Mary Wakefield Buxton

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

“Bubba,” as Bill Clinton was known back in Arkansas, and his ambitious wife, Hillary Clinton, took over the White House in 1992. He was both a personable and handsome man and had a certain charisma that attracted people to him like magnet sucks iron ore to its breast. He was also a very skilled politician who could work with both parties in a non- partisan spirit, something lacking today.

The great distraction from the very beginning of Clinton’s term in office and finally exploding into full blown scandals was what the media called a series of “bimbo eruptions.” I lost count of all the ladies that claimed he had either taken advantage of them or had had an affair with him.

The worst scandal for the nation to endure was the Monica Lewinsky affair. She was a young White House intern that had fallen under his charms and continued a steamy relationship with him for some time before her infamous blue dress came into evidence of his behavior. His unseemly behavior in the Oval Office shocked many Americans, including me. We were not amused. One would like to be proud of and look up to a president, if at all possible.

Then the usual, denials came and more lies … “I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” said with the incriminating raised eyebrows as he claimed his innocence. Lying to us is one thing, but he even lied to U.S. District Judge Susan Weber Wright and was fined more than $90,000 for doing so.

Still most Americans loved Bill Clinton. His wife was another matter. For some reason I saw “Lady Macbeth” whenever she spoke. It seemed to me that she would do most anything to become the first woman president. She may make it even yet, for she still has troops of women who adore her.

I had personal reason to dislike her. Her staff called the Southside Sentinel offering to provide me with my own personal copy of “Mrs. Clinton’s talking points” each week so that I could use them to write an op-ed in the Sentinel. When I returned her call I learned she was creating an army of women journalists across the nation that would receive her ideas for “distribution.”

I refused her kind offer. I don’t use anyone’s “talking points.” In 1995 I already knew that she was preparing a run for the presidency one day and using White House staff to help prepare the way.

When Clinton lost the democrat majority in the House in the ‘94 election, he worked well with Republican Newt Gingrich, who was speaker of the House back in the days when Republicans could actually elect a speaker. Together they passed tax cuts and reformed welfare. We have not seen a president and the opposite party work so well together since.

George W. Bush, son of the first George H.W. Bush, was elected president in 2000. I think the country was relieved to see a modest person in a solid marriage to a wife who was content to be a first lady and mother to her children with no political aspirations of her own. We certainly needed a breather after the Clinton years.

Bush served two terms in office. He was credited for getting drug costs down under Medicare.  The destruction of the twin towers on 9/11, the greatest attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor was bombed in 1941, caused the nation to go into shock and spread fear across the land. Bush overreacted and sent troops into Afghanistan and Iraq and once again America was mired in war for many years. Lesson learned once again that we should have learned in Vietnam: Go slow to war, do nothing in a state of rage, and always have a withdrawal plan when it’s time to make peace.

At the end of two terms with Bush, Barack Hussein Obama became president. It was a  historical election as it was the first time in American history a Black man was elected president.

Obama promised to fundamentally change America. He did. And his vice president, Joe Biden, and longtime politician, who in 2020 was elected president, continued the campaign to fundamentally change the nation.

Our nation cries out to be color blind but it seemed to me racial issues became even more to the forefront during the Obama years. Our goal as a homogeneous people should be to follow the guidelines of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. that so famously stated that …

“they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Thus we are reminded once again that behavior, how we treat our fellow man, is everything. Behavior not mere words, is always the “proof of the pudding.”

And then there was Trump.

 I have seen many presidents since my birth in 1941 and witnessed many different kinds of behaviors in the White House, but nothing prepared me for “the Donald.”

(See the Nov. 16 print edition of the Southside Sentinel for this series’ conclusion.)

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

By now I was acutely aware that presidents could not only lie to the people but their policies could also cause havoc to our nation. I also realized I had to carefully study qualifications and experience of a vice president before casting my vote as they so often ended up in the Oval Office.

During the two terms of the Reagan years, it seemed to me the nation settled down. I was in my 40s and busy raising my family, working to help pay bills, and readying to send my daughter to college. We faced 10 years of tuition bills that would take every dime out of our checking account in payments not only for her but our son who would follow in college after she graduated.

By mid-life most people understand that there is no perfection in this world and one must face the fact that no matter what is happening in the world, one still had to function, earn money, pay bills, raise children in as best an environment as possible … and still find joy in life. Aye, there’s the rub.

My husband had left a salaried position and started his own law firm. It was tough going those first few years. I recall (with a shiver) the first month’s gross revenues at the firm were $168. But never fear. The next month it doubled.

Exhausted with my career, raising challenging teenagers, running the home, and paying bills, I wished mightily I could quit everything and just disappear from view. I dreamt of slipping away at night and living a problem-free life somewhere in some imagined paradise. But I would awaken the next morning, do the chores, get the children off to school and head to work like millions of other Americans each day wondering if I would ever achieve my own dreams.

