In war, there are no real winners

“Older men declare war.
But it is youth that must fight and die.”

Herbert Hoover


(The Cathedral of Our Lady of Bayeux circa 1077 / Bayeux France / Julie Cook / 2018)

Backing up a bit from yesterday, I should have actually started our story here—
here in the historical town of Bayeux, France.

We had journeyed by train from Paris to Bayeux where we would be staying for three days.
Bayeux is most notably known for being the home to the Bayeux Tapestry…

I spent a good bit of one Art History class in college studying the Bayeux Tapestry…
seeing it up close and personal was a treasured treat.

According to Wikipedia, the tapestry is an embroidered cloth nearly 70 meters (230 ft)
long and 50 centimeters (20 in) tall,
which depicts the events leading up to the Norman conquest of England concerning William,
Duke of Normandy, and Harold, Earl of Wessex,
later King of England, and culminating in the Battle of Hastings.
It is thought to date to the 11th century, within a few years after the battle.
It tells the story from the point of view of the conquering Normans,
but is now agreed to have been made in England.

And so it was becoming apparent that battle and conquest have each been a part of
this Norman coast’s history…
As our purpose for being in Normandy was to visit the sites from a different generation’s conquest…
those areas of the northwestern coast of France which have become seared into human history
for simply being the right place and the right location on an infamous June day in 1944.

It was to be a key and pivotal location in order to guarantee Western Civilization’s
freedom from tyranny…security from tyranny that came at such a tremendous cost to
human life…
a cost that many of our current society’s cultural left demigods have long since
forgotten.

We began our quest with a visit to the German Cemetary.

Normandy is not just the home to the American war dead but to
the British, French, Canadian, and yes, the Germans as well.


(The German cemetery, Normandy, France / Julie Cook / 2018)

Mike, our guide, explained that the American Government made the promise to bring home
the body of any serviceman whose family requested such in order that they could bury their
loved ones on US soil— otherwise, the burial would be near to where they had died—
in a cemetery that would become known as the American D-day Cemetery—

On the other hand, the German Government following their defeat and division of
East and West, could make no such promise and therefore their dead remained in France…
with often two bodies per grave.

The ages of the German dead are young…many being in their teens or early 20’s
as this was the beginning of the end of Hitler’s reign and desperation was
now very apparent…as the ages of those who are resting in these graves
will forever remind us of the face of desperation…children dying
on the battlefield.

The American cemetery is currently maintained by the US Government…
The German cemetery, on the other hand, is maintained by the German Military.
To this day it is part of every German soldier’s responsibility to journey to Normandy to help
“keep up” the cemetery.

We were told that there was a letter found at the cemetery written by a local
middle school student.
In his letter, a letter that was written to the young men not much older than himself
and long since dead, stated that he had no ill will or bad feelings toward
these young German soldiers who had once occupied his own homeland
as they were doing what they thought was right…that being the defense of their homeland.

And so what we learned as we solemnly looked out over a sea of black crosses,
was that there are no real winners when man battles man.

Perhaps it would behoove our Nation to remember this little fact as our courntry is
so busy marking its hateful divide over both left or right.

We can see this mystical equation of joy and suffering in all the events of Christ’s life,
culminating in His Passion and death, which are neither an accident nor a postscript,
appendix, or addition, but the very consummation, the fruit and flower,
of His life. He lived backward, for he lived in order to die;
and we can understand His life only if we follow his life with our thought and think backward,
as we can understand a rose only if we look backward from the flower to the plant.

Peter Kreeft
from Doors in the Walls of the World

(all pictures by Julie Cook)

Apostasy and being something different

“There is no broader way to apostasy than to reject God’s sovereignty in
all things concerning the revelation of himself and our obedience…”

John Owen


(the viloas will soon perish in the southern heat / Julie Cook / 2018)

Well since we’d brought it up the other day…
that being the whole notion of apostacy vs apostolic,
the funny thing is…the Wee Flea brought it up again.

And well, you know me enough to know that I don’t believe in coincidences in this life,
only the moving of The Spirit.

John Owen, (1616-1684) according to Wikipedia, was an English Nonconformist church leader,
theologian and academic administrator at the University of Oxford and even a member of Parliment.

A jack of all trades it seems.

Later in life, after a lofty and long public career, John wrote several books
“the chief of these were On Apostasy (1676), a sad account of religion under the Restoration;”

After having read several books on his life, as well as several of his books,
our friend the Wee Flea has written about John before.
For it seems that despite nearly 350 years, as much as things change, they oddly
seem to stay the same.

John was concerned about the Chruch during his day and time,
much as I worry about the Chruch in my day and time.

And when I say Chruch, I speak of the universal Chrisitan family—denominations and all.
Latin West, Eastern Orthodox and all that has splintered and spiraled outward ever since…

And in his latest posting, David, our Wee Flea friend, reminds us,
while channeling John’s own prior reflections of the 17th-century church
as compared to our own 21st-century church.:

Jesus warns us that churches will turn away.

