A Year of Reflection

I hadn't been looking forwards to the anniversary of Cherry's death, a year ago on November 21st 2017, but it is certainly proving to be a time for reflection. I still think about her every day and the sense of loss is, if anything, stronger now than it was then when its effects were to some extent dissipated by the sheer shock of the event, by the need to get over it and by the immediate administrative tasks that followed. Every time I switch on my laptop, the rotating and continuous display of photographs of Cherry through the ages kicks in. I find myself smiling at them, partly in automatic answer to the great beaming smile on her face (unless as was quite often the case she was looking at something else - nearly always with feathers -through her binoculars !) and partly because of the happy memories that they evoke. This is less true of the more recent ones taken of her during what turned out to be the last year of her life, although being the gutsy and courageous person that she was, she was usually still smiling then too. Photos like this are much more difficult to take because they betoken imminent loss rather than the pleasures conferred by her past presence. But both sorts are reminders of my lovely Cherry and of how much poorer my life is now than it was then.

            After a year of this I suppose I am now resigned to my new state, though I still speak to pictures of her around the house and stroke the fleece she wore that is still on the back of the chair in front of her bureau. I still go to 'my' side of a double bed wherever I am, kick mine out but leave hers tightly tucked in.  And I guess I always will, perhaps because as a historian my natural inclination is to look in the rear-view mirror. But I also now realise ( I had never consciously thought of it before, like most people I suppose) that one should think of people one has lost not merely acknowledge that one probably will.

            On the plane coming over to Boston, I watched an indifferent film in which one of the characters said, 'If you don't remember someone out loud, they die twice.' I think he was absolutely right . Oddly, without realising it, Cherry and I used to talk about that point in connection with my dismay when encountering piles of anonymous family photographs in junk shops and the like of people who had in effect been abandoned by their descendants, and so stripped of a kind of immortality. I find myself understanding why Juan Peron carted the body of his dead wife, Eva,  all round the world with him. I don't think the practical, down-to-earth Cherry ever quite felt as I did that 'dead' doesn't mean 'gone.'  Maybe that's also part of the reason why there is such interest these days in family history at a time when so many people say that the traditional family seems in terminal decline ? Perhaps. But it certainly helps explain why I am so pleased that back in the UK the family are coming together  for a commemorative firework party (which sadly I shall not be at) and Cherry's Book Club in All Cannings are holding a special event in her memory. (My plans to mark the occasion by illuminating the Church were  cast into disarray by thieves stealing the lead from the roof a couple of weeks ago). One of Cherry's art friends in Australia texted:

            I will be thinking today about Cherry and the number of times she made        me laugh. What a great loss she is to all who loved her,

which I think says it all.    

            In any case, the past year has been one of trying to come coming to terms with all of this and what has undoubtedly helped, apart from the extraordinary level of support from friends and family, has been the fact that I have been so busy. At one level at least this has provided a major distraction from grief, and a reason why it hasn't paralysed me, which it could very well have done otherwise. Also I am lucky in being able to take refuge in continuing the naval work which I still enjoy. This doesn't stop sad thoughts of course but it acts as an antidote.

            The major project in this connection of course has been my move to Newport, Rhode Island where I've taken up a temporary job at the US Naval War College, some years after my theoretical retirement from King's College London. Cherry loved Newport and would have been thrilled to pieces with the idea of spending some time here, so it's not a complete break with our shared past. Indeed one of the best photos of her that I have around is of her leaning against a large flower container outside The Breakers one of the famous Newport mansions of Bellevue Avenue with that particular elegance that was characteristic of her, a thoughtful finger to her mouth.  Another shows her growling, fingers clawed, next to a Liondog in the Chinese teahouse of Marble House another mansion nearby, and my neighbour but one

.

Revisiting these spots shouldn't be too difficult as I have ended up renting the superbly furnished carriage house of a 'private' mansion on the same avenue, in fact directly opposite the gateway to Belcourt which I think was the last mansion we visited maybe three or four years ago. Just as well I didn't know then that I would return in the future to a very different life in the self same spot. (Underneath there's a rather eerie shot of Belcourt taken in the dusk from the window of the guest bedroom.  You can almost imagine the ravens of Edgar Allen Poe flying around to roost. The pictures at the end are of 'my' house and my next door neighbour.) 

Getting the house, leasing a new car, opening a bank account and starting the long process of 'onboarding' into the naval college has been and continues to be a major preoccupation. But everyone there is being very welcoming and some friends have even invited me to their family Thanksgiving which is nice.

