Category: Kristine Hughes

ON THE SHELF: DO YOU GET BOOKS? PART TWO




I’m happy to report that the built-in bookshelves are done and painted and my library is back where it belongs. Although most books can now be found on the internet, I’m never parting with my core library, consisting primarily of books on London, Wellington, Brummell, period diaries and letters and Queen Victoria. For those of you who have expressed an interest in browsing my bookshelves, here’s a good representation of what they hold.












THEY PAVED PARADISE . . . . AND MADE HOUGOUMONT INTO A B&B

The Duke of Wellington Describing the Field of Waterloo to HM George IV 

by Benjamin Robert Haydon

  • Date painted: 1840 – Royal Hospital, Chelsea

Duke of Wellington showing the field of battle of his greatest victory over the French to the young Queen Victoria

A DIALOGUE AT WATERLOO

“The most infamous army I ever commanded…”
-The Iron Duke on his troops at Waterloo.

Engraved By T.H. Atkinson after Sir Edwin Landseer. London Ca.1851

As immortalized in the paintings above, the Duke of Wellington did indeed return to the field of battle at Waterloo, often accompanied by prestigious guests. When he saw the Lion’s Mound for the first time, he lamented, “They have ruined my battlefield.” I don’t think that the Duke objected to the Mound itself, but rather to the fact that much of the dirt needed for the Mound was taken from the famous ridge behind which Wellington had placed his troops at a critical point in the battle. Ordered to lay down, the massive lines of British troops could not be seen by the advancing French, who believed that they had managed to catch Wellington unprepared and that victory would soon be theirs. As the French cavalry advanced, Wellington bided his time until the very last moment, when it is said that he ordered, “Up, men and at them!” Suddenly, the French found themselves confronted by the Long Red Line, fully armed with weapons cocked. Wellington had studied the ridge long before the Battle ever began and came prepared to use it to his advantage should the opportunity arise. The ridge was integral to the British victory at Waterloo and the construction of the Mound had diminished the scale of the ridge. Thus, Wellington was perturbed. 
I was also perturbed, to say the least, when I first heard rumours of the plans to turn Hougoumont into a B and B. Victoria and I had visited Hougoumont together in 2010 – you can read that blog post here. 
Throughout the Battle of Waterloo, Wellington was committed to British forces maintaining control of the farmhouse of Hougoumont, a strategic battle postition. From Wikipedia:
Wellington recorded in his despatches “at about ten o’clock [Napoleon] commenced a furious attack upon our post at Hougoumont” Other sources state that this attack was at about 11:30. The historian Andrew Roberts notes that, “It is a curious fact about the battle of Waterloo that no one is absolutely certain when it actually began”.
The initial attack by Maréchal de Camp Bauduin’s 1st Brigade of the 6th Division emptied the wood and park, but was driven back by heavy British artillery fire and cost Bauduin his life. The British guns were distracted into an artillery duel with French guns and this allowed a second attack by Maréchal de Camp Baron Soye’s 2nd Brigade of the 6th Division. They managed a small breach on the south side but could not exploit it. An attack on the north side by elements of the 1st Brigade of the 6th Division was more successful.
This attack led to one of the most famous skirmishes in the Battle of Waterloo — Sous-Lieutenant Legros, wielding an axe, managed to break through the north gate. A desperate fight ensued between the invading French soldiers and the defending Guards. In a near-miraculous attack, Macdonell, a small party of officers and Corporal James Graham fought through the melee to shut the gate, trapping Legros and about 30 other soldiers of the 1st Legere inside. All of the French who entered, apart from a young drummer boy, were killed in a desperate hand-to-hand fight.
Today, Hougoumont stands as a monumount to British bravery and to those who fought and died on the field as the Battle raged. As Paul Bray wrote in a Telegraph article in July 2014: 
Most of the farms are private and only visible from the outside. The glorious exception is Hougoumont, where three Guards regiments secured Wellington’s right flank throughout the battle.
In danger of collapse a few years ago, it is now being restored – thanks in part to a surprise £1million grant from the UK Treasury – and its official public opening will be a centrepiece of next June’s bicentenary celebrations.
Hougoumont, the farmhouse that played a significant role

