Category: Kristine Hughes

Video Wednesday

Colour footage of London during the Blitz shot by Alfred Coucher, wartime mayor and chief air raid warden of Marylebone, west London. The film comes to light 70 years after having been stored in his attic. Watch the six minute video covering it’s discovery, listen to historians discuss the impact of the Blitz on London and learn about the Blitz Project and the on-going digitalization of the online archives.
 
 
 
 
 

One The Shelf – Jeeves And The Wedding Bells

Author Sebastian Faulks was approached to write a sequel to the Jeeves and Wooster books of P.G. Wodehouse by the Wodehouse estate, which emphatically maintained since the announcement was first made that the story would be “faithful to the history and personality of Wodehouse’s characters.” Even so, as one who has read and relished these books for years, I have to say that I began this new installment with more than a modicum of doubt as to whether Faulks could pull this off. These were, after all, big shoes to fill, whether they belong to employer or valet. Anticipating the state of his reader’s minds, Faulks addresses these doubts in his Author’s Note, saying at the outset, “What I tried  . . . to do was give people who haven’t read the Jeeves books a sense of what they sound like; while for those who know them well I tried to provide a nostalgic variation – in which a memory of the real thing provides the tune and these pages perhaps a line of harmony.”

In keeping with the musical metaphors, I’ll tell you now that Jeeves and the Wedding Bells was a well played comic concert worthy of not a few well timed guffaws. It was delightful to find Jeeves and Wooster in a new storyline after all this time. New might not be the proper word; after all, Wodehouse himself employed several tried and true plot devices that became recurring threads in several books – bright young things getting engaged, bright young things falling out with their intended mates short of the altar, Bertie being buttonholed into patching things up between the lovers, Jeeves sorting out the results of Bertie’s mucking about, hidden identities, Aunt Agatha, cash strapped aristocrats and the appearance of at least one stately pile. All of these, and the Drones Club, make welcomed reappearances in Jeeves and the Wedding Bells, in which we find Bertie and Jeeves swapping roles – Jeeves assumes the identity of Lord Etringham, while Bertie pretends to be Jeeves’ manservant Wilberforce as they wend their way down to Sir Henry Hackwood’s Melbury Hall in Dorset so that Bertie can help a pal with affairs of the heart. . Note: Georgina Meadowes, to whom Bertie recently lost his own heart whilst in Cannes, is also in residence. And is engaged to someone other than the Wooster chappie.

Now that we’ve got all of our Wodehousian ducks in a demented row, here’s an excerpt from Jeeves and the Wedding Bells at the point where Bertie gets his first glimpse of Melbury Hall: “I am something of a connoisseur of the country pile and I must say old Sir Henry had done himself remarkably well. At a guess I would say it was from the reign of Queen Anne and had been bunged up by a bewigged ancestor awash with loot from the War of the Spanish Succession or some such lucrative away fixture. This ancient Hackwood had stinted himself on neither grounds nor messuages. The ensemble reached as far as the eye could see, taking in deer park, cricket pitch, lawns and meadows as well as walled kitchen gardens and a stable block that could have quartered the Household Cavalry. The staff needed for such a place must have drawn on every household in Kingston St. Giles and I could see that whoever signed the yearly cheque to the electricity company would need a tumblerful of something strong to nerve him for the task.”

Not too shabby, what? This Faulks fellow seems to have gotten the tone right. In fact, his Bertie Wooster seems a tad less dim than he tended to come across in Wodehouse’s original books. Some, in other reviews, have complained about this slight deviation. However, it’s my belief that Bertie simply had to evolve over time, even if that time were just a month, or even a year, in the imagniary world of P.G. Wodehouse. How often can one have the same tricks played upon their person without ever coming out the wiser? Dare we say that there’s a time in every clubman’s life when he’s simply got to get with it?

