BRIGHT AND DARK

Tags

blitz, Churchill, Gary Oldman, movie review, movies, nostalgia, SAG, Southampton, WWII

When my oldest brother was a young man, he became engaged to a girl from Southampton, England. They never married, but Terri was absorbed into my family. I’ve always considered her a sister.

I learned about WWII and what this country escaped when Mom and I stayed with Terri’s family in Southampton. Looking for a specific gift for my father, Terri’s brother-in-law, Jimmy, walked with me to show the way, pointing out historical markers and uncovered Roman ruins. We turned a sharp corner around a lovely, ancient church, and I stopped when I saw blocks and blocks of modern, and IMHO, ugly stores and buildings.

While I did the fish-gape thing, Jimmy explained that the entire area had been hit by incendiary bombs, everything roaring sheets of flames. He’d been part of the fire brigade and also with the Home Guard, paroling the area during the day, carrying a carved-wood rifle because they had no weapons and wanted to be seen wielding something when Hitler’s observation planes flew overhead.

Terri was four and has clear memories of the bombings, has always been slender due to childhood malnutrition. In the US, we rationed everything, but in England, they had less and often nothing. Terri said one of her fondest memories of luxury during that time was when her father would bring his children steaming cups of hot water on freezing mornings. There was no tea.

The previous was written because of my only gripe about the Darkest Hour. I know it was all about Churchill, but I felt the absence of the honor that must be paid to those who endured the blitz. What they survived deserves to be highlighted at every opportunity. It is briefly shown in the “tube” scene, where Londoners relay their courage to fight, to never surrender, and made their determination absolutely clear to Churchill. Instead of opening the film with stock film of soldiers, I wish they would have shown some photos of the devastation of the blitz.

Elizabeth II is one of the last of that generation. It’s well known how her father decided to stay in London, keep his children with him, how his heir contributed to the war effort. You can bet that if her country is threatened by invasion again, that no matter how old she gets, she’ll be at the shoreline, just as Elizabeth I was to face down the Armada.

So I honor what the Brits survived. Yes, the US fought two wars at the same time. Yes, we rationed everything and lost family members, but I resent all the obnoxious cracks about America winning wars for others. The Brits were toughing it out long before the US arrived on their shores, and they didn’t boast about their unequaled measure of courage.

It was satisfying to see Gary Oldman win a SAG last night. As much as I like John Lithgow, I didn’t like how he and The Crown writers portrayed Churchill. On the other hand, the Darkest Hour shows all sides of Winnie’s mercurial personality and his puckish wit with the wonderful “Will you would stop interrupting me while I am interrupting you!” tongue-lashing. That is Winston’s quickness, his brilliance. To know him is to read his book My Early Life. After seeing this film, I think I’ll reread it for the third time.

M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)
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Blog: https://historyfanforever.wordpress.com/
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Who’s the Dumb One?

Tags

destrier, equine events, Gen. Patton, horse, Lipizanner, movies, riding school, Robert Taylor, war horse, WWII

I once heard an actor from a western series (Bonanza) say during an interview that horses were the dumbest animals in the world. That statement told me he knew nothing about them. An equine reflects the intelligence or experience of the rider—unless the horse is so terrified of the idiot rider there is no other way to react than to get rid of the jerk.

Stunt horses know exactly what they’re doing in front of a camera, from the clack of a clapper to hearing the call for quiet, action, cut, or wrap. Every time I watch a jumping event, I marvel at the courage and athleticism of the horses. Equine events have as many inconsiderate riders as they do excellent ones. Some are in it for the show, others for the love. Jump horses lope at barriers they can’t see over. They must trust in the pacing and direction of their rider, then fling themselves at and over. The horse won’t see the second rail or water trap on the other side until airborne. I’ve watched horses discover a second barrier while in flight and quickly pull up the heels they’d started to drop. They know when they’ve completed a perfect round and when they’ve lost.

For the Olympics and dressage competitions, there are high-schooled horses. Then there are the doctorate level, the Royal Lipizanners, descendants of the great war horses and destriers. I first learned of them from the 1963 Disney movie, Miracle of the White Stallions. During WWII, Colonel Ottomar Hermann, with General Patton’s help, spirited the white horses out from under the noses of the Nazis. When I heard they would be performing in LA at the Shrine Auditorium, I bought tickets for my parents and myself. This was in the late sixties and not inexpensive for a high school girl. Had to buy seats in the rafters. Imagine my surprise when the real Col. Hermann didn’t look anything like the gorgeous Robert Taylor from the movie.

http://www.hlipizzans.com/history.htm

Disappointment evaporated when the horses walked onto the stage, so calm, elegant, and sparkling white. Eight of them performed a complicated quadrille on that confined space with perfect grace and precision.

