Midnight in Westminster Abbey
Sean Dennis Cashman
Austin Macauley Publishers
Midnight in Westminster Abbey
About The Author
Dedication
Copyright Information ©
FOREWORD
1 AMERICANS EXPECTTHE KINDNESS OF STRANGERSCOCKAIGNE—IN LONDON TOWN
2 THE KINGS’ RIDECURTAIN UPTHE HUNDRED YEARS WAR
SPITTING FEATHERS
BY OUR LADY
EARL KING
TURNS OF THE SCREW
CHARLIE
THE TWO FACES OF RICHARD II
KNIGHT SOIL
3 THE QUEENS’ PARTYGEORGIE AND THE DRAGONSELIZABETH I AND THE NEW WORLD
REELING
CIRCLES OF DECEIT
TWO-FOR-ONE: JAMES VI AND I
4 KINGS’ REVENGECORONATION EXERCISESSHOWSTOPPER
CHARLIE CAPTURED
A CAT CAN LOOK AT A QUEEN
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES
HIGH STAKES IN THE L-SHAPED ROOM
QUEEN FOR A DAY
HEAVEN SENT
FIVE-A-SIDE FOOTBALL
SIGNING OFF
GAME ON
5 HIDDEN FIGURESWHEN THIEVES FALL OUT
ESCAPE ARTISTS
KINGS AND QUEENS IN WESTMINSTER
About The Author
Sean Dennis Cashman worked as a historian for New York University Press, an editor for the Ford Foundation and a music and theatre journalist for the New Haven Register. He taught at the University of Manchester, New York University and Adelphi University on Long Island where he was dean of arts and sciences. His America in the Gilded Age is a classic.
In this novel, he draws from his varied life to create a vivid tapestry mixing history, fantasy and satire. Kings buried in Westminster Abbey rise on All Souls’ Eve. They entertain a New York family for a scary price.
Other books by SDC include:
America in the Gilded Age
America in the Age of the Titans: The Progressive Era and World War I
America Ascendant: From Theodore Roosevelt to FDR in the Century of American Power, 1901–1945
War in Pieces 1: Ivan the Terrible from Tulsa
War in Pieces 2: The Holly Wood Years of Ivan the Terrible
Luke Reader, blind detective
Dedication
For Kenneth McArthur
Copyright Information ©
Sean Dennis Cashman (2019 )
The right of Sean Dennis Cashman to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528904315 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528957663 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
FOREWORD
The core idea of this book—the kings laid to rest in Westminster Abbey coming alive to an American family—came to me in a flash. In May 2012, I was visiting the abbey with three friends—Susan Zucker (who lives in North Hollywood), one of her grandchildren and Spencer Pearce (then of Italian Studies at the University of Manchester).
A kindly guide explained when I asked about a grave marked ‘Oliver Cromwell’ that the Republican revolutionary leader had originally been buried there. At the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660 because Cromwell had been one of the regicides of Charles I, his body had been dug up, reviled and destroyed—apart from his head that lies in a secret place in Sydney Sussex, his old Cambridge College. As further insult, the new king, Charles II, used Cromwell’s now empty grave to deposit there his illegitimate children.
How about a novel in which the kings and queens rise on All Souls’ Eve and regale a visiting family from New York with their long past triumphs and tragedies? And how about conjuring the battlefields of Crecy and Agincourt, the Black Death and the Spanish Armada within Westminster Abbey?
Then there is a literary, radio and TV formula of whisking youngsters back in time to witness famous historical events. The result is this hybrid novel, also inspired by Lewis Carroll’s two Alice books (1865 and 1872); the first Night at the Museum film (2006) with screenplay by Robert Ben Garant and Thomas Lennon; the dazzling metaphysical journeys in Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials trilogy (1995–2000); the political conversation plays of George Bernard Shaw and the ironic French-inspired essay soliloquies by William Shakespeare in various plays.
The influence of Lewis Carroll and Alice is obvious here in scenes with talking fauna, the Lion and the Unicorn, the rose gardeners, and double-dealing twins ridiculing a heroine aside a sleeping king and the petulant queen whose costume is never straight.
The influence of Philip Pullman comes in children moving through parallel worlds against a background of competitive high-power politics. Influential poet Geoffrey Chaucer, who is buried in Westminster Abbey, appears as a character in this novel to inspire a hero to practice the tricks of his ‘The Pardoner’s Tale’ from his Canterbury Tales on royal jailers. There are variation sprinklings of the wit and wisdom of Oscar Wilde’s characters in ‘The Canterville Ghost’ first published in The Court and Society Review (1887).
****
Some of the sovereigns’ histories are familiar. But whereas we have our own individual and equally valid ideas about Elizabeth I, when we come to, say, Edward I or Edward III, we may find ourselves adrift. For these kings I needed to give readers some help. I tell their histories in various ways.