The reader might also notice just the slightest variation in Bertie’s interactions with the beloved and all knowing Jeeves, but this does not dim the cadence of their conversations. Here’s a sample of the dialogue that comes just before Bertie is set to wait at table at dinner at Melbury Hall that night. Bertie is concerned that his cover will be blown by being in such close proximity to the inhabitants of the house:

“It is a fact of life, sir,” he said, “that in the course of a large dinner party those at table barely notice those who wait on them.”
“Unless they make an ass of themselves.”
“Indeed, sir. Otherwise, the company tends to take the service for granted and to be absorbed in its own conversation.”
“That sounds a bit ungrateful.”
“It is the way of the world, sir, and not ours to question. Might I for instance ask you who waited on you last time you stayed at Brinkley Court?”
“Seppings?”
“No, sir. Mr. Seppings was indisposed. It was Mr. Easton, a young man from the village.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Exactly, sir.”
I pondered this for a moment. “It’s still a blood-curdling prospect.”
“I understand your trepidation, sir. Remember, however, that your disguise has been unremarked thus far. Then, to make assurance doubly sure, as it were, it might be advisable to alter your appearance in some small way.”
“A false beard?”
“No, sir. The footman you are replacing -“
“Hoad? The gargoyle?”
“Mr. Hoad also has a pair of side-whiskers.”
“Are you saying the whiskers naturally go with the cork-screw and the folded white napkin?”
“They are more frequently worn by the serving classes, sir.”
There are times to take offence, but this was not one of them. I left my high horse unmounted – though tethered pretty close. “What else?”
“If you were to part your hair centrally, sir . . . It is surprising how much difference such a small alteration can make.”
“Anything further? An eyepatch? A kilt and sporran?”
“Nothing so drastic, sir. I think that if you were to wear my reading glasses for the evening the disguise would be complete without being histrionic.”

As you can see, the game is again afoot. I suggest that you refrain from peeking at any further reviews before reading Jeeves and the Wedding Bells lest the handful of nitpickers poison your mind against this enjoyable effort by Mr. Faulks, who is emphatically not P.G. Wodehouse. Wodehouse is dead. Faulks is alive. So are Bertie and Jeeves. Enjoy.

 
 
Author Sebastian Faulks
 
 
 
ISBN-10: 1250047595 – Hardcover $14.94
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press (November 5, 2013), 256 pages

The Magnificent Waterloo Chamber: The Wellington Tour

Victoria here, inviting you to join Kristine and me on The Wellington Tour, 4-14 September, 2014.  For details on our planned itinerary, costs and other info, click here.  Among the features of the tour is a visit to Windsor Castle and especially to its Waterloo Chamber.

Windsor Castle from the Thames
 
The Waterloo Chamber was constructed within the Castle to commemorate the victory of the Allied Armies over the French in the Battle of Waterloo, June 18, 1815.  Architect Sir Jeffry Wyattville (1766 – 1840) created the Chamber in 1824 out of several existing rooms. Parliament designated £300,000 for the project. Like most of King George IV’s inspirations, it ran well over budget, eventually costing about £1,000,000.  Wyattville also remodeled many other areas of Windsor Castle for George IV, William IV, and Queen Victoria; he was buried in the Castle’s St. George’s Chapel in 1840.
 

 Watercolour of the Waterloo Chamber in 1844 by Joseph Nash
 
 
Waterloo Chamber, currently
 
For a virtual tour of the entire Waterloo Chamber, click here.
 
Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington
Commander of the Victorious Allied Armies
 
The walls of the Waterloo Chamber are  filled with large portraits of the leaders of the Allied efforts.  Most of them are painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence  (1769-1830), the Regency era’s favorite artist.  Many were reproduced several times by his studio for numerous placements in other palaces, stately homes and distinguished galleries.
 
Prussian General Gebhardt von Blücher
Wellington’s Comrade-in-arms at Waterloo
Sir Thomas Lawrence 1816
 
The Prince Regent (later George IV) commissioned Lawrence to paint all the Allied Sovereigns, military leaders, and statesmen.  Lawrence traveled around Europe to complete the portraits.
 
Austrian Field Marshal Karl Philipp, Prince of Schwartzenberg,
 

 
Alexander I, Emperor of Russia (1777-1825)
painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1818
 
According to the Royal Collection Website, “While working on the portrait Lawrence altered the position of the legs, much to the consternation of the Tzar and those courtiers attending the portrait sitting, especially when for a while the sitter was shown with four legs.”  Obviously, this condition was  corrected!
 
Pope Pius VII, 1819-20
 
The portrait of Pope Pius VII (1742-1823), painted in Rome, is widely agreed to be Lawrence’s masterpiece, both incisive and sympathetic.
 
While heads of state and leading generals were depicted full length, politicians and statesmen were honored with 3/4 length portraits, perhaps putting them in their place? 
 
