Castles, Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors

by English Historical Fiction Authors

  A Prince, a Prophet, and a Peer: Sir Samuel Hoare

  by John B. Campbell

  Sir Samuel Hoare, 1st Viscount Templewood, and his wife Lady Maud Hoare, Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire, Viscountess Templewood, demonstrated how to live a life of engagement and purpose. And they did so in the dramatic days of the early 20th century.

  Samuel John Gurney Hoare, 1st Viscount Templewood, more commonly known as Sir Samuel Hoare, offset his relatively small stature with athleticism and a dynamic (though not precisely charismatic) personality. Critics thought him to be narcissistically ambitious while others admired his drive, political savvy, and concern for the greater good. The Machiavellian climate of the British government in those troubling days of anarchists, socialist campaigns, fascism, and Nazi aggression created as much in-court-intrigue as that seen during the reign of Julius Caesar. Would Sir Samuel’s early years of training prove adequate?

  In 1935, while Hoare served as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, a crisis arose when the Italians invaded Ethiopia. Hoare felt he understood the psyche of Benito Mussolini, whom he had gotten to know while previously serving with British overseas intelligence, and sensed diplomatic conflagration on the horizon. He thus felt the need to prevent the Italians from forming an alliance with the ever-menacing Adolf Hitler, were Anglo-Italian relations to become strained.

  In Hoare’s estimation, it seemed a good idea to join with Pierre Laval, the prime minister of France, in hopes of resolving the dilemma via a secret agreement. Their venture came to be known as the Hoare-Laval Pact, and it outlined how Italy would be allotted two-thirds of the African territory it had conquered. In return, Ethiopia would be allowed to keep a narrow strip of territory with access to the sea. In those late days of the Empire, Hoare felt their solution was generous as well as prudent.

  The details of the secret pact, however, mysteriously leaked to the press on December 10, 1935. The pact became widely denounced by the members of Parliament who sat in different camps from Hoare. Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, being one such, rejected the plan and demanded Hoare’s resignation.

  Sir Samuel Hoare’s resignation speech created one of those “moments” film directors would love to recreate. Reportedly, Hoare stood up and presented a narrative so powerful it, in a flash, engendered a wave of sympathy. With sincerity and fervor, he told his story, explaining how by means of his negotiations “not a country, save our own, has moved a soldier, a ship or an aeroplane as a result.” Hoare was described by Henry Channon as a Cato defending himself, and Channon added that Sir Samuel, for 40 minutes, had held the House breathless. When Sir Samuel sat down, however, he burst into tears.

  From that account alone, we glean a measure of the gentleman’s complexity of nature, his talents, and his vulnerability.

  Earlier, Sir Samuel got his diplomatic feet wet in—talk about some colourful training—Czarist Russia. In 1916, he was assigned to a British intelligence team, comprised of Oswald Rayner, Cudbert Thornhill, John Scale, and Stephen Alley. Leading them was Mansfield Cummings who had been appointed head of the British Secret Intelligence Service in Petrograd.

  Sir Samuel Hoare, as I’d mentioned, was viewed by some as pompous. Whether it was pomposity or boldness, he served as the right kind of front man, from the right class, for Cummings’ purposes while the rest of the team worked behind the scenes, focusing their sights on the sinister clog to Russia’s international relations—Grigory Rasputin.

  Hoare became friendly with Vladimir Purishkevich, the leader of the monarchists in the Duma, and in November of that year, he learned of the man’s interest in “liquidating” the “drunken debaucher influencing the Czarina and Russia’s policies.” Hoare later recorded that Purishkevich seemed so casual in his tone on the topic that such talk appeared as mere wishful thinking rather than an actual plot in motion.

  At the end of 1916, after Purishkevich joined Prince Felix Yusupov, along with the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich Romanov, Dr. Stanislaus de Lazovert, and Lieutenant Sergei Mikhailovich Sukhotin, they carried out their part in having the Tsarina’s special advisor killed.