Beyond my memory of the kings and queens, I have read (and made use of) various published histories. For a child’s perspective, I referred to The Pictorial History of Britain, edited by Richard Haddon, Charles Harvey, Lionel M Munby, E S Wolf (London, circa 1955). It begins with the pattern of creation and the coming of man. For an openly Whig and romantic perspective of English history, I turned to Winston S Churchill’s deliberately noble-sounding A History of the English Speaking Peoples, volumes 1, 2 (London, 1956, 1957).
For an authoritative overview incorporating conclusions from recent scholarship, I referred to a most aptly named author, Robert Tombs, and his The English & Their History (Cambridge, 2015). Its span includes mores and the development of language as well as the achievements (or otherwise) of sovereigns in front of and behind the scenes. He brings a fresh approach to retelling English history with a considered analysis of the shifting ways in which English people interpret and reinterpret their past. Although James Shapiro is best known as a Shakespearean scholar, his two books setting Shakespeare’s mature plays within their historical contexts offer invaluable information on the interaction of high politics and culture with many insights into contemporary London life as well as court intrigues in the reigns of Elizabeth I and James I. These magnificent books are: 1599: A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare (London, 2005) and 1606: William Shakespeare and the Year of Lear (London, 2015). Lovers of Henry V and As You Like It may feel gratified by James Shapiro’s ecstatic praise of these plays. Those who rate Twelfth Night the greatest Shakespearean comedy (not because it is so funny but because it is so sad) and th
ose who find Troilus and Cressida superb for its harsh distillation of human foibles may be disturbed and mystified by his dismissal of Troilus and Twelfth Night.
These mighty analytical books by Professors Tombs and Shapiro may go to the top of many visually impaired people’s recommendations because they are available from the RNIB in Braille and in large print.
Whereas there has been a historical consensus about the tragedy of the Black Death, research and scholarship at the turn of the twenty-first century have yielded startling different conclusions about mortality and social and economic consequences. James Belich in his article, ‘The Black Death and European Expansion’, in The Oxford Historian, Issue XII, 2014/15, pp 42–45, summarises some of these. I have drawn from his interpretation and used his statistics. It is unfortunate that aside the wealth of gorgeous illustrations, the text is in Times Roman font of miniscule size on glossy paper and thus problematic for many of us visually impaired people to read.
For ideas on how kings should manage themselves and their power in the interests of the country, and with courtesy I turned to the advice American columnist and onetime diplomat Walter Lippmann gave to his fellow Americans as World War II drew to a close. His article was intended as a complimentary premature obituary to dying President Franklin D Roosevelt. It is quoted at length and discussed in Ronald Steel’s Walter Lippmann and the American Century, (New York 1987). The summary of the changing nature of capital, energy and wealth that I put into the mouths of characters Geoffrey Chaucer and Charlie Chancer comes from Washington editor Mark Sullivan in volume VI of his Our Times: The United States 1900-1925: The Twenties (London, 1935).
There are also brief quotations from ten plays by William Shakespeare and quips from the golden age of Hollywood and after, both onscreen and off. Some inspirations are musical. Apart from compositions directly referenced in the text, for the child predators toward the close of the novel I drew from Franz Schubert’s song, ‘Erlkonig’ (The Erl King) (1815)—his setting of a poem (1782) by Goethe; for the idea of Death as succour to a mortally ill child and as a malevolent general I drew from Modest Mussorgsky’s ‘Lullaby’ and ‘Field Marshall’ from his Songs and Dances of Death (1870s)—his settings of poems by Arseny Olenishchev-Kutuzov. For the remorseless musical crescendo of a malevolent army advancing I was haunted by the first movement of Dimitri Shostakovich’s Symphony No 7 ‘Leningrad’ (1941).
To assist any readers who would like to place the kings and queens of this novel in their historical periods, I add a brief catalogue with names, nicknames, dates of birth and death and the names of spouses. Sometimes this basic information differs slightly in lists in written and Internet web sources—for example in different spellings of the name Catherine or Katherine. In such cases, I have made my own choices.
****
Besides Spencer and Susan, I thank my long-standing friend, Kenneth McArthur, whose trenchant objection to the original opening in my first draft of this novel prompted me to reconsider the whole book. I also thank Alex Holiday, editor for Austin Macauley, his production colleagues Connor Browne and Chris Lee and editors Joseph Lee, Vinh Tran and Kevin Smith for their care, diligence and courtesy in preparing the book for publication.
I would not have survived medical and professional hurdles and been able to continue writing without the support of loyal American friends: Dr Gregory Ludlow and Dr Christy Ludlow; Jerry Mastrangelo of Planet Fitness gyms in Connecticut, John Garity of Connecticut, Sallie Slate of New York and Walter McCall of New York. Not a day passes without me thinking about my dear departed friends, Donald and Basha Baerman of Connecticut, and how they sustained me for many years.
Among several supportive colleagues at Austin Macauley, I worked most closely with editor Vinh Tran. It was mainly due to his patience, courtesy and professional skill that Midnight in Westminster Abbey has come out successfully.