  Viscount Castlereagh
Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1830
 
Robert Stewart (1769-1822), Viscount Castlereagh, later second Marquess of Londonderry, served as Secretary of State for War 1805-09, and  Foreign Secretary 1812-1822
 
 
Robert Banks Jenkinson, 2nd Earl of Liverpool
 
Robert Banks Jenkinson (1770-1828), 2nd Earl of Liverpool was Prime Minister from 1812 to 1827, and also preceded the Duke of Wellington as the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, about which more soon!!
 
In the words of the Windsor Castle guidebook, “Most of the twenty eight portraits were delivered after his [Lawrence’s] death on 7 January 1830. By this time work was already begun of the space of the Waterloo Chamber created by covering a courtyard at Windsor Castle with a huge sky-lit vault; the room was completed during the reign of William IV (1830-7)…the arrangement which survives to this day: full-length portraits of warriors hang high, over the two end balconies and around the walls; at ground level full-length portraits of monarchs alternate with half-lengths of diplomats and statesmen.”
 
 
 
 
The limewood carvings on the walls were removed from the former Royal Chapel before it was demolished in the 1820s.  The carvings date from the 1680’s, the work of renowned artist Grinling Gibbons.  According to the Castle Guidebook, “The Indian carpet was woven for this room by the inmates of Agra prison for Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee, finally reaching Windsor in 1894. Thought to be the largest seamless carpet in existence, it weighs two tonnes. During the 1992 fire it took 50 soldiers to roll it up and move it to safety.”
 
  Which brings up a sorrowful subject, the terrible fire of eleven years ago.
 
20 November, 1992
 
Extensive damage resulted from the fire though the Waterloo Chamber was only slightly damaged, due to the thickness of the walls.  Other areas were destroyed and eventually repaired.  To pay for the
£36.5 million repairs, the Queen opened  the State Rooms of Buckingham Palace to the Public, but only when she is in residence elsewhere.
 
When you tour Windsor Castle with Kristine and me, you will see the renovated areas and where the fire burned.  And we will view the Waterloo Chamber — and all the State rooms, most of them still very much as they were when redone for George IV by Sir Jeffry Wyattville.
 
Again to access more information on the Wellington Tour, go to
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
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On The Shelf

Servants: A Downstairs History of Britain from the
Nineteenth Century to Modern Times
by Lucy Lethbridge (Norton 2013)



Even if you’ve been researching daily life in England for years and believe that you know all there is to know about servants by this time, I’m here to tell you that you don’t. And you certainly have never had the subject presented in such an entertaining manner. Lethbridge’s book is not so much an overview of bygone grandeur and servitude as it is an in-depth and personal look at the people who lived below stairs. Where did they come from? Why did they go into service? What did they think about their `betters’ and the other servants in the house? Along with solid facts and figures, Servants sparkles with wit, wisdom and the words of the servants themselves.

As Lethbridge writes – “In 1900 domestic service was still the single largest occupation in Edwardian Britain: of the four million women in the British workforce, a million and a half worked as servants, a majority of them as single-handed maids in small households.” The author goes on to introduce the reader to various servants and to provide insight on their backgrounds: “The extent to which Britain’s poor were stunted by disease and malnourishment was made fully apparent after the outbreak of the Second Boer War, when recruiting offices reported that a majority of the working-class recruits were unfit for active service, their diet consisting for the most part of little more than the `staples’ of bread, dripping and tea . . . . Lillian Westall found work as a maid-of-all-work almost impossible: just carting buckets of hot water up and down stairs needed almost the strength of a grown man – and a single maid in a small household would need to carry an estimated three tons of water a week. “This sort of work needed the stamina of an ox and years of semi-starvation meant I hadn’t this sort of strength.”

 Lethbridge allows the reader to hear the voices of the aristocrats, as well: “The `odd man,’ a vital fixture on an estate, was a manservant who never quite made the grade required to be a front-of-the-house type and was therefore used for pretty well everything, from carrying heavy luggage to helping with the cleaning. Huge houses could sustain great numbers of the very old and the very young and with their work went the rituals of their particularity, the vital necessity of which no-one thought of questioning. Lady Diana Cooper, who grew up at Belvoir Castle, Rutland, remembered the `gong man’ whose only job was to summon the household to meals by walking the corridors three times a day banging a gong: `He would walk down the interminable passages, his livery hanging a little loosely on his bent old bones, clutching his gong with one hand and with the other feebly brandishing the padded-knobbed stick with which he struck it.'”