The trees here are still bark-scarred by grapeshot, doors are riddled by musket balls – testimony to the more than 6,000 men killed or wounded in its attack and defence.
According to Graeme Cooper, founder of the Guild of Battlefield Guides: “The story here is most vivid. I have seen many visitors with tears in their eyes, not just because Hougoumont is a shrine to the British Guards but because the atmosphere is so heart-rending. If Hougoumont fails to engage one’s imagination with history, nowhere else will.”
Hougoumont 1915
Hougoumont today and in 1815
Thanks to Robbie MacNiven
Prince Charles and The Duchess of Cornwall visiting the Battlefield and Hougoumont 2015


Several years ago, Project Hougoumont, supported by the late and present Dukes of Wellington, had undertaken the monumental mission of restoring Hougoumont and the surrounding land in order to preserve this most important site. You can visit the Project Hougoumont website here and watch a very informative video regarding the site featuring historian and presenter Peter Snow.  We have had a link to the Project in the left hand sidebar of this blog for over a year now and we applaud their efforts to save the site for future generations to appreciate. 

All was right with world until I read this blurb by the Landmark Trust several months ago: “Just before Christmas it was announced that the Landmark Trust, working with Project Hougoumont, had submitted the only viable tender for the lease of the apartment on the first and second floors of the gardener’s house.  So, our dream of creating a place where people can stay and study the battlefield by day and night and in all kinds of weather has come true. The windows of the light and airy apartment look into the courtyard in one direction and towards the position of the French line in the other. The Landmark Trust assures us that it will be furnished and ready for occupation by 17 June.”

To repeat, upon learning of plans to turn Hougoumont into a B and B, I was perturbed. Okay, outraged might be closer to the mark. How could anyone be allowed to turn this sacred site into a money making venture? What was next – Waterloo Land? Wellington World? How had such a venture passed through the scrutiny of such a venerable restoration committee? 

Recently, I put my displeasure aside and actually went to the Landmark Trust website for the accommodations at Hougoumont. From the website: 


The walls of the courtyard have been limewashed but the brickwork of the external 
elevations has been left exposed, as it was during the battle.


I had to admit, Hougoumont looks much improved and the massive restoration project seems to have been sympathetically done. Hhhmmmm . . . . but what would the interiors of the two bedroom guest accommodation look like? Again from the website: This simple first floor apartment in the former gardener’s cottage beside the south gates is furnished to evoke the Napoleonic era and looks out on ancient sweet chestnut trees that also witnessed the bravery and sacrifice here.


This is a unique place to ponder the famous Battle of Waterloo by day and night.


Unique, yes. And it’s just the gardener’s cottage that will house guest rooms. Very tastefully done guest rooms, at that. Perhaps I jumped the gun when I set my face the enterprise.  In fact, staying at Hougoumont for a few nights in order to “ponder the famous Battle of Waterloo by day and night” sounds like a capital idea. Heck, it even sounds like a plan. 

How do you feel about the idea?


THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON TOUR: WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL COPENHAGEN REDUX

Kristine here, remembering the day that I finally got the opportunity to visit Stratield Saye during the Duke of Wellington Tour. I had visited many of the other sites associated with the Duke of Wellington, most of them numerous times, but I’d never been to Stratfield Saye, as it had always been closed during my trips across the Pond. Now, I’d finally gain entry and with a wonderful group of Wellington enthusiasts, no less. I thought about all I’d read about Stratfield Saye, the house that a grateful Britain had purchased for Wellington in recognition of his victory at Waterloo. And of all the people who had passed through it’s doors – Kitty, Duchess of Wellington, Princess Lieven, the Arbuthnots, Lady Shelley, Angela Burdett-Coutts, and many others. But the one thing I was really looking forward to seeing at Stratfield Saye was the grave of Copenhagen, the horse the Duke had ridden throughout the Battle of Waterloo. As most contemporary accounts will attest, Copenhagen was not the prettiest of equine examples, with a head that some judged too small for his body. As the Duke of Wellington himself remarked, ‘There may have been many faster horses, no doubt many handsomer, but for bottom and endurance I never saw his fellow.’