Reagan reduced taxes during his term and this helped working Americans keep more of their hard-earned wages to pay ongoing bills. His greatest domestic success was bringing down inflation rates, which had reached the high teens percentage-wise under Jimmy Carter. Food prices had shot up so high I could barely afford to buy groceries for my family but with Reagan prices came back down. He built back the economy by lowering taxes so more people could keep more of their own money and felt they could start buying more goods once again.

His great foreign policy win was defined in one simple sentence uttered at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin in 1987 … “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

Soon after that famous quote that was heard the world over, the Berlin Wall known as part of the “Iron Curtain” that had separated Germany into two parts since after World War II came down. Germans and the West celebrated the joyous event. We were filled with hope for new times ahead of peace and freedom in Europe.

President Reagan began to suffer from what turned out to be Alzheimer’s disease and his mental decline was obvious. A scandal surfaced, the Iran-Contra affair, which he was thought to have been involved in, but by then he had lost his memory.

We have seen other presidents lose mental capabilities and it is always a sad sight, but also alarming because the office of president and commander in chief demands mental acuity to the highest degree.

After Reagan I understood I must consider a candidate’s age and mental health before casting a vote. The vision of a walking zombie that had lost mental faculties being programmed by staff putting forth their policies is alarming. 

Reagan completed his second term and Vice President George Bush ran for office in 1988 and won the presidency. I felt he was well-qualified for the top job and I liked the Bush family, whose members had served in government posts for many years. I felt they were honest, shared my values and I especially liked that the family was well-mannered and behaved with dignity.

Bush promised he would never raise taxes. I can remember seeing him on TV saying “Read my lips. No new taxes.” He raised taxes.

When Iran attacked Kuwait, Bush sent American troops in to defend the country. He succeeded in his goal and brought troops back home. In spite of this success, George H.W. Bush only served one term. Many thought it was because he raised taxes after promising that he would not.

He ran against a young governor of Arkansas, William Jefferson Clinton and also a third-party candidate by the name of Ross Perot. Perot took almost 20 million votes and Clinton won with a minority overall vote. This taught me that third party candidates would seriously affect the vote count and we could elect a candidate with less than 50 percent of the general vote.

Few Americans were prepared for what awaited us next. For starters, X-rated political activities in the Oval Office.

Part 5

© 2023.

Part 1 • Part 2

Richard M. Nixon won the presidency in 1968 as my husband and I were back in college working on degrees that had been put off while he served in the U.S. Navy. Chip was 25 years old when he started law school. We were way behind previous classmates. One friend in Hampton not only had his law degree but already had been appointed a judge.

We felt a bit like the tortoise racing against the hare which symbolized time. We were slow but our engines were firing up to achieve the goals we were after. He wanted to become a lawyer. I wanted to become a writer. I was already writing stories and columns for my hometown newspaper about life as I observed it.

But now I went to work to support my family starting a telephone answering service in Williamsburg and Newport News and going back to college part time.

The Pentagon Papers hit the press during the Nixon years, which clearly showed Americans how we had been misled in the Vietnam War for many years by three presidents: Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson. Nixon did everything he could to stop publishing the top-secret government documents which had been stolen and handed to the New York Times and Washington Post. The case went to the Supreme Court which found freedom of the press overruled the government’s right of privacy.

I agreed with the finding: the press exists not to serve government, but to serve the people. Don’t I wish all media outlets today still followed that basic premise, which is the most important ingredient of a free society.

I credit Nixon who ended the Vietnam War and brought the troops home. It was a relief to be free from the fighting but sickening to see communists take over South Vietnam and seek retribution from Vietnamese that had helped Americans fight the communists from the north. I decided America must never fight in wars again unless the nation was fully committed to winning the war. Unfortunately, the future would prove our leaders never learned that lesson.

Nixon also opened communication with Chairman Mao in China and this was an achievement. But he got involved in an inane break-in of Democrat headquarters at Watergate and tried to cover it up. He resigned from office turning the country over to yet another Vice President Gerald Ford.

Gerald Ford was a pleasant fellow, a longtime politician from Michigan that had been in the House of Representatives for many years. One of the first things he did was pardon Nixon, who was, by this time, a sick man.

Many Americans did not approve, but I thought it wise so that the nation could heal deep wounds. Also, I did not wish to start a dangerous precedent of sending presidents to prison, no matter how despicable they may turn out to be. Such a process can so easily be abused similar to what we see in third world governments ruled by thugs who imprison or even murder their political opponents.

Jimmy Carter was elected our next president by simply smiling and promising he would never lie to us. That’s how bad it was! So many presidents had lied to us by that time so well, we had almost lost hope of ever getting another president who, like George Washington, was supposedly remembered as a man who never told a lie. If that is so, he must have been a saint.