  Afterward, Hoare took issue with—of all people—Tsar Nicholas II (maybe Hoare was a bit pompous) who suggested a sole instigator behind the assassination: Hoare’s colleague, British agent Oswald Rayner. Whatever Hoare understood of the intrigue, he had had enough of caviar and vodka and was grateful to leave the icy shark tank behind after getting reassigned to Rome.

  Sir Samuel Hoare was literate and widely read in several languages, which had served him well in his demanding work in Russia and Italy during that early phase of his life. Later, timing served him well in that he was part of the wave of young Conservatives in 1922, which propelled him into increasingly senior Cabinet positions for the next eighteen years, a bumpy ride, as we noted at the outset with the account of the Hoare-Laval Pact, but an all ‘round successful run.

  Sir Samuel Hoare played a particular role that drew him to my attention while I was researching the era for my novel. As Foreign Secretary in 1935, he was instrumental in securing government approval for the British rescue effort on behalf of endangered Jewish children in Europe: Kindertransport.

  It was in 1909 that Sir Samuel married Lady Maud Lygon, daughter of Frederick Lygon, 6th Earl Beauchamp. Her title took precedence over that of her husband until he was created a viscount in 1944.

  Lady Maud intrigues me. I am still looking for more information on her. She earned her title, Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE), in the 1920s, as a result of being the first woman to fly a great distance—12,000 miles plus—as she inaugurated, along with her husband, the London-Cairo-Delhi air service.

  You can watch a clip of the lady on the British Pathé site, which features a garden party she held for thalidomide children in or around 1963. Therein, fashionably dressed, she is down on her knees, interacting with the children.

  Lady Maud traveled widely with her husband (at one point he was ambassador to Spain). She launched ships (the Ark Royal) and inaugurated airports (Croyden/London). This adventurous humanitarian peer makes a cameo appearance in my novel Walk to Paradise Garden.

  Together, Sir Samuel and Lady Maud endeavored to make a marked difference in the world. How I’d love to time travel and be a guest at a dinner party with them. Wouldn’t you?

  The Men Are Away at War

  by Peter St. John

  Just over seventy years ago, Hitler’s Nazi Germany lunged aggressively out, seeking to set up a “thousand year” rule over the territory and culture of other nations. The momentous world conflict which ensued is now history, but there remain those who survived and who remember....

  The men in Britain, except for the aged, the unfit, and those with essential civilian occupations, are away at war. The women at home, wait, watch, and work. Poland falls, then France, and the Netherlands too. Hitler’s invasion of England waits on the Luftwaffe gaining supremacy in the air. Britain’s fate hangs perilously on the skill and determination of a handful of fatigued fighter pilots and on the engineering excellence of their Spitfires and Hurricanes. London is terror-bombed. The citizens, unsubdued, send their children to the shelter of the countryside and joke about the gang of Nazi thugs.

  The siege of island Britain is at its fear-filled height in 1941. The Nazi enemy prowls at the gate. The United States of America sends supplies and a few volunteers, but is not otherwise a combatant. At this time, just after the marvellously prodigious evacuation of British troops from Dunkirk, Britain stands alone with deaths, injuries, and destruction. Belts are tight round nervous, taut bellies. Rationing is in force, and all is scarce. And yet, with faith and unity the people stand together.

  Many have chickens in their backyards and they grow vegetables. Public parks are ploughed up to produce cabbages and potatoes. Anti-aircraft guns and barrage balloons also sprout from open spaces. Sol
idarity among the citizens holds, its bonds strengthened under the stress of war by the courage of King George VI and the firm leadership of Prime Minister Winston Churchill.

  Suffering, songs, and secrets are shared in gloomy air-raid shelters. Fêtes and fairs are organised to raise money to buy Spitfire aircraft or finance war production. There’s no orange juice for babies, so contests are set up in the autumn to gather rose-hips to make vitamin C syrup for babies. The WWI Women’s Land Army is revived to train women for farm work to replace the men called up for the army. A ramshackle yet determined Home Guard, formed of the aged and unfit, prepares to defend each town and village. Lone air-raid wardens patrol at night to warn those who violate the blackout, and stand by to rescue when the bombs fall. Don’t forget to carry your gas mask. Everyone bears in mind the slogan “careless talk costs lives”.