Servants provides a peek behind the green baize door with examples of just how extensive, and invisible, the below stairs machinery was – at Belvoir Castle there were at least three lamp and candle men who labored continuously at snuffing wicks, filling lamps and cleaning and de-waxing glass – a full time job. That the great families of England took these labours for granted is made clear, as are the instances in which the same families often declared their loyalties to those who served: at Badminton House, seat of the Duke of Beaufort, the lamp man was totally blind and felt his way expertly about the corridors – and was still doing so in the 1920s. Servants is peppered with further anecdotes that illustrate the peccadilloes and peculiarities of the upper classes, all of which make for an engrossing read.

 Halfway through the book, Lethbridge brings us to the early 20th century and to the events – Great Wars, the Industrial Revolution – that would sound the death knells for England’s Stately Homes. Slowly, the great estates were losing ground and the previously, seemingly unending line of servants waiting to staff them grew thin. The grandest of these estates were the last to feel the effects.

 
“At Chatsworth, where thirty indoor staff were employed throughout the 1930’s, the only real change in the running of the house after the war was the jettisoning of the ancient role of Groom of Chambers, whose job of looking after the drawing rooms and writing tables was taken over by footmen. Lady Hambleden, born into the Herbert family and brought up at Wilton House before her marriage in 1928, remained almost untouched by the shift, so noticeable in most large houses, from male to female front-of-house staff, from butler to parlourmaid: `We did have quite a lot of staff: there was a butler – I think most people had butlers. I can only think of one person who had parlourmaids and everybody rather noticed it.’
 
“On the Rothschilds’ estate, at Waddeston in Buckinghamshire, the gardeners still sent the vegetables to the kitchen door every day in a specially constructed pony cart painted in the Rothschild racing colours of yellow and blue, the coachman who drove it dressed in a matching livery and cockade. At Woburn Abbey, the eleventh Duke of Bedford maintained until his death in 1940 not only a household of at least sixty indoor servants to attend solely to his wife and himself, but two separate, fully staffed residences in Belgrave Square, including four cars and eight chauffeurs; the Woburn parlourmaids were all Amazonian at over five foot ten, as had always been the Bedfords’ stipulation.”

Whilst it may seem odd to us in the 21st century that so va
st an army of servants was necessary to see to the needs of two people, Lethbridge provides many examples that show that, amongst the aristocracy, this was the norm, rather than the exception to the rule.
 
“In the house where Doris Winchester worked, the servants were so numerous that they ate more than twice the daily quantity of their two elderly employers: `If they had roast pheasant in the dining room and there was just the two of them they had one pheasant and I had to do five pheasants for the servants’ hall.'”
 
“Holland House was so vast that when George (Washington, a footman) first arrived he was instructed to go to the front door as people had been known to spend `days’ searching for the servants’ entrance in the maze of courtyards and passages behind. Waiting on Lady Ilchester (we lived there alone) was a butler, a footman, and odd man and second footman, housekeeper and four maids, a stillroom maid, a cook, two kitchen maids and tow scullery maids, a chauffeur, nine gardeners, a lady’s maid, a night nurse and a day nurse. The odd man was so old that he was unable to do any heavy work. `When I look back over my three years and a half years at Holland House,’ wrote Washington, ‘I can see now there was something particularly sad, almost unreal, about them. We were propping up something that belonged to another age, trying to pretend that what had passed still existed or even if it didn’t that if we tried hard enough to keep the old order of things going, it might come back.'”
 
The old way of life did not come back, but new ways of life intruded further upon the old order, a case in point being income tax and death duties – “In 1930 a correspondent wrote to The Times: `The result of any increased taxation in my individual case is that I shall have to reduce my servants by half. I now have eight dependent upon me and in order to require good and faithful servants I have made large inroads on capital.”

Modernization also intruded upon the aristocracy, who were more often than not slow to embrace it, as in the case of electricity, which many either chose to ignore or else disguised beneath echoes of the past –
 
“This taste for concealing new technology trickled down into the new houses of the middle classes, where the wireless, for example, was often hidden inside an especially constructed cabinet . . . . Sometimes the staff themselves were part of the pretence, maintaining an illusion of elaborate labour where technology had in reality made it redundant. At Flete House, in Devon, the footmen had to remove all the electric table lamps every morning and bring them back in as soon as it grew dark . . . . When electricity was finally installed at Woburn in the late 1920’s, the Duke of Bedford believed his guests would be so unaccustomed to this new form of illumination that he had black and white plaques made especially to go above all the switches, inscribed with the explanatory words `Electric Light.'”
 
