Time of Castles: A Search for Ancestors

By Leigh Clarke

Leah had always wanted to follow the genealogical path of ancestors her mother had worked on so diligently. Needing to publish for university requirements, she decided to suit up and go tilt at windmills (castles) and spend a year in Great Britain. She found her ancestors castles and more adventure than she had planned on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466997820

Leigh Clarke

Leigh Clarke holds a BFA in studio art and has taken classes toward her MFA in creative writing. She is the author of the historical novel Land Above and is also in the process of writing her memoirs. She lives in the North Texas Hill Country with her pups, Beau and Bandit.

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Copyright 2013 Leigh Clarke.

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 written prior permission of the author.

Previous books: Land Above, Season’s Sun, This and That, Now and Then and Puzzle of Suspects

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9781-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9783-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9782-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013910213

Trafford rev. 07/10/2013

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

In Memory of my Mother and Father

Chapter One

M y mother spent her later years working on the genealogy of her family and seemed so excited when the timeline got back to early English, Welsh and Scottish nobles, their lives, their castles and the many names of important families of history she thought of as her great grandparents. In many cases these Anglo-Saxons led back to William the Conqueror (her favorite grandfather) and thus to France to Charlemagne, Germany to many Dukes and Italy where she located Mark Anthony as grandfather and Caesar as her uncle. One line, she said, even went as far back as the Egyptian Empire and found Nefertiti as her grandmother and several pharaohs as grandfathers. We all indulged her pastime and perhaps obsession, but it filled many hours and seemed to make her happy. I wondered if her primary family had left a void to be filled with all these historical people of her far past.

Her passion became my interest in an education that expanded into a PhD in History, with an emphasis on the medieval history of Great Britain. For five years I’ve looked into the faces of bright students taking my class as a requirement for their history major and I do my best to keep them interested. I am still filled with excitement each semester, not only in what I teach, but about the connections I make with the students in showing the importance of our past as it relates to our future. The men and women, great and lesser heroes, in past civilizations are our heritage and their timeline in history will become our own timeline for those that follow.

Sitting in our bright morning room over coffee and the Sunday morning paper, I looked at my serious faced husband, James, with his well-trimmed straight dark brown hair, his aristocratic Roman nose always topped with round glasses. What I loved most about him was his constancy; he was always the matter of fact, reliable man in my life. After a father whose journalistic career left his wife and child without his presence for most of the year, James fulfilled my need for dependability.

As he took a sip of coffee, I quickly attempted to get his attention, and for what seemed the sixteenth time that week, I said,

Please James forgive me for seeming to be obsessive about this.

But you are obsessive.

You seem to think so, but I’ve this overwhelming feeling the time is now.

If you must, then make your plans.

But I want you to go with me.

No, Leah; I can’t take time away.

Then I’ll make plans to spend the next year in Great Britain. I wish we could do it together.

I know, but it’s your passion. Maybe you can join a travel group and I can come over for a couple weeks next summer.

I don’t like groups. I want to take my time, stop when I want, linger when necessary. I’ll plan on leaving early next week. My sabbatical will allow me to stay long enough to finish my book and I’ll look forward to you joining me when you can.

Later that week, as I packed my bags as lightly as possible, knowing I could buy necessities along the way, I felt uneasy about going without my husband, who in all things steadies my tendency to follow my father’s genes in exploring the world. But perhaps time alone, after ten years on the straight and narrow with my perfectionist mate would allow me to indulge deep seated inquiries and to connect in some way with my ancestors who Mother loved to include as family. Along with my ancestral pursuits, I planned on collecting material for a book on the construction of early castles, which I needed to keep abreast of PhD publishing requirements at the university.

In the hours my United flight flew across timelines to London, I read all the notes I’d written for my itinerary with the help of my priceless guide book and used my Smart Phone to confirm my reservation at the Cavendish, London. I’d been in London a few times over the years, but wanted to return to Westminster Abby to check on the famous historical figures buried or commemorated there. I would stay two nights refreshing myself from jet lag, walk around Piccadilly Square and dine at some restaurants on my wish list.

