Short back and sides . . .

Wellingtonia Avenue, Crowthorne
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

  Arthur had an appointment with the dog groomer on Saturday. Susannah unexpectedly had the opportunity to go sailing with Barry, so I said I’d take him to his ‘hairdresser.’

At first, I couldn’t think where the grooming salon was and then realised it’s where the old ‘Iron Duke’ pub used to stand. It was pulled down several years ago and in its place is a small parade of shops, including the dog groomers ‘Dog Scents,’ a pet food shop and a small development of houses in Iron Duke Close.

Sir Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington 
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

‘Iron Duke’ was a nickname for the Duke of Wellington. There are a lot of nods to Wellington in Crowthorne as his estate is just a few miles away at Stratfield Saye. Wellington College, our local independent (fee-paying) school was founded in his memory in 1859.

Duke’s Ride references his love of hunting in Windsor Forest. The Waterloo Hotel sat between Dukes Ride and Waterloo Road and was closed ten years ago and later demolished.

Wellesley Court is a gated development of apartments and Wellesley Drive is a small estate of predominantly detached houses. Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley was the 1^st Duke of Wellington.

Wellingtonia (Californian redwood, (Sequoiadendron giganteum)

There is also Wellingtonia Avenue, a road lined with giant redwood trees (Sequoiadendron giganteum) They are known in Britain as Wellingtonia, to honour the said duke. The Americans wanted to call them ‘Washingtonia’ after George Washington. They were beaten to the draw by the botanist William Lobb. Lobb returned posthaste to Britain in 1853 with seeds and seedlings collected from the huge conifers. The trees soon became status symbols in grand estates, though they will never achieve the height and girth of their Californian relatives.

I duly dropped Arthur off. He’s not very keen on going to the salon, but I left him in the capable hands of the groomers and picked him up an hour and a half later. He nearly turned himself inside out when he saw me, such was his excitement and relief. He looked neat and tidy, as though he’d lost several pounds in weight, and smelt wonderful.

Arriving home, he was greeted rapturously by Roxy and particularly enthusiastically by Gilbert. A few hours later, Barry and Susannah returned, and the whole tail-wagging exercise was enacted again.

This morning, very early, Susannah, Arthur and the cats decamped for London, and the house is ours alone again. I hope we shall see them all again soon.

More superstitions

 

More superstitions

                            Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Hels and Andrew both mentioned superstitions I have often pondered.

Hels spoke of the bad luck that will befall anyone who opens an umbrella indoors. She said, ’The only superstition that sounded even vaguely sensible to me was never to open an umbrella in the house. I suppose it MIGHT have poked a family member in the eye.’

That’s certainly the understanding I had.

In "Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things" (Harper, 1989), the scientist and author Charles Panati wrote: "In eighteenth-century London, when metal-spoked waterproof umbrellas began to become a common rainy-day sight, their stiff, clumsy spring mechanism made them veritable hazards to open indoors. A rigidly spoked umbrella, opening suddenly in a small room, could seriously injure an adult or a child, or shatter a frangible object. Even a minor accident could provoke unpleasant words or a minor quarrel, themselves strokes of bad luck in a family or among friends. Thus, the superstition arose as a deterrent to opening an umbrella indoors."

Another suggestion for the origin of the superstition says that in Ancient Egypt, umbrellas were used as protection from the heat and were thought to ward off evil spirits. Opening an umbrella indoors, out of the sun, would be an insult to the sun god, Ra, and promote unfavourable consequences.

Andrew mentioned the myth that new shoes should not be put on the table. He said, ’My partner yells at me to remove them, so I don't do it.’

I’ve always thought this a really odd superstition. I could only think it might be because the shoes might scratch the table and that putting shoes on the table might become an unwelcome habit.

I looked it up and found that it is considered bad luck in many English-speaking countries. At a time when shoes were very expensive, before the advent of modern machinery in the 19^th century they would be passed on from a dead donor and would therefore be ‘new’ to the recipient. Thus putting ‘new’ shoes on the table could signify the death of someone or simply bring bad luck for the rest of the day.

In the North of England, after a colliery accident, a dead miner’s shoes would be put on the table as a sign of respect, so to put ‘ordinary’ shoes there would be considered bad taste as well as tempting fate.

Sir Arthur Wellesley,1st Duke of Wellington, painted by Thomas Lawrence, between 1815 and 1816.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

 In 1814, the Duke of Wellington had noticed many officers carrying umbrellas to shelter from the rain. Wellington made it clear that he did not approve of their use in battle, saying, ‘in the field it is not only ridiculous but unmilitary.’ Standing orders for the Battle of Waterloo stated unequivocally, ‘Umbrellas will not be opened in the presence of the enemy.’

ABC Wednesday I is for Institution

There are two institutions in the village, both well-known though for very different reasons. The first is Wellington College, an independent (fee-paying) educational establishment which was founded in 1859 by Queen Victoria and the Earl of Derby. It was established as a national monument to honour the Duke of Wellington, one of our most distinguished British military leaders.

Wellington College South Front

Photo courtesy of RTPeat and Wikimedia Commons

Initially it was intended as a charitable educational institution mainly for the orphaned sons of army officers. It is now fully co-educational and only a minority of students are sons and daughters of military officers.The College stands in 400 acres of beautiful wooded land within which is a Site of Special Scientific Interest, home to many unusual ants and spiders. The building and grounds have been used as film locations. ('Lords of Discipline' (1983), 'Thunderbirds' (2004))

Former students include the impressionist Rory Bremner, author Sebastian Faulks, actor Christopher Lee, writer George Orwell, singer Will Young and the rugby union players James Haskell and brothers Max and Thom Evans.
The governors of the College were responsible for the building of the local railway station. They put pressure on the directors of South Eastern Railway and contributed £500 towards the cost of building the station which was originally named 'Wellington College for Crowthorne.' It became simply 'Crowthorne' in 1928.

Photo courtesy of BBC

Four years later, at the other end of the village, Broadmoor Hospital was founded in 53 acres of land. It used to be known as the 'Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum', then a 'hospital for the criminally insane' and now, more correctly, as a high-security psychiatric hospital. It ceased to serve women in 2007 and now caters solely for men. Most of the patients, known in local common parlance as 'inmates' have severe mental illnesses and many also have personality disorders. In addition, most of the population of the hospital have been convicted, or found unfit to plead, in trials of serious crimes. Patients usually remain in the hospital for an average of six years but some have lived there for more than thirty years.In 1952 one of the 'patients' escaped and killed a local child; thereafter an alarm system was set up. This is tested every Monday morning at 10:00 am for two minutes and is based on WWII air-raid sirens. If someone escapes the alarm continues to sound. If not, the 'all-clear' sounds. All local schools within 15 miles can hear the hooters.
Many local people set their watches and clocks by the Broadmoor siren. One inmate timed his escape to coincide with the regular testing.
There have only been two occasions when the sirens have continued their wailing during the more than thirty years we have lived here. In the first instance I drove home from work with my very young children in the car (Barry was working abroad, of course!) negotiated the police checkpoints and reached my house, left the children in the car and approached cautiously. A neighbour came to reassure me and we duly went indoors and locked every door and window.
On the second occasion the escapee travelled swiftly to Europe and the sirens were eventually silenced! Reputedly it takes an hour to search the grounds before the alarm is sounded by which time the inmate might be anywhere in the locality. Once one man escaped and hid in a local house. Another gave himself up – the pace of life 'outside' was too fast and he preferred the security of the hospital.
Broadmoor is home to the mad, bad and dangerous to know. Come to Crowthorne - all human life is here!
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