Sean Dennis Cashman
Manchester, 2018
1 AMERICANS EXPECT
THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS
New Yorker Charlie Chancer was a sharp mimic. When he said “Stunning, isn’t it?” with a true Brit accent, his two kids smiled generously. Together they rose in the London Eye—the giant Ferris-type wheel on the south bank of the River Thames. They ascended above the Palace of Westminster.
“Earth has not anything to show more fair,” prompted an elderly woman with a slight German accent, who was standing beside them. She was wearing stylish navy trousers, a white woollen coat and an indigo knitted cap. She added, “That’s what romantic poet William Wordsworth said of the sights from Westminster Bridge as it was in his time—the early 1800s. High as we are, we’ve got a way better view than he had—and newer buildings.”
Charlie put his arms around both his children’s shoulders as his daughter, Ginny, held up her cell phone to take a selfie of the three of them. Then she and her younger brother, Georgie, snapped shots of the famous clock tower Big Ben and the Portland stone towers of Westminster Abbey.
Ginny was a slim, self-possessed teenager with close-cropped curly hair above a pale brown face with luminous dark eyes, sculpted cheeks and a neat chin. Georgie was a golden haired boy with clean-cut all-American features. He had been impressed that, because Ginny wore a hearing aid, the security team at the London Eye thought Ginny was disabled and had moved the little family ahead in the line of sightseers.
High to the east stood proud skyscrapers of international finance with gleaming glass-curtain walls. Sitting prettily among them was the ample duck blue dome of St Paul’s Cathedral.
Ginny noticed that, from time to time, the stylish lady beside them took a note book from her pocket and jotted something down. When she saw Ginny looking at her, she said matter-of-factly, “Just scribbling, dear. If something occurs to me, I jot down a brief note to remind me. Later, I may develop an idea for my poor writing.”
But for Ginny, it was not St Paul’s but the Gothic revival medieval buildings of Parliament that were the prize of the great view. She loved the spindly turrets, the pointed arches of this fake medieval England. Ginny knew these buildings had been dear to her late mother. What they represented kept her mother’s memory alive to her father.
As the pod began to descend, Ginny saw her father staring at the old lady’s ample figure. He started to whisper, “F—” but stopped himself.
“What’s that?” asked Georgie.
“That’s the F word,” said the old lady, tempting Charlie. “It’s an adult word.”
“And what’s that?” Georgie asked.
“Oh,” Ginny answered straightforwardly, “F for fat.”
As she stepped down from the pod, the nice lady stumbled. One of the minders on the ground helped her quickly since the wheel did not stop.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said agreeably. “I had an umbilical hernia when my last child was born. It plays up—makes me unsteady sometimes. ‘F’ for frank, too,” she added. “Anyway, it finished me off—but that was later.”
“When was that?” asked Ginny.
“Let’s think. Almost two hundred years ago. Dear Louise was born safely, though. She lived to be queen of Denmark and Norway. She was my eighth child—or was she my seventh? I can’t remember. It was so long ago.”
Charlie thought she was joking to stave off any more awkwardness.
The old lady handed Ginny a business card. One side read: “Caroline Anspach: romance novelist.” The other side read: “Caroline Ansbach, medium extraordinaire.”
Noting the different spellings, Ginny asked, “Anspach? Ansbach?”
“Anspach, Ansbach. It’s like I say ‘Tom-ah-to’ and you say ‘Tom-A-to’. Besides, historians can’t agree about the spelling.”
And with that, the mysterious lady was gone, limp and hobble engulfed by the teeming tourist crowd.
The Chancer family crossed Westminster Bridge. Charlie and Ginny admired the iconic statue of Queen Boadicea of the Iceni driving her chariot—London’s tribute to a formidable personality. Boad
icea was remembered fondly for her forlorn stand against the Roman invasion of Britain in the first century.
Then the visiting family took a boat trip with commentary along the Thames to Tower Bridge. They were able to take in the sights close up: St Paul’s at its river elevation and the historic Tower of London on the north side of the river, and earlier, on the south side, the National Theatre, a concrete edifice built in the 1970s. Then there was the re-imagined Shakespeare’s Globe theatre with its wooden timber structure, white walls and thatched roof. At this charming sight, a little fellow in a shabby raincoat sitting in front of them stood up. Waving his arms, he said:
Like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, shall dissolve.
Then the little fellow doffed his Lenin style cap and bowed his head. Turning to the surprised passengers on the pleasure boat, he added,
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
“Did you write that?” young Georgie asked.
“Oh no,” the little man answered kindly. “These words are by another poet—a playwright too. But I tinkered with them a little.”
The boat was sailing past the former Bankside power station converted to an art museum—Tate Modern—and such capitalist centres as the Gherkin and the Shard. The voice-over commentator’s deft anecdotes made Ginny feel more at home in London than she had staying with her bossy aunt in Camden.
Charlie had seen many of the sights around the Thames before but not for years. He knew that the whole day showed his kids that their father had special prizes to give them. He was bringing the old culture of bricks, stones and mortar of London to life. He told them, “These buildings are part of our heritage, too—not just the heritage of Londoners.”
Midnight in Westminster Abbey Page 1