Carter was a sweet fellow, an engineer by profession and a fine Southern gentleman. He introduced us to a deep Southern accent and kind and gentle manners. I believe the man was the most moral president that has ever occupied the White House. However, he was not able to govern.

The nation quickly went downhill. Interest rates on loans shot skyward. I remember it well as we were trying to finance a house at the time. Inflation followed suit along with unemployment. The statistics jumped to eye popping numbers, well over 10 percent in every category. Americans struggled with financing homes, buying groceries and even getting and keeping employment.

As if hearing a call to serve, out of the West rode Ronald Reagan on a white stallion to save the nation. He talked about that “shining city on the hill” and was elected by a landslide. So now we had elected our first Hollywood star to lead the nation.

What was a young budding writer to think? It seemed to me that politics was a game for lunatics and anyone that climbed on the bandwagon to play was a chump.

I think that was my first inkling that if I wanted to become a writer and opine on politics, the state of mankind and the world, I had better learn fast how to write comedy.

Part 4

© 2023.

Part 1

URBANNA — After Kennedy’s tragic assassination in 1963, Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson took over the presidency. This startling change of leadership brought home the fact that voters must seriously consider the choices of the vice presidents when they cast a vote for the top slot because Veeps may take over the Oval Office and if they are not well qualified, inept leadership could possibly bring down the nation and/or destroy our economy.

Johnson built up military forces in Vietnam and expanded the war, which was a grave error because this nation did not wholly support the war. We were told we were there to stop the spread of communism, but many young Americans refused to serve, burned their draft cards and the American flag in protest and even some fled to Canada to escape the draft. The nation was torn apart with protest.

When the Pentagon papers later exposed the fact after Nixon took office that Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson had known all along a war in Vietnam could not be won and were lying to the American people about the war, the nation exploded in fury. On top of this the Civil Rights Act of 1964 had been enacted and violent race riots turned city neighborhoods into ruins in some areas. Those serving overseas in the military and returning home were treated like pariahs. It was a very bad time.

Johnson learned a lesson. A president cannot initiate war without the consent of his people. Presidents cannot lie to us.

His unpopularity caused him to limit his service as president to just one full term in office. With more than 50,000 casualties in Vietnam and many cities at home scarred with rioting, very few Americans were sorry to see him go.

My husband and I were caught in the web. Chip barely got out of the South China Sea before Johnson ordered a freeze on those serving in the military. He returned in September in time to start law school. His four years in the Navy had made him one of the oldest members of his first-year class in a college aflame in student protests over the war.

 I, too, was back on campus finishing my degree. I saw young students protesting the war as I walked back and forth to class. I was heartsick at the sight of students yelling at the William and Mary ROTC students and calling them “pigs” and “Fascists.”

As the young students, some just 18 years old, disrespecting fellow students who were preparing to become officers in the military and do their duty for their country, visions of the U.S. Marines running two by two and carrying rifles out of the belly of a troop ship that I was also on returned to me. They were singing the Marine song and on their way to Okinawa where they would be flown into Vietnam and instant battle in the jungles. Many of them never made it back home. I stood helplessly, watching the Marines, God bless the Marines, depart for war, holding my new baby in my arms. And I just wept.

My bitterness was overwhelming. The Vietnam War left many deep scars on my generation, which we have had to deal with. No excuses, we still had to succeed in life no matter how we felt about how we had been treated. One can’t continue to lick wounds from the past if one wants to recover and succeed. We had to overcome bitterness, accept and forgive those that had hurt us.

But in my case the experience left a general distrust of government and politicians. I don’t trust them anymore. Not since the Vietnam era. And to this day I can’t swallow any party’s dogma or believe anything a politician tells me. The Vietnam War took me a very long time to forget. And, as readers can well see today … I have not forgotten.

We were done with duty and sacrifice. We came home in 1965 yearning for peace and happiness in our young lives. The country was turned asunder but there was nothing for us to do but work hard to prepare for our future in civilian life, put down our roots in Virginia, grow our young family, and secure our livelihood and first home. In spite of everything, we had high hopes for a bright future.

But I wished for a great leader in the White House to reinspire the nation to become all it was meant to be.

And then there was Nixon. 

Part 3

© 2023.

URBANNA — I recently read a poll that said the majority of Americans dread next year’s election for fear it will be a repeat of 2020. Facing a campaign rerun of the same two candidates running again in ’24 for another go at it seems to me would be like reliving a bad dream.

Such dread triggered memories of past campaigns and elections I have witnessed since being born in the Dark Ages … or 1941, just months before the bombing of Pearl Harbor — yesterday’s “9-11,” which FDR called “The Day of Infamy.” (Incredible to think the majority of Americans alive today were not alive in 1941.)

