The so what…

For the last few days I’ve seen a lot of people asking why anyone cares about a Royal wedding – or really why do we here in the States care at all about the Royal Family.

I can’t answer that question as far as why you should be interested, but as for me, I’m an unapologetic, unreconstructed Anglophile. I watched because no one does pomp and ceremony like the British. Even a “small” private wedding (i.e. not an official State occasion) demands a herculean marvel of planning. Trust me, as a glorified wedding planner myself I know these things.

So much of what makes the British who they are also makes we Americans who we are. Our shared past as mother country and far off colony is imprinted on our national DNA – the shared history, laws, and blood ties are those things that bind us together across the Atlantic.

Lastly, as a life-long student of history, I’m in awe of an institution that stretches back in an (almost) unbroken succession for over a thousand years. From our place here at the bleeding edge of the 21st century, I find nearly anything that stands the test of millennia something of remarkable interest.

If you think of it as just a wedding between some minor foreign prince and a Hollywood starlet, I can see why you’re not interested. But frankly, the spectacle was worth watching just to get an extended look at the architecture and design of Windsor Castle and the St. George’s Chapel. The fact that it put a large part of the pomp, pageantry, and nobility of the United Kingdom on display for the camera is just a perk.

So, in conclusion, God Save The Queen.

There will be no rending of garments here…

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The Washington Post ran an editorial recently that went to great pains to denounce Sir Winston Churchill as a genocidal despot in the same vein as Stalin and Hitler. I’m not going to link to it as a matter of principle. It’s bad enough that I gave them the benefit of my click. I don’t want to be directly responsible for any others. Im satisfied enough calling it an agenda driven hatchet job along the same lines as those penned by scads of contemporary revisionists who want everyone to trip over themselves apologizing for history.

There will be no apologies here. I will not gnash my teeth nor rend my garments. I’m simply unwilling to suspend disbelief and malign the clarion voice that stood alone and rallied the world to the defense of Western democracy in it’s most endangered moment.

Was he a man of his time, a voice for empire in the imperial age? Yes, of course. Did he advocate actions that, from our oh so enlightened vantage point deep into the 21st century, strike a sour note? Yes. Was he a man full of human faults and failings? Undoubtedly.

Still, taken all in all, if I were pushed deep into a corner and could have only one man rise to my defense, I would take the lionhearted Churchill over the poisoned pen editorialist any day of the week and twice on St. George’s Day.

God Save the Queen.

Ordeal and hope…

 
I just finished reading the second volume of Forrest Pogue’s monumental biography of George Marshall. At least two nights of reading featured the weeks immediately preceding and following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. It’s like being a spectator to a train wreck – You can see the thousands of tons of steel barreling down the track at a high rate of speed but there’s way to slow down and no off ramp and the people around the bend have no idea what’s heading their way.

Sometimes hindsight is infuriating – knowing that what the planners in Washington were thinking made perfect sense based on what they knew at the time, but also knowing how history was about to play out. I ended up needing to give the book a rest when I caught myself grinding my teeth to the point of real, physical pain.

I wanted to reach back through history, grab the Army Staff by the lapels and shake them. I wanted to scream in exasperation at a story that only makes complete sense when all the pieces are put in place after the fact. It’s not the Philippines! For God’s sake they want to blunt the fleet! Read the cable! Understand!

But the bombs fall and the fleet, still at anchor, is decimated. You can’t change history.

I’ve always found it easy enough to disappear into a world of fiction and lose myself. It’s a rare writer than can present history in a way that also lets you lose yourself into those moments. Forrest Pogue clearly doesn’t need my accolades, because his work speaks for itself. Even so, here is a writer who finds a way to make what could be dull, dry stuff jump off the page larger than life. I’m simply in awe.