Both World Wars also served to upset the old order of things by forcing women into traditionally male work, thus opening doors that led to new employment opportunities for those women who would otherwise have settled for a life in service. Lethbridge uses one of these modern women as an example
 
” . . . In 1939, Celia Fremlin, employed by the new social research group Mass Observation, embarked on a job (for investigative purposes) as scullery-maid for an elderly woman living, bed-bound, in a huge London house. Fremlin’s first experience was a surreal experience: That night her aged ladyship had decided to sup on a cup of Benger’s food (a malted milk drink, rather like Ovaltine) and a digestive biscuit. So like a vast machine set in motion, the eight members of the staff were mobilized as if for a full-time dinner party. First the housekeeper (1) had to come down to the kitchen to tell the cook that this was to be the menu tonight. Then I, the scullery maid (2) was dispatched to fetch the new tin of Benger’s from the store-room, and the special enamel saucepan. I handed them to the kitchen maid (3) who took the lid off and handed the tin to the cook, together with the other necessary apparatus. The cook (4) then set to work making the Benerg’s. Now the footman (5) came into action. He went to the butler (6) for the key to the cupboard which contained her ladyship’s silver tray. The butler gave him the key and waited while he took out the tray. Then the footman put the tray on his trolley and wheeled it to the kitchen, where the Benger’s and digestive biscuit were now standing in state awaiting him. He put them on the tray and wheeled it off to the hall. Here the tray was taken by the head housemaid (7). She took it up to her ladyship’s landing and knocked on her ladyship’s door. It was opened by the lady’s maid (8) who took the tray and disappeared.” Fremlin summarized the experience for her employers by writing, “It was like watching a hundred-ton crane picking up a safety-pin; like watching a huge sweet factory producing one peppermint bulls-eye; a vast machine that has forgotten how to stop working.”
 
One can’t help but wonder of the bed-bound peeress was Lady Ilchester herself.
 
Gradually, the scarcity of good servants began to trickle down to houses of all classes. So prevalent and recognizable did the servant problem become that Elizabeth Dashwood, writing as E.M. Delafield, made a living out of writing a weekly column about them for Time and Tide under the heading Diary of a Provincial Lady. These articles would later be collected and published as a book under that title. As Lethbridge points out, so universal had this problem become that it supplied content for several novelists of the day including Lettice Cooper (The New House) and Mary Wilde (A Housewife in Kensington).
 
From the 1930’s onward, refugees began to fill the ranks of the servant classes in England – Austrians, Germans Czechs, both male and female. Many of them, like parlormaid Rachel Perlmutter , a character portrayed in the latest incarnation of Upstairs, Downstairs, were over qualified for their positions, having themselves come from the professional classes in their native countries and often having had servants of their own before entering England. During the Second World War, many of the great houses were requisitioned by the government and the number of servants in homes of any size, large or small, were restricted by the government. With male and female servants having been restricted or having left to fight or take up war work on the home front, evacuees often found themselves expected to sing for their suppers, so to speak, taking up the work that still needed to be done in the houses, the kitchens, the gardens and the farms. The old order would never be the same again.
 
Afterwards, those who took up service, whether as cooks, lady’s maids or butlers gradually came to be seen as professionals who were hired through word of mouth, through classified ads or through the many domestic service registry offices that were cropping up around the country. Lethbridge follows the evolution of the those who serve right up to the present day where, quite naturally, the book ends. More’s the pity, as Servants was as engaging as any work of fiction whilst proving itself a ‘keeper’ for my research shelves.  

 
 
Lucy Lethbridge has written for a number of publications, including as writing articles for the Observer, the Sunday Telegraph, the Independent on Sunday and the Times Literary Supplement and is also the author of several children’s books, one of which, Who Was Ada Lovelace?, won the 2002 Blue Peter Award for non-fiction. She lives in London.
 

The Wellington Tour – Tea, Anyone?

Once Victoria and I had hammered out the itinerary for The Wellington Tour, we handed it over to Patty Suchy of Novel Explorations and asked her to work her travel agent magic as far as pricing and logistics were concerned. Before long, it was time for Victoria and I to call Patty and learn how she’d made out with the plans.

Patty:  Hello?

Victoria: Hey, Patty, it’s Kristine and Vicky.

Patty:  Well hello! You’re together?