Lithograph, by and after James Ward RA

The reason the word “redux” appears in the title of this post is that we’ve written about Copenhagen before on this blog. Here’s the link to the first Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen post. Copenhagen, that cantankerous, feisty and sometimes ornery horse, had managed to endear himself to a whole host of people, including the Duke himself, the Duchess, who often hand fed the horse treats, and many of the ladies noted above, some of whom actually got the opportunity to ride him and all of whom counted jewelery made from or containing Copenhagen’s hair among their most treasured possessions. To Wellington enthusiasts, Copenhagen was and remains legendary. You’ll find the Wikipedia entry for Copenhagen here.

Copenhagen as painted in his retirement by Samuel Spode.

On the morning of our visit to Strratfield Saye, our tour group waited patiently for me aboard our coach as I bought a bouquet roses at a nearby Tesco’s. It was my goal to leave the floral tribute at Copenhagen’s grave during our visit.

And then we were off on the short drive to Stratfield Saye

And at long last, I was at the gates to the Estate.

Upon arrival, I gathered my belongings, slipping the plastic carrier bag from Tesco’s over my arm. From the car park, our group strolled towards the house, getting our first glimpse of horses at Stratfield Saye. It’s only coincidence that the pair looked for all the world like the present day reincarnations of Copenhagen and Napleon’s pure white horse, Marengo. 

A short walk brought us to the front of the house, where we caught site of another horse.

The bronze statue is that of a horse trampling a dragon. This bronze is missing St George. It was initially commissioned by George IV for St George’s Hall, Windsor, but wasn’t completed before the King’s death. It was bought by the second Duke of Wellington for £750 in 1865. It is now Grade II listed.

Our group was divided into two, with guide Jenny Savage leading one group through the house, whilst guides Richard and Mary showed round the second group. What can I say? It was all fabulous, especially the first Duke’s office, with the first Duke’s desk still in use and the secret staircase leading to his rooms above pointed out to us by Jenny.

We were then given lunch in the cafe (quiche) and then we walked back up towards the house, where we stopped at the stables that house the Estate’s museum containing Wellington’s funeral carriage and a wealth of Waterloo momentoes. 

Afterwards, we were free to walk the Estate grounds and I was determined to find Copenhagen’s grave, where I meant to leave the flowers I’d been carrying round with me all day.

 We travelled down many of the paths on the grounds, looking all the while for the route that would lead us to Copenhagen’s final resting place.

Because I knew that Victoria had been to Stratfield Saye and to Copenhagen’s grave before, I asked her where she thought the monument was. Taking me to the path she believed led to the site, we walked back and forth several times, never seeing a clue as to where the grave could be.

Victoria swore that she remembered the site being just here . . . but when we got there, nothing. Finally, we ran into our guide Jenny again and asked her to show us where the grave stood.

“I thought it was just off the road the last time I visited,” Vicky said.

“Oh, we’ve redone the site in the past few years. Too much foot traffic and there was the danger to the tree beside the grave. It’s quite old and suffering from disease and, unfortunately, we’ve had to take steps to protect it and the grave.”

“Is that the Turkey oak that Mrs. Apostles planted?” I asked. Jenny stopped and looked at me, “Why, yes. Yes, it is.”

Mrs. Apostles was Wellington’s housekeeper. She planted the oak at the gravesite seven years after Copenhagen’s death. For a moment, Jenny and I locked eyes and a frisson of kinship passed between us. It was uncanny.

Jenny led Victoria and I into what can only be described as a secret garden. “There it is!” Victoria exclaimed. I followed where she pointed and saw the headstone, Mrs. Apostles’s oak tree . . . and the fence that surrounded both.

