Queen Adelaide. Rupert Friend could have been the young Albert reincarnated. On the downside, Emily Blunt did a fine acting job but was too dark, IMHO, to play Victoria. And where was the slight Germanic accent? And Julian Glover as the Duke of Wellington? The fake hookey nose was good, but his body type was miles away from that of the real Duke and I just wanted to scream every time he was on screen.
So, after venting I shall now put my money where my mouth is. Were I to cast the part of the Duke of Wellington in a film, I would choose either Adrian Brody, Daniel Day Lewis or Pierce Brosnan (with prosthetic nose) to play the Duke. Do you agree? Which would be your choice? Or do you have another suggestion? I’m looking forward to your comments . . . . .

Beatrix Potter Rose Unveiled!

You may not know that actress Patricia Routledge, better known to us all as Hyacinth Bucket, is the Patroness of the Beatrix Potter Society and as such she was on hand at the Chelsea Flower Show to unveil the new Beatrix Potter™ rose, or Beatrix Potter a, seen below and grown by Peter Beales Roses in Norfolk. The rose was named in honour of the Society’s 30th anniversary.

The rose is a delicate creamy pink coloured shrub rose with a subtle fragrance, reflecting a rose which Beatrix Potter herself painted. “This highly perfumed rose is a truly beautiful tribute for such a merit worthy name” says the breeder, Amanda Beales. The flowers are of the softest pink shade, shapely, with many petals. The rose continues to flower well into the autumn. Growth is upright and tidy to approximately 1.2m and the shrub is well endowed with dark glossy foliage.

You can watch a video of opening day at the Show here.  
               And here’s a video of the Queen Mum at the 1952 Show. 
Victoria here, chiming in to talk about Beatrix Potter. Since I live on the 26th floor and the wind blows the petals off any flowers I try to grow on my balcony, I don’t know much about roses except that I love every single one of them!!  So my comments refer to the inspiration of this lovely new rose variety, the wonderful author of children’s stories, artist, and dedicated conservationist, Beatrix Potter herself. My grandchildren adore the DVDs of all her stories and they even let me read the books to them — sometimes.
Here is a link to a wonderful site with lots of material on Beatrix Potter and her work. And here is a link to the Beatrix Potter Society.
As an avid traveler in the Lake District of England, I especially appreciate Potter’s efforts to preserve forever as public land the beautiful region in which she lived. In her will, she left about 4,000 acres to the National Trust. Beatrix Potter lived from 1866 to 1943, bringing happiness to millions. A film, Miss Potter, was made in 2006, staring Renee Zellweger and Ewan McGregor, about her early life. Here’s the trailer.
I can’t say that it was the best film I’ve ever seen, but for fans of Potter, Zellweger, or Victorian England,

 what could be more perfect?
It is entirely fitting that a beautiful rose be named in 
 honor of Beatrix Potter.

The Mysterious Dr. Barry

In her Memoir of her mother, Lady Rose Weigall, Rachel Weigall relates the following story about a guest they once entertained, Dr. Barrie (pictured right), as Rachel calls him. History records the name as Barry, but no matter the spelling, the story is fascinating. First some background – Rachel’s mother was born Rose Sophia Mary Fane and her father was William Wellesley Pole, older brother to the Duke of Wellington, whose military and later personal secretary was Lord Fitzroy Somerset. We’ll see the role Somerset plays in the following anecdote  Rachel writes about her childhood: “One of our most curious guests was the celebrated army Surgeon `Dr. Barrie,’ who was then stationed at Corfu. Lord Fitzroy Somerset asked my father to show him some courtesy, and said he had done such excellent work for the troops. He came to dinner, an odd-looking little person, very small, with a squeaky voice and mincing manner, just like an old maid, as my mother remarked. She found his conversation most agreeable, but we younger members of the party suffered from suppressed laughter at his peculiarities. He was a vegetarian, and refused even eggs, `because they had life in them.’ We often laughed afterwards about “Dr. Barrie”; and it was not until his death many years later that he was discovered to be a woman, who had masqueraded as a man and as an army surgeon for years.” This fact was discovered by Sophia Bishop, who’d laid out the doctor’s body after his death.