Remembering the past might be just the ticket I need to accept the future. So today I begin a series of memories of past elections.

FDR (Franklin Roosevelt) was in the White House in 1941. My parents told me they had not voted for him as they had not approved of his extending stay in office over the traditional two-term limit, but when the U.S.A. jumped into World War II in 1941, they were grateful he was our leader and voted for him to stay the course. Wars are a time one would not want to risk changing leadership or chance a second-rate Commander in Chief.

Yet, by the end of the war, FDR was a sick man. He may not have been as strong as he should have been while standing up against Stalin’s demands at Yalta when so much of Europe was to be handed over to the Soviets creating what Churchill later called the “Iron Curtain.” Much tragedy came from that long ago division of land and we are still dealing with problems related to decisions made at Yalta.

FDR passed away while in office and Vice President Harry S. Truman came next. By then I was old enough to remember seeing him on our first black and white TV. I especially remember him saying his famous line “The Buck Stops here!” which meant as president he took the blame for whatever went wrong.

I don’t think we have seen a president since that had such a mature understanding of the responsibility for those who end up in the oval office. It’s human nature to blame others for troubles encountered in life but listening to presidents ever since blame the previous administration for such problems is tiresome.

Truman made the decision to drop atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki that ended war in the Pacific with Japan. I have spent a lifetime wondering if that decision was the right one. On a moral sense, no, because it set a dangerous precedent that a nation could kill tens of thousands of innocent civilians during a war.

However, there were many Americans that believed the only way Japan would ever quit fighting was to shock them into accepting peace.

I also remember seeing how angry Truman was when a music critic panned his daughter’s singing debut. The entire country laughed at his comical pettiness but it certainly demonstrated that presidents were just as human as the rest of us.

Eisenhower won the White House for the next eight years. World War II had lifted the general to not only national hero status but international acclaim and I felt sorry for the intellectual Adlai Stevenson who ran against him, not once but two times, but he didn’t have a chance. “I like Ike” buttons were everywhere.

He was a grandfatherly type of fellow and seemed sensible and moderate in his thinking. I remember him for warning us about the danger of industrial military buildup at a time when we were undoubtedly the strongest nation in the world and also for his determination to do what he could to stop segregation in our society. Who better than an Army general to know a Black man can fight as well as a white man and be just as much a hero?

A young, handsome senator, John F. Kennedy, came next and he and his beautiful aristocratic wife brought a sense of “Camelot” to America. He also brought about tax relief to Americans, which boosted our economy to new highs. When Russia started installing missiles aimed toward the U.S. in Cuba, Kennedy took a strong stand and forced the USSR to turn its supply ships back home. Later he ordered the fiasco known as the “Bay of Pigs” which was a planned invasion of Cuba that failed.

In November 1963, he was assassinated while touring Texas. I was just married and working in a department store in San Diego where my husband, Chip, was serving in the Navy.

I remember seeing the stark images on a multitude of TVs against the appliance center wall announcing the grim news. Chip and I spent an entire weekend glued to the television as the funeral took place. I can still see the riderless black horse walking down Pennsylvania Avenue in the funeral cortege. The entire nation grieved the young president’s death. It seemed to me the end of the world.

Part 2

© 2023

URBANNA — Well, I did it and it was easy. I turned 82 last week. Nothing to it. It was as easy as the blink of an eye!

I had a lot of greetings from friends and family on my big day. Even my church, cruise line, CPA and doctor sent greetings. The doctor’s birthday wishes made me a little uneasy. I wonder if he knew something about my health that I didn’t know.

Just grateful my funeral director didn’t wish me happy birthday. That would have really scared me.

I guess when you are in your 80s, it gets people’s attention. Still, I appreciated all the good wishes. People are kind to seniors. That helps get us through the day.

It’s still hard to believe a young chick like me could possibly be 82 years old! Maybe there was a mistake made on my birth certificate and I should report it?

I really felt old on my recent trip to England. Men called me “ma’am” and offered me their arm to help me get off a bus or take off my coat and when I entered the underground and there were no seats, the men stood up to give me their seats. I was very impressed.

Maybe I looked like I was going to drop dead from exhaustion, which I was. I never felt so close to the end as I did on the “trip of a lifetime.” One doesn’t ask for a lot in life but one certainly might wish the last breath could be taken from one’s own bed and not in some hotel halfway around the world.

The odd part about growing old, and I can no longer argue that age 82 isn’t “old” is one doesn’t feel old, just tired. My brain is the same as ever, full of fun and passionate about life.

But my body drags along as if it really would prefer to just sit in a chair and read a book. But my brain says get up and get going and when I do my body chimes in and usually gets the last word.