“Can’t we get to the grave?” I asked, disappointment no doubt evident in my voice.

“No,” Jenny said. “It’s closed to the public now.”

I took the Tesco’s bag from my arm. “I’ve carried these all day,” I said, bringing forth the bouquet of roses. “I so wanted to leave them here.”

“Have you been carrying them all this time?” Jenny asked, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“For Copenhagen?”

 “Yes,” I replied with a catch in my voice.  Again, Jenny and I shared a look, a silent communication.

“Here, give them to me,” Jenny said, taking the bouquet from my hand. “I feel the same way about Copenhagen. I’m so happy that you’ve taken the time to honour him. Will you allow me to place them at his grave for you?”

With a silent nod, I let the bouquet go and Victoria and I watched as Jenny walked towards the gate, went through it and then stood by Copenhagen’s headstone.

This portion of our visit to Stratfield Saye will live on in my momory forever. Truly, a bucket list item checked off my list. I keep a photo of our flowers placed by the grave in my bedroom, to remind me that life is sweet and sometimes filled with moments that can only be described as magical.

Thank you, Jenny.

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON TOUR: KRISTINE AND VICTORIA'S HOTEL ROOMS

Oh, the opportunities for anecdotes British travel affords one. The stories I could tell you . . . . and I will. Now.  Many moons ago, on a tour far, far away, I stayed at Chilston Park in Kent with a tour group I was leading. I was with my dear, good friend, author Sue Ellen Welfonder. She is the Bozzy to my Samuel Johnson. So, we were on a tour and arrived very late at night at Chilston Park. The tour group had dinner and then I sneaked off to have a cigarette. It was very late, it was very dark, and I stepped outside of the front door pictured above, lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply. Heaven. There I was all by lonesome, until I spied something from the corner of my eye. It was a large something, alive as it was heaving. It was moving, subtly so, but there was movement. It looked for all the world like a bear. Were there bears in England? (er, no) Must be, as there was one there, right before my eyes. I sucked in a lungful of smoke and stood as still as possible. Hopefully, the bear wouldn’t see me and I would live to see another day. And to lead another day of our tour. It was then that the “bear” separated and I made out that it was a couple in a heavy clinch, a lovers embrace, so to speak, and not a bear at all, but rather a bear hug.

And then there was the time that I was in England with my daughter, Brooke, and neither of us could figure out how the shower mechanism worked. We had to call down and have the hotel send someone up to show us how to put the water on. And off.

And then there was the time . . . . well, you see that I have a trove of English hotel stories. And many of them involve Victoria. And some involve the Duke of Wellington Tour. After our visit to the Royal Pavilion in Bath, our coach took us to the Mercure George Hotel in Reading in preparation for our visit to Stratfield Saye the next day ( Huzzah!).

The Mercure George Hotel in Reading is housed within a 15th century building that was once a coaching inn. 

It’s ancient. It’s historic. It’s atmospheric. It’s charming. However, it has no elevator. 
Victoria and I told the tour group that the hotel staff would bring everyone’s bags up. We distributed room keys and planned to meet for dinner in an hour’s time. 
“Do you think they’ll mind that there are no elevators?” Victoria asked me.
“No! The staff will bring the bags up, and how often do you get to sleep in an authentic coaching inn? I don’t think anyone will mind,” I said cheerfully, taking the key card from the front desk lady. “Come on, bring your personal stuff and let’s find our room.”
So off we trotted to our room. Up the first staircase . . . . 

