Here’s a grudging admission: even from an anti-monarchist standpoint, it would appear that our King might be proving himself useful. His state visit to the USA – ostensibly to mark the 250th anniversary of its independence from his ancestors – happens to coincide with turbulence in the political relationship between the two nations and His Majesty’s intervention is deemed our best chance of calming things. Soft power meets state thuggery in a carefully choreographed dance of diplomacy. It seems to be working, but will it have any lasting impact?
I’ve been
out and about these past few days, taking a break from the routines of home
life, which include excessive consumption of news and current affairs. It being
pre-election season – in the US as well as the UK – there is more than the
usual amount of frenzy in the politicking one must endure: more trumpeting, accusing,
denying, exaggerating and deliberate misleading. I thought to ease the pressure
on my tolerance valve by skipping some of my regular reading/watching/listening
slots. A day or two in the campervan usually does the trick.
I haven’t
been far – a 200-mile round trip – but, in England, that can take you through
some very different places. Merely crossing the border from Devon to Somerset,
as I did, can feel like an adventure, albeit a subtle one. I mean, we speak the
same language and share the same infrastructure but there are variations. Apart
from the topography – Devon being hilly and Somerset level – there are ancient dialects,
traditions and buildings that differentiate one shire from another. Encountering
them is one of the pleasures of leisurely travelling around the country. For
example, we do have thatched roofs in Devon, but the ones I saw in Somerset struck
me as fancier, more refined.
Seeking out
the National Trust property, Barrington Court, I drove through several villages
full of quaint, thatched buildings, set irregularly at the side of narrow, winding
roads not designed for motorised traffic. So cute, so pretty, so well-kept. Of
course, I had also driven through less attractive settlements, so I wasn’t
fooled into thinking that the whole countryside is pickled in aspic. In fact, I
began to feel uncomfortable at the fact that parts of it are. Politics raised
its head. (There’s no escaping it once you have looked at life through the lens
of political power dynamics and noted its influence).
There were
no people in the streets of the wonderfully well-tended old villages – perhaps because
there were no shops to walk to – but, supposing there were people living in
them, how would they vote in the upcoming elections? I had driven through
places where the flag of St. George fluttered from lampposts and was left in no
doubt as to the political leanings thereabouts. But in these picturesque
backwaters, the clues lay in the discreet display of comfortable circumstances.
Barrington Court
is an estate at the edge of one of those pretty villages. It comprises an
Elizabethan manor house, a grand 17th century stable building that
has been converted into a lavish residence and extensive gardens that surround
and complement the lot. The Norman conquerors claimed the manor, but its
present form is attributed to a certain Captain Lyle, a beneficiary of the Tate
& Lyle fortune, who lavished care and money on it in the 1920’s. His son
and heir, Ian, surrendered the lease back to the National Trust (who have owned
it since 1907) when he could no longer afford to run the place.
It’s a
bitter-sweet outcome, whereby the Lyles did a great job of restoration,
preservation and development, though the funds came at the expense of the
nation’s unhealthy addiction to sugar. This, presumably, did not occur to His
Majesty’s mother, Queen Elizabeth, when she knighted Ian Lyle for “services to
sugar”.