Bodies are a drag! If only my brain could live on without my body I would be just fine. Bodies are a lot of trouble when you think about it. There’s always something wrong, a hangnail, a sprained ankle, a bruise here or there, a scratch from a playful cat…What a nuisance a body is!

Think of all the trouble it is to take care of a body. It has to be fed, cleaned and clothed and what a waste of time! If only my brain could be set free!

My brain is my body’s slave! My brain craves freedom! Brains of the world, unite! Down with bodies! End servitude now!

Oh well, I guess that’s a pipe dream. One knows a body needs a brain to tell it what to do and a brain needs a body to do the manual work. It’s easy when one thinks of it to think. What’s hard is to take action. I could think all day and be perfectly happy if I didn’t have to take any action my thinking requires.

82! Think of it! Turning 80 and 81 weren’t so shocking because sister Alice assured me one wasn’t old until one hit 82! She knows because she hit 82 two years ago. So now I guess I just have to accept it.

I don’t think I look old! Do you think I look 82? Hardly any wrinkles! Of course, my eyesight isn’t quite what it used to be.

Except for the gray hair. Sometimes I see this lady as I walk by the mirror and wonder who she is and how she got into my house? There’s nothing wrong with the white top, mind you, it’s just that you don’t want people to think you just walked through a blizzard or that you are really Mrs. Santa Claus walking through Urbanna incognito.

I tried being a blonde once just to find out if blondes had more fun than brunettes and I discovered they certainly did have more fun. I was a blonde for 20 years and loved every minute of it!

But then my doctor suggested that I let my hair “go natural” as I aged. I imagined using all that dye every two months or so would hardly be good for me. It sounded OK at the time and as the gray came very slowly into my dark brown hair Jan Dunlevy from Shear Delight raved about how pretty my “frosted hair” was and assured me it was “most attractive.” And, best of all, the price was right.

Frosted look yes, but one day I peered into the mirror and it suddenly looked like the cook had dumped the entire pan of frosting on my head!

So far my brain is holding out for the “natural look.” But we shall see, won’t we, just how long Mrs. Santa Claus walks the streets of Urbanna!

© 2023

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6

All good things come to an end. Thank goodness, the trip of a lifetime would end while we still had a few dollars left, could still limp along and still owned the shirt on our back.

The day of our return we “Ubered” through Monday morning London rush hour traffic to Heathrow Airport. I had thought New York City cab drivers were fearsome. The Pakastani, our driver, met every qualification.

Chip got our driver talking and when started he never stopped. He spoke five languages; it had taken him 12 years to get to England legally through Portugal and Amsterdam where he earned a college degree and became a British citizen.

“I came here for the best education in the world for my children,” he explained. “And what did I get? The schools now are flooded with Somalians who came into the country illegally and can’t speak English. I have to send my children to private school to get the education I wanted for them. That’s why I supported Brexit!” he added, his voice rising.

I nudged Chip to stop the conversation. Politics is a taboo subject when people raise their voices.

Too late, we heard why he had left Pakistan and all his struggles to receive a college education in Europe and start his own business in London. He owned two vans now; his brother drove the other and they served many accounts including Cunard customers because, yes, he had once worked on Queen Mary.

He launched into his frustrations with politics in England and his dislike for “woke” as we pulled up at the airport and helped us get all our luggage into the terminal.

“Here’s some money to help you pay for your children’s education,” said Chip, handing over a big tip. I sighed. It happens every time. Give an American a sad story of struggle to work hard and come out on top and you’re sure to get a big tip.

A line as long as a Texas fence was waiting to check us in that moved at the speed of…well, let me say I have seen snails move faster on Urbanna Harbor dock than this airline check in line.

I was too tired to stand so Chip stood for the hour waiting to check in with all our luggage. That’s when we heard the bad news. We had booked in February two seats in economy plus requesting an aisle seat, only to discover no aisle seats were available and we hadn’t even been seated together.

I had previously suffered from a blood clot from a long flight and I knew I needed easy access to the aisle so I could walk and certainly needed assistance of my husband seated next to me.

Tough. Neither request could be met, so — we purchased two business flight seats so we could sit together and have easy access to the aisles. The earlier image of that plucked chicken of which everyone takes a big bite of as she makes her way through the trip of a lifetime returned. But we had little choice. We forked over the extra cash.

The trip was long and exhausting but British Airways served delicious gourmet meals and as much wine as we needed to vanquish the pain of being plucked. Very considerate.

Finally, we landed at Dulles. I had never been so tired as I was at this very moment. Unfortunately, every other jumbo jet from a major city in the world must have landed at Dulles at about the same time because we faced a long wait in a line that snaked like a maze to get through passport control.

We stood waiting for well over an hour inching along before an immigration employee peered at us, as if we might have been dangerous people trying to sneak into the country with a fake passport, took our photos and compared them to our passport photos and allowed us back into our country.