Indeed, Dr. James Miranda Barry had graduated from the Medical School of Edinburgh in 1812 and went on to enjoy a  successful career as an army surgeon, eventually becoming Inspector General of Hospitals. As Rachel writes above, it was only discovered after his death at a house in Cavendish Square that he was, in fact, a woman. Odder still when you consider that he’d once fought a duel over a woman, while on the other hand, rumor had it that he’d had a homosexual affair with Lord Charles Somerset, Governor of Cape Town, where Barry spent many years in his company. Charles Somerset was the son of the 5th Duke of Beaufort and brother to Lord Fitzroy Somerset. Sophia Bishop, the maid who’d laid out the body, also claimed to have found stretch marks on the body indicative of the fact that the doctor had at least once been pregnant.

For more information on this story, try Dr James Barry: The Early Years Revealed published in the South African Medical Journal in January of 2008 by Hercules Michael du Preez and
The Secret Life of Dr James Barry: Victorian England’s Most Eminent Surgeon by Rachel Holmes

An Anglophile in Paris

As you all know by now, I’ve had my London/Waterloo trip planned for some time, but it wasn’t until last year that my daughter, Brooke, said that she’d like to come along. We’ve been to England together quite a few times and she’s a fabulous travel companion, so I was thrilled. And then I thought that, since we’d be in Brussels anyway, how could I not take Brooke to Paris? I mean it would be right there. Paris. So I tacked on five days to the end of the trip. And then I started thinking that five days would be too many. I mean, what is there for an Anglophile to do in Paris? I started to think that I’d made a mistake. And then I went to the library and got some guide books to Paris and began to think that five days might not be enough. At any rate, I am now not only reconciled to, but also looking forward to Paris because it dawned on me that it would be the first trip in a long time for which I would have no agenda. I wouldn’t be traveling on business, nor would I be manic about all the research I had to fit into just a few days. I could go to Paris and be nothing but a tourist.


In essence, this will be my first trip to Paris. Granted, I’d won a trip entitled “April in Paris” about thirty years ago. However, I was pregnant at the time and my ex-husband and I had just bought a new home and needed carpeting more than a trip to Paris, so we cashed it in and stayed home. Fast forward to five years ago and I was in Paris, sort of, on a press trip. As part of a group of five travel writers, I was flown first class on Air France to Paris en route to Zurich, Lucerne and Interlaken. The drawback was that Air France were under the impression that they were going to be huge part of all of our stories. Therefore, upon landing in Paris, we were held hostage in the Air France “war room,” a huge conference room with a huge window over looking the runways, in which we sat for about three hours whilst people with very heavy French accents regaled us with stories of the Air France anti-terrorist game plan, security measures, latest technologies, etc. etc. etc. Finally, we were taken to the Hilton Hotel a block away from the Champs Elysee – and told that we needed to be ready for a gastronomic treat of a dinner in three hours time. I’d instantly bonded with a fellow journalist I’d only just met, Cynthia, and she and I decided to use the time to see something of Paris. We strolled the Champs Elysee, I had my photo taken in front of Napoleon’s folly, the Arc d’Triomphe, and we had a glass of wine at a sidewalk café. The waiter didn’t speak English, neither of us spoke French, but after some back and forth, we discovered that he and I both spoke Spanish. So there we sat, two American journalists, at a sidewalk café in France, ordering in Spanish. Go figure.

The next morning, I was seated on the wrong side of the plane and so never even glimpsed the Tour Eiffel as we flew out to Switzerland. In fact, I voiced the opinion that there was, in fact, no Tour Eiffel and that it’s existence was a plot by the French government to lure travelers to the City. So, this time, I am determined to see the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and to stroll the City at my leisure. I have made no definite plans for our five days in Paris other than to have booked a champagne cruise on the River Seine, the boat to be boarded at the quay hard by that elusive edifice, the Eiffel Tower. If I find that there really is an Eiffel Tower I will gladly apologize to the proper French authorities. Well, perhaps not, but I will take a photo and post it here upon my return.