Victoria: Yes, we’re together and ready to hear how you made out.

Patty:  I’ve got to tell you, this hasn’t been easy. You two picked several spots that are terribly difficult to get into.

Kristine: What do you mean, difficult to get into? Are you referring to Stratfield Saye, which seems as though it’s only open one day a year?

Patty: Yes, and Frogmore House, which is also rarely open. Not to mention Highclere Castle.

Victoria:  What about Highclere Castle?

Patty: It seems that since the all the Downton Abbey hoopla reached a fever pitch, they’ve been inundated with visitor and tour requests. They’ve had to limit visiting times and then there’s having to work around the shooting schedule for the show itself. They’re having to restrict admissions and they’re already booked up for months ahead of time. It’s very difficult.

Kristine: Are you saying we can’t get in?

Patty: No. I’m telling you that I’m still working on getting all the stars to line up as far as opening days for several of the places you want to include. The rest of the tour is no problem, but these three places are tricky. I’m still waiting to hear back from the people at Highclere.

Kristine: I was thinking it might be nice to have tea while we’re there.

Patty: Tea? You can have all the tea you like. They have tea rooms on site. Tea shouldn’t be problem.

Victoria: No, we meant an afternoon tea in the house or gardens. You know, little sandwiches and cakes and things.

Patty: Well, I’ll ask when I speak to them, but a special, dedicated tea service for the tour group might be costly.

Kristine: We’ll just tack it on to the tour price. It’s something Vicky and I would like to do and I think everyone would really enjoy it. It’s one of those once in a lifetime things.

Patty: I agree, it would be fantastic. Alright then, I’ll ask when I speak to their representative. Do you have any idea on dates for the tour?

I looked at Victoria, who shrugged her shoulders in reply.

Kristine: Let’s try to shoot for sometime when it won’t be freezing cold.

Patty: I’ll keep that in mind, but remember that one of the tours you and I did together a few years ago was in June and we all froze.

Kristine: Who could forget? Why don’t you see how the opening times work out and we’ll talk again in a few days?

And so a few days went by, with Victoria and I waiting on pins and needles, before we called Patty again.

Patty:  Hello?

Kristine: Hey, it’s Kristine and Vicky.

Patty:  Well, I have to tell you, I’ve had a rough few days trying to work all of this out. It’s been a struggle.

Victoria: I can appreciate that and we do appreciate all you’ve done, Patty.

Kristine: What’s the bottom line?

Patty: Bottom line is we keep Frogmore, Stratfield Saye and Highclere Castle on the itinerary.

Kristine: You’re a star!

Patty: But there isn’t going to be a Downton Abbey tea.

Victoria: There’s isn’t?

Patty: No. It’s just too expensive.

Kristine: How expensive?

Patty: Over a thousand dollars.

Kristine: So? What’s that, like fifty dollars added to the tour price per person?

Patty: That is the per person price.

Victoria: What’s the per person price?

Patty: Nearly a thousand dollars. Per person. Not in total.

Kristine: Are you telling me they’re charging at least twenty thousand dollars for afternoon tea? Who’s serving it, Bates and Mr. Carson themselves?

Patty: Mr. Bates can’t serve tea. He’s got a gimpy leg.

Victoria: For twenty thousand dollars, I’d better be seated next to Maggie Smith.

Patty: There are always the tea rooms.

Kristine: I suppose. More importantly, what did you hear from Stratfield Saye?

Victoria: Maybe we can have tea there with the Duke of Wellington. He’d probably charge less than twenty thousand dollars.

Patty: We can get into Stratfield Saye. Not a problem. However, in order to get into all of these places on the same tour, we’d have to schedule the Tour for September.”

Victoria and I looked at one another, trying to work out the pitfalls of a September Tour. We couldn’t come up with any.

Victoria: What’s wrong with September?

Patty: Nothing’s wrong with September. It’s really an excellent time to visit England. It just means that you two wouldn’t have a choice of the other months.

Kristine: You got anything planned for next September?

Victoria: Not that I can think of at the moment. And if I did, I’d rearrange it.

Kristine: We have no problem with September.

Patty: Good. I’ve blocked the tour out for the fourth through the fourteenth.

Victoria: Sounds good.

Patty: Okay. Now that we have our dates, I’ll work on firming up all the details.

We hung up and it wasn’t till much later that I realized the last day of the Tour would coincide with the last day of the Duke of Wellington’s life – September 14, 1852.

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