  My six Gang books employ the perplexities and predicaments of a youthful evacuee to explore a small part of what it meant to be involved in the great conflict of 1939-45. The focus is on “ordinary” people in everyday life, in an English village at war. They have their loves and hates, friendship and enmity, loyalty and betrayal. This is no history of the Second World War, even less the story of any famous or infamous person. It is rather a tale of real people doing real things, in a real historical situation. The setting is English. The story is fiction based solidly on fact. As to whether it is “English Historical Fiction”, is for the reader to decide.

  Historical Tidbits Across the Ages

  The Royal Coat of Arms

  by Debra Brown

  The Royal Coat of Arms of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Heraldry. Officially the Coat of Arms of the British monarch, currently Queen Elizabeth II. The Coat of Arms is used by the Queen as monarch and is officially known as her Arms of Dominion.

  Many images and symbols make up the Coat of Arms, and each represents something specific.

  At the bottom is a white ribbon or banner which reads Dieu et Mon Droit. This is French, and translates as “God and my Right.” French was the language of the Royal Court at the time of the introduction of the words by Edward III in the 14th century. At the time, it was believed that the monarchs were answerable only to God.

  This motto is not required on the Coat of Arms, and although most monarchs used it, there were a few that did not. Queen Anne used Semper Eadem, which means “Always the Same.”

  Originally, mottoes may have been associated with badges or war cries, but they usually expressed loyal or pious sentiments or a play on the name of the bearer. Henry IV was apparently the first monarch to adopt a motto on the Royal Arms with Souverayne, which meant “Sovereign.”

  Behind the banner on the Royal Arms, a grassy mound incorporates the plant emblems of Scotland (thistle), Ireland (shamrock), and England (rose).

  The shield has evolved in shape from its Medieval long “kite” shape in the late 1100s into the “flat iron” shape used today. This mirrors the change in actual shields. The kite-shaped shields were large, covering almost half of the bearer’s body. As armor became more sophisticated, shields became smaller until they were about a third of the size of the bearer.

  It wasn’t thought appropriate for the arms of a woman to be shown on a shield connected with warfare; therefore, they are always shown on a lozenge or diamond-shaped shield.

  The first and fourth quarters of the shield of the current Royal Arms (at the top left and bottom right): In both, there are three golden lions, one above the other on a red background representing England. They walk facing out with flexed blue claws and tongues sticking out.

  The second quarter (at the top right): There is a red lion on a gold background representing Scotland. Standing on his hind legs, he faces forward with blue flexed claws and his tongue sticking out. There is a double border decorated with fleur-de-lis alternating in direction.

  The third quarter (at the bottom left): A golden harp with silver strings is sitting on a blue background representing Ireland. The Harp has been the symbol of the Kingdom of Ireland since the early 1200s. The harp is on 8th and 9th century stone crosses and manuscripts and is said to represent the Biblical King David. This possibly explains why harpists have always been a favorite in Ireland. Added in 1541 to the Royal Arms, it now represents only Northern Ireland.

  Around the shield you will find the Order of the Garter. It is a French Royal blue “belt” with the motto Honi Soit Qui Mal y Pense, meaning “Shame on him who thinks evil of it.” The Order of the Garter, founded by Edward III in 1348, was inspired by King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. It is a symbol for one of the oldest and most senior orders of chivalry. Though the order was founded by Edward III, it was King Henry VIII who added the symbol to the Royal Arms.

  The fleur-de-lis at the bottom of the garter appeared first on the French Royal Arms in the 1100s and was included on the English Royal Arms in 1340. It existed as an emblem long before its use on heraldry when it appeared on the top of the scepter and as on ornament on crowns. Its origins have been widely debated.