Other horses displayed the ancient art of the airs above the ground, initially defensive battle moves, with and without riders. Even when they did have a rider, after every feat, they walked to stage right, where the colonel stood, and received their reward, a caress and a treat.

One horse performed the capriole—a leap into the air and a striking outward kick of the back legs when reaching peak height—and did the leap until the horse decided it was perfect. Col. Hermann had explained that it might happen and that his stallions would give nothing less than their best.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capriole

The Hermann family created a farm in Florida with horses saved from Hitler’s rush to destroy or seize everything fine and beautiful. I read where the Lipizanners trained there understand English, French and German. I doubt a second rate actor with difficulty understanding the proper use of the to be verbs has the smarts to judge an animal species, especially ones better educated, with finer blood lines, and certainly more heart and courage.

Dedicated to Dutch, Duchess of Malibu, friend and companion for twenty years. I know I’ll see her again in heaven, and loved it when little Colton in Heaven Is for Real said that Christ has a horse of many colors.

Something Completely Different

Tags

Bastille, Crete, ergot, France, history mystery, Maori, plague, Richelieu, St. Vitas, WWII

 

After so many downer-type posts, it’s about time for something not so heavy. There are a lot of so-called historical facts on the web. Some are of the LOL variety, but I was unable to verify most of them. It boiled down to a few to follow in chronological order.

First up, the mystery of the “Dancing Plague” of 1518. A woman in Strasburg, France started it by dancing nonstop on a public street. People joined her gyrations with no let-up for as many as six days, staying in motion, which is supposedly inhuman and impossible, until they dropped. When the illness waned—the inflicted expired of exhaustion and/or heart attacks and strokes—four hundred men and women had died. Seven other cases were recorded during the medieval age in the same region. This incident is well documented and a book was written about it, in which the conclusion of the mystery was mass psychosis brought on by starvation and disease. Maybe. But how can starved, diseased people dance for days nonstop when that kind of exertion is beyond marathoners? Another suggestion said it came from ergot fungus ingestion, which can infest grains, but that’s poisonous. The only medical conclusion I could think of was that it was an early version or variation of St. Vitas Dance, or syndenham chorea, but that usually occurs in female adults, the rheumatic fever version mostly shows up in kids. Who the heck knows what caused it? Maybe they were naughty and St. Vitas rained down on them his dancing curse. Case unsolved. It happens. One medical source suggested a contageous “outbreak of psychogenic illness.” That could happen. Look at our Congress.

There’s also the famed story of storming the Bastille, in which all of seven, yes, seven prisoners were freed. Let’s be real. The Bastille’s ugly reputation came from the ever-popular Richelieu, thug-slash-minister to Loius XIII. The building was actually an armory, hence let’s storm it to get the munitions inside, not the prisoners, but the later scenario makes for a juicier story. Richelieu liked to throw his political and religious enemies in the clink. Aristocratic families with misbehaving sons dumped them in a cell there to cool their high-kicking, red heels. The thing that impressed me most about the Bastille was seeing its key. The memory of it is clear and perfect, in a box on the wall of George Washington’s house on Mt. Vernon.

The last factoid I didn’t fully confirm, because I want it to be true, but did verify that certain parts are documented. On the isle of Crete during WWII, Germans tried to scare off allied forces by shouting out in English that they were going to attack with bayonets and stab the enemy to death. The threat was met with wild and eager cheers from the allied soldiers. Their joy so terrorized the Germans that they retreated. What the Germans didn’t know was they had threatened the famed Maori warriors with their most ardent wish—a glorious victory in hand-to-hand battle. New Zealand’s battalions became known as Knife Men, had petitioned to go to war, and ran around Crete making use of their bayonets. And got lots of medals. A caveat: my family on my mother’s side is all Germanic immigrants, proud and rock-hard stubborn. It’s ingrained. If only the Germans hadn’t been so cocky. Oh the irony.

Next up: Haven’t Decided Yet