“I think it would have been easier for us to have flown to Mexico and simply crossed over the border into Texas,” I said as we hunted for our luggage and moved on to customs.

The sight of two octogenarians on their last legs struggling along must have caught the eye of some kind soul in customs for he waved us through. Perhaps he did not want to deal with anyone dropping dead in their inspection line?

We pushed our way to passenger pick up and there was the magnificent sight of our daughter, Liz, waiting to take us home to Urbanna.

Rush hour traffic was horrendous and it took hours to reach Urbanna. We hugged “Dandy” and collapsed into bed. It was 2:30 a.m. London time. We slept like the dead and were surprised that we awoke the next morning.

Would I take the trip of a lifetime again? Stand in long lines, suffer delayed travel plans, spend more money in two weeks that anyone in their right mind should ever do, eat too much rich food and drink too much wine, suffer through more activities in any one day than any sane person should do, suffer seasickness, a five-hour time change going over to England and then again on return and walk until my legs begged to drop off?

Sure. Who couldn’t agree to go on the trip of a lifetime? But the 60^th wedding anniversary celebration is in the past now and I’m home sweet home — never to depart again!

Conclusion)

©2023

Note: One Woman’s Opinion columnist Mary Wakefield Buxton will be taking a short break to recover.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5

Land ho! Yes! At the end of our week at sea we spotted the first sighting of land off the coast of Ireland, then England came into view. Soon we saw other ships passing and by dawn we pulled into Southampton where buses were lined up ready to take us to our destinations. It was pouring rain. Welcome to England!

The great poets came to mind, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Keats, Shelley, Wordsworth, Yeats (half Irish), T.S. Eliot (born in America), Browning, and so many more, as I had watched the beloved land of my forefathers emerge as if born out of the sea. And the memory returned of Father who had saluted every Union Jack we came across while boating on the Great Lakes during my childhood. Our roots are important to us and we should never forget them, nor the reasons why our ancestors came to America.

Some of the passengers were doing the round trip on the Queen back to New York and departing at 5 p.m. But we were headed for a three-day visit to London with a stay at Conrad St. James Hotel, just two blocks from Buckingham Palace. How convenient if we wished to visit the king, however, we decided to skip seeing Charles on this trip.

We were tired and my legs felt rubbery from walking a third of a mile every time we left our stateroom. We had not realized when we signed up for the extension how exhausted we would be when we arrived in England but we were happy we didn’t have to face that long flight back to the States quite yet and could rest at our hotel.

The dream of fools! Our room wasn’t ready. It was 10 a.m. and this news hit us like a load of ice. We were directed to the lounge where we could wait until 3 p.m. when our room would be ready.

We headed for a sofa. “I’m so tired I feel like kicking off my shoes, stretching out and going to sleep,” I said to Chip who scowled immediate disapproval. I managed to sit upright until 3 p.m. when we were taken to our room and could crash into beds.

Later we walked to the Palace only to be overwhelmed on the streets with thousands of touring students bearing down on us and forcing us onto the streets. London is nowhere to visit in summer, I realized, as I watched students pass, mesmerized, as if they had each been hypnotized by their hand-held devices with which they clutched with the reverence and devotion of a religious icon.

We passed the Parliament building and heard “Big Ben” chime out the time which reminded us we were starved. We popped into an English pub for dinner — chicken and mushroom pie in a delicious pastry for me and beef-vegetable pie for Chip. He downed a pint of Irish ale, which he claimed erased all pain whereas I drank my usual chardonnay with no relief.

I had pre-purchased two outrageously expensive tickets to see the new British musical “Operation Mincemeat” to which the “New Yorker” magazine had given a good review. As we squeezed into two seats at the end of the row partially behind a pillar I saw the cast was dressed in drag. The play was filled with sexual innuendos and double entendres that set off the fellow sitting behind me in whoops of laughter in a sea of stark silence from surrounding seat mates. His reaction to the play soon became more amusing to me than the play.

At intermission, many theater goers left, including us. Drag is considered entertaining of late, but as Queen Victoria might have said, “We are not amused.”

Yet, to be fair, even a presentation of “Hamlet” could not have pleased me. I hurt. My legs and feet ached from having to walk so much and run up and down stairways. The Underground (subway) was particularly difficult as there were many flights of stairs I had to transit to use the system. I looked like an old lady as I managed the stairs one step at a time as others bounded past me. The trip of a lifetime might well be my last trip anywhere.

Our last day in London was fulfilling Chip’s goal — visiting Sir Winston Churchill’s home, estate and museum in Oxted, Kent. This meant an Underground trip to Victoria Station and transfer to the national train line that would take us south of London to Oxted. And many more stairs.

Some English ladies on our train offered to take us to Chartwell, a six-mile drive from Oxted. Just one of many examples of how well the English treat Americans.