Through a set of swinging doors that led down another hallway. And up another set of stairs. Then down another long hallway. 
“Are they joking?” Victoria asked.
“Whatever can you mean,” I replied, knowing full well what Victoria meant. This was akin to climbing  Everest. I turned to find Victoria resting her back against a wall. 
“How much further?” she asked. 
I answered honestly. “No idea.” Pant, pant. “It can’t be that much further. We’re in a certified coaching inn! Isn’t this marvelous?”
“No.” 
“You have to get into the spirit of things,” I cajoled. “We knew there was no elevator.”
“Yes, but we didn’t know how bloody big this coaching inn would be. No trouble in the days of footmen, but we have no footmen.” Yet another reason to lament being born in the wrong time period.
Off we trudged again. . . down more hallways, through a set of double doors, all the while reading signs that promised to lead us to our room. 

At long last, we arrived at the room. Our room number was emblazoned upon the door. We had arrived!
I put the key card into the lock . . . . and it didn’t work. I turned the card wrong side up and tried again. Still no luck. 
“Give it to me,” Victoria said. I gave it to her. She tried it the right way. She tried it the wrong way. She tried it upside down and she tried it backwards. The key card did not work. 
Victoria and I stared at one another for a time as the truth of situation sunk in. Then Victoria said, “If you think I’m going down that rabbit hole again, and back up again, you’ve got another think coming. I’m done.”
Hmmm. Frankly, I was done, as well, but that wasn’t getting either of closer to a rum and coke. So down again I went, through double doors, down hallways and following signs to the front desk, where I went through the explanations that finally led to a new key being cut and handed over. Reader, this time it worked. Sigh. 
All was well hotel-wise until we got to Windsor, where we stayed at the Mercure Castle Hotel. If you recall, I had stayed here before with Hubby. It’s a fabulous hotel, a literal rock’s throw from Windsor Castle, and this time out, Victoria and I were assigned to quite a large room with a fabulous bath. 
“Well!” Victoria exclaimed, sitting upon the downy bed. “This is more like it!”
“The room is huge, no?” said I.
“Huge, yes, and plenty of room to spread out. Look, there’s a single cup coffee maker and a fridge.” She got up and walked to the end of the room, where two steps down led to . . . “Wow, look at this bathroom!”
I got up and followed, poking my head around Victoria’s. A large space, complete with a deep tub and towel warmer. “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I can hear Jo Malone calling my name.”
“Let’s unpack and then get some ice and have drink.”
I didn’t argue. I unpacked. As per usual, Victoria and I prioritized our unpacking, setting up our laptops, plugging in the chargers for our cameras, getting out our nightclothes and reading material. It’s so nice to travel with someone who shares the same values. 
Several minutes elapsed before Victoria said, “Hey. Look at the door.”
Hmmm? I plugged my laptop in and looked at the door. “Yeah?”
“Look at the door.” 
“I’m looking.”
“Honestly! If you’d been at Waterloo, you’d have said what Frenchmen? Look at the bottom of the door.”
I looked at the bottom of the door. “What in the Hell?”

As you can see, there was a rather large gap beneath one side of the door. 
By this time, Victoria and I were sitting side by side on the end of the bed, staring at the bottom of the door. 

“That’s a huge gap.”

“Mmmm. Which you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well . . . . but I’m fairly sure I’d have noticed if it were a Frenchman. Especially if he were in uniform.”

“Why do you think it’s like that?”

“A crap carpenter?”

“No. It’s got to be like that for a reason.”

“A cat could get in through there. Or a ferret. Certainly a snake.”

“Lovely. Thank you for that.” Were there snakes in England?

More minutes went by as we mused on the reason for the wonky carpentry. Finally, Victoria said, “Look! Look how the floor to this room slopes down. See it. The entire room’s on a pitch. They had to cut the bottom of the door like that so that you could open the door. Cause the floor slopes up at that end. If the door weren’t cut like that, you wouldn’t be able to get into the room.”

I saw what she meant. “You’re right. But it still means that
a cat can still get in.”

“What would be worse, a cat or a Frenchman?”

“Definitely a cat,” I replied. “I’m not allergic to Frenchman. As far as I know.”

But back to our time at the George Hotel in Reading . . . . it’s the night before our visit to Stratfield Saye (Huzzah!) Stay tuned for our post covering our most momentous visit to Wellington’s country home coming soon.