From London I would rent a car, hopefully able to navigate on the wrong side of the road (wrong side to me). About five years earlier James and I did a driving tour to the countryside west of London and stayed for a time in Oxford, where James had attended years earlier. He drove most of the trip, but I did get in some practice, which would come in handy now as I planned on driving much further; from London to Land’s End at Cornwall, where I wanted to see Castle Tintagel specifically and then into Wales, where my paternal grandmother’s ancestors had lived, and especially the last true Prince of Wales. After visiting sites in England, I would arrive in Scotland where I wanted to research King James I and II and King Robert the Bruce, among others.

I planned to be frugal, but after not sleeping more than a couple hours at most on the plane, I felt pleased I’d decided to indulge somewhat in London and stay as close as possible to Trafalgar Square. I had stayed at the Cavendish on an earlier trip and it felt good to return; I remembered how comfortable the bed was and I couldn’t wait to crawl into its luxury, although I would miss my special bed partner. I slept for six hours and awoke refreshed and ready for a day in London. The weather seemed cool for April, hazy, but no rain, as yet; I took my raincoat and umbrella just in case.

After breakfast at the hotel it was about twelve long blocks to the Abbey; a nice brisk walk to start the day. On an earlier trip to London I had taken the all day tour, including tea at Harrods, so this was just an opportunity for me to take more time at Westminster to think about the greats who are immortalized there.

In the early 600’s a bishop by the name of Millitus had visions of St. Peter on this spot and he began building the Church of St. Peters at Westminster. King Edward the Confessor began rebuilding in 1042 and he and his wife were buried here before its completion in 1090. It was the first church in England built in the Norman Romanesque style. Although King Harold II is thought to have been crowned here, the first documented coronation was that of William the Conqueror, my 24th great grandfather.

Later, the first king to be buried at the Abbey, after King Edward, was King Henry VIII who had rebuilt the church in the Anglo-French Gothic style. Further rebuilding and restoration has taken place over the years. Many of the Plantagenet line of nobles have been buried here, and I will search out each of them in my travels, as many appear in my mother’s genealogical studies.

As I reached this monumental structure, I stood in awe looking at its western façade and realizing the history contained within. I would pay respects to my great grandfathers and grandmothers and many other great notables buried or honored here; such as Darwin, Shakespeare and Churchill.

Wandering back towards my hotel I saw a grill I had read about and stopped for lunch. I’d had the hotel’s complimentary English breakfast of scones and coffee and now I felt hunger pangs. Gordon Ramsey’s Savoy Grill is well known for lunch menu affordability for such as me. I enjoyed a grilled steak hash with Burford brown eggs and chips, accompanied by a glass of English sparkling wine, which is getting good reviews.

Feeling contentment from my visit to Westminster Abbey and a great lunch I headed back to the hotel for a nice long nap.

Chapter Two

A fter another brisk walk about, strolling by the Tower of London and imagining the wives of Henry VIII being beheaded (thank God my mother did not locate him as a direct line ancestor), and remembering the site of the original London Bridge, now located in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, where James and I visited on one of our summer driving tours, I returned to the hotel to rest and then dress for 8 o’clock dinner reservations at the lovely Petrichor, Cavendish, London’s own fine restaurant.

The restaurant looked absolutely fit for a king all dressed in fine linens, long velvet drapes and sculpted, golden walls. I glanced quickly to realize I was the only single in the room, but time had allowed me not to think ‘single’; just one for dinner please. Single tables usually are located in way off corners, or close to where the waiters pass by from the kitchen, but the starched maître de escorted me to a small table at the edge of long bank of windows, where I could see the sparkling night lights. I would give him a big tip for his generosity. I enjoyed a duck salad with a delicious plum dressing and the Dorset Scallops accompanied by a glass of Italian Prosecco, champagne’s sexy cousin. After dinner I stopped at the hotel lobby bar, where I ordered another Prosecco and asked the handsome bartender what he thought about driving to Cornwall.

Are you experienced in driving our narrow country roads, closely surrounded by hedgerows?

No not really.

It is a brutal drive to the south, if I were you I’d think about a motor coach.

What do you think about the two day tour the hotel advertises for a coach to Penzance, with stops at many sites along the way?

Even for people who don’t necessarily like tours, this one could be an exception. I hear people say they enjoyed it very much.

Handsome bartender got busy and I finished my drink, went to the travel desk and signed on to the tour beginning in the morning. Maybe I wouldn’t be so brave in driving across Great Britain as I thought.

I called James around eleven when we decided it would be the best time