Walking through the palatial house, magnificent gardens, museum and having lunch outside under a picnic umbrella were all exquisite pleasures. Kent is beautiful rural rolling land and Chartwell contains idyllic lakes, ponds and bubbling creeks with much wildlife and even black swan. It was thrilling to walk in the same steps that last century’s savior of western civilization had once walked. I believe Churchill to be the greatest leader of our time.

We also enjoyed viewing many of Churchill’s oil paintings, mostly landscapes, which he took pleasure in creating, especially at the end of his life.

We hopped on the 5 p.m. train back to London and endured more stairs before we arrived at our hotel. We had to immediately start packing for the morning’s departure for Heathrow Airport at 8 a.m. I did not look forward to that long flight home to Dulles and the five-hour time change to experience again. But trip of a lifetime or not, I was ready to go home.

(Conclusion next week.)

© 2023

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

Part Five

After the third day the fog cleared. I stood on the bow of the Queen Mary facing eastward to England and took in the glorious blue Atlantic Ocean that surrounded us. Finally we could see the water! I imagined we were strong and my hair quickly turned into a style any scarecrow would relish.

I needed to find my brush and make amends with my hairdo before appearing at one of the most elegant ceremonies and traditions in the world known as “the English afternoon tea.” Scarecrows are not invited.

The tea was not to be missed. We sat at tables set for four in the Queen’s ballroom while white gloved attendants in tuxedos came to pour the tea, my favorite, English breakfast tea, followed by a similar group bearing silver trays laden with every delicate sweet and sugary dessert one might imagine along with an array of tiny cucumber, turkey, chicken salad or salmon finger sandwiches to satisfy any possible afternoon pangs of hunger.

As I tasted the delightful petit fours and chocolate treats an image of Dr. Cubbage from the White Stone Family Practice flashed through my brain giving me advice about maintaining a heart healthy diet. But can one eat carrot stocks and spinach on the trip of a lifetime? Of course not, and I quickly dismissed my good doctor.

The Queen segregates people according to the class of ticket purchased as England is still into rigid class systems, which ironically had driven my Anglo-Saxon ancestors out of the country and to America almost 200 years ago. One even eats in one’s assigned restaurant and must follow strict dress rules or … for those who don’t care to conform to rules, (which is usually me except I was conforming for the trip of a lifetime) are invited to dine in the buffet deck where there are few dress codes and all are welcome.

The entire passengers meet as one in all the ship’s activities and public spaces. I felt a bit silly, I will admit, in formal clothes on my way to formal dinner in elevators when others were happily headed for the buffet in casual clothes. I told Chip in his evening dress he looked exactly like our maître d’.

At English tea we mingled with everyone with some success, some failure. Our first tea we shared a table with two police persons, husband and wife, from Yorkshire, England. We so enjoyed meeting them and sharing our take on what “woke” has done to the American police force and it turned out the same thing had happened in Britain.

Our next tea was not so fortunate. The tea and pastries were lovely but we joined a table that once we introduced ourselves, a man who said he was an Irishman, immediately stood up and left the table. His wife, an English woman, made some lame excuse for her husband’s rude departure and we managed a polite conversation throughout tea, but we felt as if the man did not like Americans. It was unsettling.

The next day we joined a couple who were friends from Australia who liked to travel together and they were fun to be with. He was a sheep farmer and she was retired and they most definitely liked Americans. The passengers were mostly Americans, (many southerners,) English, Scottish and German. We also noted they were a well traveled group, especially as to cruising, and many had decided for their last cruise to go on the Queen.

Throughout the teas, a string quartet would play. The ensemble started with a German march and the audience clapped in delight (just as they had done when we once were in  Vienna,) but after that ribald opening, the group retired to sedate English music. We did not hear any American music.

Breakfast was delivered to our cabin each morning but lunch and dinner were served formal style with six courses. The food was excellent but much fancier than we normally would eat. I remember especially an outstanding beef Wellington, baked Alaska and coq au vin. I enjoyed most of all an old fashioned turkey dinner with the usual Thanksgiving sides.

That evening in the Royal theater we were entertained by a comedian from South Africa. Before getting us laughing he told us how difficult the last several years had been for him and his family as COVID-19 had shut down most of his gigs. His routine mostly poked fun at his wife and women in general. We laughed although nothing he said would be considered politically correct.

But who wants to live in a PC world anyway? When government tells you what is funny and not funny, for some odd reason, just the opposite is true.

After two years of no work, the comedian was just getting back on his feet. Which made me think of what we in the states had suffered with COVID-19 shutdowns. Our law offices were closed to the public for three months, the lawyers still worked over the telephones and with some clients in emergencies who had to sign documents while heavily masked and isolated from staff. Scary times. Thank goodness that time has passed. We saw no masks nor did anyone ask about COVD-19 shots during the trip.