  The helmet, or helm, sitting atop the shield is based on real helmets that were worn in battle. The shape was originally a simple, cylindrical steel design with a flat top and, at times, gold embellishments. This evolved into more elaborate designs which would never have been used on a real battlefield, but looked more convincing.

  During the reign of Elizabeth I, a unique style of helm was designed for the Royal Arms—gold with a barred visor, facing the viewer. This has been used ever since. From the 17th century stylized forms of the medieval helm have been depicted to indicate the rank of the bearer: the melee helm for a peer; the barriers helm for baronets and knights; and the tilting helm for gentlemen.

  Tied to the helmet atop the shield is the mantling, a cloth of gold trimmed with ermine fur. The mantling is based on the small cloak that hung from a knight’s helmet over his shoulders to protect him from the elements. Often torn or jagged from the cuts and slashes it had received in battle, it would have greatly enhanced a knight’s reputation on his return home.

  The mantling is usually in the principal colors (tinctures) and metals of the shield. Generally a color on the outside and metal or fur in the lining is depicted; however, the Royal Arms is a rare exception to this as it uses a metal and a fur and no color. It was originally a red cloth lined with ermine fur, but Elizabeth I altered it.

  The crest is a group of symbols atop the helmet. The royal crest is a stately lion standing on the crown facing us and wearing a gold crown himself.

  Real crests were attached to a knight’s helmet so he could be easily recognized in battle. Originally a practical object, the crest degenerated into a farce when it became a drawn formality, rather than worn. Crests appeared in the shape of enormous monsters, odd ships, or clouds, for example, which would have considerably hampered a knight had they been worn.

  The supporters of the shield are the animals that stand on either side to hold and guard it. On the left, the most important side, is a crowned, gold lion looking towards us, representing England. Lions represent great strength, ferocity, and majesty—the king of beasts. Though very few people in Europe had ever seen one, the symbol was used. The first actual lion arrived in England during the reign of Henry I (1100-1135) to be kept in his zoo at Woodstock.

  In the early days of heraldry, to emphasize their fierceness, lions were shown as rampant or passant. Many people wanted to have lions on their coats of arms, and it became necessary to have sixty or more different positions so that no two coats of arms were alike.

  On the right is a silver Unicorn with a gold horn, a mane, beard, and hooves, representing Scotland. Chained to the compartment, he has a coronet around his neck with alternating crosses and fleur-de-lis.

  Unicorns were well known through classical Greek and Roman texts and medieval bestiaries. They were described as large and very f
ierce. Thus they were chosen to guard the Royal Arms, and and it explains why they are always shown chained up. A unicorn’s whiteness symbolized purity and chastity, later leading to them being seen by some as symbols of Christ and his incarnation.

  In England, supporters were not integral originally to the Royal Arms and were subject to frequent change. Only in the 15th century did their use became consistent. Since then, various imaginary and real beasts have been used. Examples include the hart, greyhound, dragon, and bull.

  My information in this article comes from the Churches Conservation Trust who contacted me to share this information near the time of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. Please visit their website (http://www.visitchurches.org.uk/). There’s so much history to be seen! I hope you have enjoyed the symbolism that they have worked so hard to share.

  An Englishman and His Dog...

  by M.M. Bennetts

  Whether it’s Fielding’s Squire Western with his Horses, Dogs, and Bottle, or Austen’s Sir John Middleton with his dogs, or Bronte’s Mr. Rochester with his dog, Pilot, Siegfried Farnon, the vet from All Creatures Great and Small, or James Fleet’s character in Four Weddings and a Funeral with his beloved black Lab, Englishmen are known for their close relationships with their dogs. And never more so than in the past.

  Englishmen have always had dogs, haven’t they? Yes, of course, they have. They’re mad about the creatures. But the stereotypical image we have today of the Englishman with his Labrador retriever or his Jack Russell terrier is actually quite a recent phenomenon, dating only back 150 years or so.

  The short-coated Labrador retrievers (which are ubiquitous in the country) didn’t originate in Labrador, but in Newfoundland, and the first mention of them there is in 1822, when a traveller there wrote of “small water dogs”, commenting that: