Piddingworth Greg Benton
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'Piddingworth...where St. George's Cross is not yet banned.'
                                                                            --
Mark Steyn
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Honour all men.
Love
the Brotherhood.
Fear God.
Honour the King.

(1Peter 2)
Trust in the Lord
and He will give you
the strength & courage
to do your
Duty...
     
Rose West Leonard
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The Perfect Summer:  Dancing into Shadow in 1911, is a social history
by Juliet Nicolson.  It seemed to me to be the ‘perfect summer read’ and
not just because of the current trend to be more pre-occupied than usual
by the weather.

The ‘weather’ of the summer of 1911, the hottest on record at the time
(even before ‘Global Warming hysteria’), is a backdrop to, another, more
profound ‘climate change’ that had occurred in that year, namely the last
great gasp of Edwardian society and the emergence of the dark clouds of
a world that would so thunderously emerge with world war one. 

It is the summer of fuss over the coronation of George V and Mary,
his Queen  whilst his cousin, the Kaiser, flexes the threat of German ‘interests’. 
The ‘impertinent’ working classes, the labourers, at the docks and railways,
went on strike shutting down as summer holiday travellers became stranded
and unloaded meat and other perishables rotted in the extreme heat off the dockyard.

The ‘Perfect Summer’ is, in a way, an allegorical reflection upon the collapse of
once-perceived notions of English society and the ‘good life’ that, like every child’s
own summer, seemed ‘eternal’, unchanging, warm and wonderful and was so keenly
felt by most in the ‘Pax Britannica’ that was it’s umbrella.

For the idle rich, there was the enjoyment of playing at being rich whether in ‘town’
and taking in the Russian ballet of Najinsky or those ‘Saturday to Monday’ gatherings
at the country house where excess in clothing and in dining was de rigueur as were
the multiple footprints between bedrooms; very well travelled and providing much
entertaining fodder for the servants.  For the working poor, aspiring, even desperately,
for some greater comfort, it was a significant year of challenge and change, if only by
a shilling, and the somewhat thin ‘security’ of a ‘National Insurance Act’ that was popular
with the unions but not for ‘servants’ whose lives depended upon a traditional,
centuries-old and unwritten covenant with their noble families.

Nicolson refers to vignettes that include stories of her own grandparents,
Harold Nicholson and Vita Sackville-West where their lives illustrated those times. 
She dwells mostly in reference on the aristocracy or nobility but gives the occasional
nod to the ‘working’ classes and the transformation that applied to them all. 
Her insights permit the reader to imagine one’s own family in that same summer
and to ‘picture’ them in the streets, towns, cities, homes and places of work and leisure. 

So it was for me, as I reflect on my own grandparents, each in their particularly diverse situations
in England in that hot summer as well as in the aforementioned ‘shadow’ into which they,
with the rest of their world, would soon become deeply and darkly immmersed.                                                      
                                 
St. Mary's Harborne, Birmingham
In the summer of 1911, Grandfather Harold Joseph Benton, age 19, is a silversmith’s apprentice
in Birmingham.  Tall, slim and handsome with his jet-black hair, broad smile, and ‘street-smarts’,
he is already a skilled talker and shrewd dealer with aspirations, never to be realised, ‘well above
his station’.  Living in a crowded tenement with his mother, Jane, who stamps brass in a factory,
his older brother William and young sister Ethel, they labour daily in the great industrial black cloud
of dust that surrounds them in the tough part of the city that is Catholic and poor.  Far removed
from the bucolic delights enjoyed by most people in Nicolson’s story, the Birmingham of the working
class is dripping in the vulgarity, struggle, sweat and meagre living of the Catholic poor where
the most feared of men, the parish priest, rules and especially on Saturday nights with the brawls
outside the taverns and warnings at closing time for attendance at the morning Mass at St. Mary's.
Mary Rose O’Leary, age 16, my grandmother, lives with her mother Bridget (Curran),
her father John and brother 'Jack' in the ‘Black Patch’ of London.  Irish transplants from
Cork, uneducated and without skills amidst the squalor, stench and misery of the Thames
embankment, they are the underclass, the ‘untouchables’ of Britain seeking refuge
from the cruel poverty in their homeland.

The official history of Bermondsey recorded in 1912, that the ‘place had acquired a character
'even more repellent than that which it bears at present'. A thickly populated district along
the waterside was inhabited by coal porters, whippers, longshore labourers and jobbers,
corn porters, costermongers, watermen and sailors, whose earnings were irregular.
The rest of the parish was occupied by working tanners, fellmongers, leather-dressers
and other labourers. Four to five persons, on an average, slept in one room, standards
of cleanliness and temperance were low, and the population subsisted chiefly on bread
and potatoes.  The streams which surrounded Jacob's Island were built over after the outbreak
of cholera in 1850.   It is the place upon which Charles Dickens based the 'adventures
of Oliver Twist'; the veritable icon of the misery of industrialised Britain.

From here, the O’Learys will seek an ‘escape’ by steerage on a ship to Montreal where
they are equally estranged from the mainstream and inevitably find their way to the poorest
place by the river.  St. Patrick's Catholic Church, (ironically called the 'English Catholic Church'
in French Quebec, though thoroughly Irish) was their refuge in a strange land.  
With as little prospect in Canada for a better life as might be in London, John and Bridget
will soon return to England leaving their son and daughter to make their own way; Jack
into an Irish regiment and Mary into service
.
This summer, like all the others for them, is at once, both hopeful and perfectly grim.
By contrast, Ernest Michael Leonard, my beloved granddad, age 21, handsome, athletic and looking
very smart in his ‘straw-boater’ enjoys the breezes and sights of sails from the boardwalk by the Hoe
in Plymouth, Devon.  An ironfitter by trade, he works at HM Dockyard and supports the union
movement for the betterment of the life of the working man.  He also plays football and two years
earlier was on the 1909 district championship team, Torquay United.

His father, William, a coal merchant in the city, and Methodist Lay-Preacher, has afforded his wife,
Lydia Powell, and their children an education as well as a somewhat ‘better’ life.  His summer is full of
optimism and youthful adventure.  According to Olive Leonard, his young sister, Ernie was adept
at charming the ladies of Plymouth.   The family can afford to travel and seek out opportunties
in the Empire.  In a few years, many will go to Toronto, Canada where some will eventually
settle and others return.
My dear grandmother, Rosie Margaret West, age 16, lives on the Stanmer Estate
of the Earl of Chichester in East Sussex where her family are employed as servants.
Once the occupants of Piddingworth, they have been given other lodgings because
great-grandfather George Ambrose, her father and stockman for the farm, was
blinded in an accident. His wife Sarah Ann, a woman of great faith and long-suffering,
is devoted to caring for her husband and children and the parish church that helps
to sustain them. 

Rosie, pretty, devout, a ‘young lady of the Church’, and well-schooled, lives at home
and works as a maid in the Earl’s house, where she enjoys the friendship and kindness
especially of Lady Ruth Mary Pelham, the 5th  Earl’s daughter who is to later become
Sister Ruth Mary, a nun at Ascot Priory, Berkshire. 

The Pelhams are not quite like most others of the nobility described by Nicolson in that
they are for the most part a deeply religious and ‘modest’ family who, though they are
of considerable means and stature, are not given to the self-indulgent ‘excesses’ of
that class that provide much entertaining reading in the book.

Eldest sister, Annie Louisa, age 26 has left Stanmer and is married but
visits her family often.  Rosie’s brothers Joseph, age 23  and George, age 20 and John, age 18
carry on with the responsibilities their father taught them in the care of the cattle and sheep.
John, will one day open a bake shop whilst Minnie, Rosie’s little sister, age 12, attends
Falmer School and dutifully assists her mother with the chores.  The very occasional ‘escape’
to Brighton Beach affords some relief in this hot summer, but there is much illness in the family
and, with it, much suffering.  Rosie, who was confirmed and received her first holy communion
a year earlier, finds comfort in the Church at Falmer and Stanmer as does her devoted family. 
and they are frequently visited by the Rev’d H.V. Bickersteth, their parish priest.
From the English summer of 1911, my grandparents, in deeply contrasting ways,
enter the ‘shadow’ to which Miss Nicolson refers. They are all touched and influenced
by the common events that are of historical significance: 
the beginning of the decline of the British Empire and the emergence of the darkness
of German nationalism; the 'Great War' followed by economic depression, the threat
of totalitarianism and war again. On the other hand, with consequent social
and economic change in the decades to come, they will all have a greater, if still limited,
independence as well as opportunities for a ‘better living’.  Their experiences, personal triumphs
and tragedies, sewn together, will lay the foundation for a very different world for their children
and grandchildren.                                                                                
An 'old' woman in poor London cares
for a child whilst the mother is at work.
       ON THE IDLE HILL OF SUMMER

        by: A.E. Housman (1860-1936)

            ON the idle hill of summer,
            Sleepy with the flow of streams,
            Far I hear the steady drummer
            Drumming like a noise in dreams.
            
            Far and near and low and louder
            On the roads of earth go by,
            Dear to friends and food for powder,
            Soldiers marching, all to die.
            
            East and west on fields forgotten
            Bleach the bones of comrades slain,
            Lovely lads and dead and rotten;
            None that go return again.
            
            Far the calling bugles hollo,
            High the screaming fife replies,
            Gay the files of scarlet follow:
            Woman bore me, I will rise.

from A Shropshire Lad. A.E. Housman.
London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co., 1896.
INTO THE SHADOW-
THE SUMMER OF 1911