The gentle rock and shudder of the ship that bothered me the first few days had passed, the wind had calmed and one could walk on the promenade deck without a jacket. We had passed Greenland on the north and were passing Iceland now. We would soon be arriving in Southampton. The week at sea was rapidly coming to an end.

• Part 6

© 2023

Part 1 • Part 2

Part Three

URBANNA — That first night at sea as we steamed north up the coast of the Atlantic Ocean to enter the great circle passage bound for England, I dreamt of that beautiful line in a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow … “ships that pass in the night.” What imagery. Once read such lovely lines repeat themselves again and again in my dreams. I thought as I drifted off to sleep that poetry lines remembered is a little like ships passing in the night.

The next morning, I was immediately aware of feeling “funny.” Something was not quite right. The cabin was atilt and there was a strange shudder in the ship that I did not like. I stumbled, no, lurched as I moved to dress and then realized I was feeling a bit, oh please God, no! … seasick.

I moved with the speed of a cobra striking its prey for my purse and the Dramamine I had packed — just in case. I was unpleasantly surprised a ship as large as Queen Mary would feel any movement from the sea,

“We’re at sea, my dear,” said Chip exuberantly, ex-Navy and apparently quite used to lurching as he walked. “This reminds me of the years I spent in the ‘Med’ and South China Sea!” he added as if happy to feel the sea roll underneath us. But I wondered how long it would take before the Dramamine worked.

Breakfast arrived and we opened the door to the verandah to let the fresh sea air into the room. I felt better after eating the hearty breakfast of eggs and “streaky bacon” (what the English call bacon to distinguish it from what we call “Canadian” bacon.)

We decided the first business of the day was to explore all 13 decks on the Queen Mary. The first stop was the library to get some good reading material, for one never wants to be caught anywhere without a good book. I chose a Graham Greene and a Joseph Conrad novel, two favorite writers as I quite like reading dead, white, male, European authors.

We took the elevator down to the seventh “Promenade Deck” to join the hundreds of walkers getting their morning exercise. One full circle on the walking deck was a third of a mile so we circled three times to make our usual mile trip back in Urbanna to the Methodist Church from Kent Street and back.

It was a windy day, 55 degrees and 39 knot winds off the deck, and I realized Florida clothes I had packed were as useless as a bikini in the Yukon. It was cold. I only had brought a sweater thinking, after all, it was July, but fortunately Chip’s clothing which I could borrow while out on the deck was much more practical.

It was a good thing we took that morning walk as early as we did because by noon we were engulfed in heavy fog that erased the world around us. On deck it was like walking through milk. I thought it strange to take a cruise and not be able to see the ocean.

Immediately the horn of the Queen Mary began to blast every minute or so to warn other ships she was coming through the fog. It was eerie. The horn is an iconic sound (you can listen to Queen Mary’s horn on YouTube — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbJotEpJ-pA.)

The fog lasted three days and three nights and the horn never stopped blowing. I loved hearing it and kept the door open on our verandah so I could better hear it.

The sound took me back to my childhood in Vermilion, Ohio, when on a foggy night on Lake Erie I could hear the foghorn blasting away at the light at Huron to warn passing freighters. Now, 75 years later, I lay in my berth, just as I had done so long ago, excited at the sound and surrounding fog and smiling at the memory of what Father called the freighters, “big boys,” silently passing by … but then eventually falling asleep in the depths of fog just as I did now. Such sweet dreams.

The ship had loads of “activities” going morning, noon and night, which interested Chip while I chose to spend my mornings working crossword puzzles and reading. Chip especially enjoyed the speaker programs. One morning he heard from a pathologist that explained what could be learned from examination of a victim of foul play. Another speaker was a British Marine who was badly wounded in Iraq and how he had struggled to recover. Such programs, however, could not compete with Greene and Conrad.

There is nothing more exhilarating than the intimate connection a reader has with an author; a close connection to thoughts, feelings and adventures to the extent the reader can get right into an author’s brain.

My cabin attendant was a Filipino. I mentioned I had just seen the movie “McArthur” which depicted the suffering of his people during World War II. He told me of his grandfather’s suffering during that time and that MacArthur had rescued his country. But he added that China was threatening the Philippines now, challenging fishing boats, territorial waters, even lasering their ships.

I thought how fickle history was. It keeps repeating yet allies and enemies keep changing almost like acts in a circus. Always the same problem — greed for more land. Human aggression never ends and there’s always a new tyrant emerging on the horizon.

(To be continued next week)

• Part 4

© 2023

Note: I am sad to report the loss of the much beloved golden retriever in Urbanna, “Lincoln” of Cross Street, who passed away from old age. Lincoln always came out to greet me when I walked by his house every day as if he understood I needed to pet a golden. I did. He will be missed.