 

So, within limits after a year without Cherry, I have the good fortune to be in a reasonable state I think. Still sad of course, but positive about a lot else. One big downside of the move is reduced contact with the family. I miss that too, not least news of the grandchildren growing up faster than can be imagined. Violet's gurgles and coos have, I gather condensed into conversation. How Cherry would have enjoyed interpreting them.  

         

   

Defeating the Bureaucracy

 

The last blog showed how I felt about my struggles with American bureaucracy. Well, I finally triumphed and cut the head off most of the serpents in the contest. This was achieved on Thursday October 4th when in the glittering building of the new US embassy in Nine Elms, London that Trump was so rude about,  I finally got authorisation for a work visa.  But there was still a sting in its tail. I had to collect the wretched thing ! This I managed, from Chancery Lane, five hours before my flight to Newport !

 

                 After this high drama it all seemed very relaxed. First, then, to Newport, but not yet to ‘come aboard’ as they say as there’s still reams of paperwork to be gone through; but informally I chatted with the Admiral and various colleagues and started the process of getting a Social Security Number, the next hurdle. Coincidently I was sent a picture of the  ceremony I missed.

The real point though was to have a day looking at rental properties with Susan, my ‘realtor.’ I ended up going for one on the very sought-after Bellevue Avenue where all the famous ‘Mansions’ are to be found – not because of that but because the place I saw was quirky and full of books and antiques. A daft measure of suitability perhaps but it has a nice homey-feel to it. More organisation and paperwork to come, though.

I was only in Newport for a couple of days and was taken back to Boston by another smart young man from the Transportation section; this one was a carpenter where my first pick-up driver was a barber, both being part of the ship-services team. They were both articulate and interesting to chat to; I thought with people like that in it, there can’t be much wrong with the US Navy.

Next stop was Toronto and onwards to Vancouver. I arrived too late to get the last flight to Victoria so checked into the airport hotel for a few hours before taking the 0615 flight the following morning. From there to the very grand Empress hotel, where I met colleagues in the lobby and then boarded the bus for a day at sea on HMCS Vancouver, which was fun with the navy showing off the ship’s capacity for steep turns.

Cherry was fond of Victoria, the nearby Munro’s bookshop and the former Empress hotel before its recent refurbishment where we once had a very nice dinner trying not to notice the mice running about on the floor of the famous Durbar dining room. Other guests were not so relaxed about this. It still feels wrong being in such places without her, otherwise enjoyable as it is. It was the same a few days later when I went for a walk along the seaside promenade in the Chilean resort of Vina del Mar and came across the Cap Ducal seafood restaurant jutting out over the rocks, into the sea and amongst the pelicans. I took a photo of the window table that we used to use, and thought how lucky I was then not to know what was coming, just a few years later. Further evidence, if still wanting, of the need to make the most of what you’ve got while you’ve got it.

After what is now a third trip to Valparaiso, I feel as though I’m beginning to know it. It’s scruffy at the edges and covered in graffiti, the majority probably qualifying as art but about a third just the usual unsightly mess, often on otherwise charming buildings. Built on 35 hills,  it’s full of precipitous and idiosyncratic corners and covered in gaily painted houses, often a mixture of wood and corrugated iron, perched on impossibly steep slopes. Loads of artists retreats cafés and restaurants looking out over the bay. I kept a look out for ‘our’ teahouse with a very English name, but didn’t see it. I did though get inside the old Admiralty building and the Naval Club, both far grander than our rather mundane British equivalents. One has to keep a straight face, though,  when hearing of the exploits of their main naval hero (apart from Lord Cochrane, that is); he rejoiced in the name of Arturo Prat. But I don’t think he was one. 

This trip to Vina del Mar and Valparaiso was at the back end of the second round trip of the month into Uruguay and Chile courtesy of their respective navies. Montevideo is a pleasant place, not very grand and it’s hard to accept that the water it fronts is actually a river estuary, except for the brown colour of the water. Here and in Valparaiso, I was given so many books, medals and diverse momentos that they had also to get me another bag so that I could carry all the booty back to the UK. I was extremely well treated, continuously wined and dined, always short of time and sleep, with my own minder/bag-carrier and car.  These were also repeat visits, but in neither place could I find the hotels we stayed in last time, but otherwise enjoyed myself hugely – and found all the chat interesting. A flavour of the proceedings can be found in the following link, courtesy of the Chilean navy…

https://www.armada.cl/armada/noticias-navales/con-la-presencia-de-geoffry-till-destacado-historiador-naval-y-profesor/2018-11-01/104114.html