Owen’s observation is that the churches are in such a state because they have
apostatized from the holiness of the gospel (2 Timothy 3:1-5).
There is an outward profession of the gospel,
yet people give themselves to the pursuit of the vilest lusts and the practice of
the most abominable sins.
But rather than be surprised at this, we should realise that it is what the Lord warned
us would happen.

The Apostate Free Church?

A theme of thought seems to be building…coming to us from all sorts of directions.
And the “we’ here means you and me, the faithful…
An in this family of Believers, you and me, need to sit up and pay attention.

And so once again our dear sister in Christ and friend Shara over on https://scasefamily.com/
leaves us with a pearl of wisdom…

She responded to my post yesterday with a true gem…“I keep telling my kids,
“you have to be different, if you call yourself a Christian,
something has got to stick out about you

That one statement made me sit up and take notice.

Ok, so I call myself a Christian… what is it that sticks out about that in me???
What do others see in that claim of mine…what makes me stick out?

Since I wish to choose Apostolic as opposed to Apostacy, it seems I might just
have some work to be about.

What about you…what are others seeing in this time of appeasement and apostasy?
As a Christian, what is it about you that sticks out?

Now the Spirit expressly says that in later times some will depart from
the faith by devoting themselves to deceitful spirits and teachings of demons,

1 Timothy 4:1

Gobsmacked

We always learn the best lessons in adversity –
especially when we make mistakes.

David Robertson

What is the point of arguing with God about the way things are?
Words cannot change the world.
‘The more the words, the less the meaning’ (Ecclesiastes 6 verse 11).
If ever there was a verse for social media that is surely a main contender!

David Robertson


(the bumblebees are trying their best between the freezing days and the warming days / Julie Cook / 2018)

Gobsmacked—usually a British or Australian slang term denoting astonishment or amazement
or simply being flabbergasted….and in this case, I’m going with the latter…
as in flabbergasted.

When I was teaching, I was in a small city school system…we had an expression:
“so goes the high school, so goes the system.”
Meaning that the high school was the pivotal lynchpin or what was the true staying power and
glue to the system.
I think they’ve changed that notion since my days there…
but it seemed to make sense at the time.

Ours was a small system with only one high school—
albeit one, it was still an important piece to the community.
It represented so much in the way of the identity of our city, county, and community—
despite what the county schools would have to say to such a notion…

And so I often think that same expression holds true for the US and or the UK—
So goes one, so goes the rest of our western civilization…
as both the US and UK are the standard bearers to the direction of our global democracy…

However, I would imagine that both France and Germany, as well as others,
would most certainly disagree with my assessment—
But the point remains…it being the more prominent nations who generally lead the pack
while the others follow in like step.

I’ve not been able to keep up with either our friend the Wee Flea or Bishop Gavin Ashenden
as much as I would like given these most hectic past couple of weeks in my small corner
of the world…
Yet I have read enough to know that there are storm clouds on the horizon as I feel that the
coming tempest is approaching at a much faster rate than I had imagined.

Each of our friends has come under vicious and nasty attacks as of late from both press and
varying special interest groups.
Even various Christian denominations have gotten sadly in on the attack act.

Why you ask.

Well, each man seems to take God at His word.
Neither man sees the merit in rewriting God’s word to suit the changing times we’re
currently finding ourselves living in.
It’s the idea that if God said it, it therefore is…as in for all of time.

This goes for same-sex marriage, homosexual ordinations, the rise in transgenderism…
that ensuing nonsense over the idea that biology no longer has any bearing on a person’s
gender as folks may now choose a gender on a whim or trade it right back if so choosing…
and no one should say one iota about such.

As well they have each noted the rise in cultural hedonism, the Queer theory,
the erosion of the Church of England and the caustic double standard running rampant
in today’s culture over the growing desire to rid Christians of any and all rights…
tolerance for all except for the Christian…as society has now become a fluid entity
ebbing and flowing with the debauchery of the day.

It’s really gotten so nasty that our Wee Flea friend finds that his impending departure for
sabbatical could come at no better time…

And so I leave you with a couple of recent posts by our friends as they note the rising nasty
and most sinful tide in the UK…as I fear that same twisted tide will shortly be
sweeping our way…

The Eye of the Storm – The Transgender Backlash and the Timing of the Lord

Ecclesiastes 6 – Out of the Shadows into the Light.

So why, when Christians throughout society ask the same,
does some of the gay community, reply “no–you can’t have your freedom of conscience–
you have to conform to our values.
Why this sudden reverting to victim-hood after the political victory?

Gavin Ashenden

Gay marriage and conscience clauses (published in Jersey where conscience clauses are being debated)

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test,
that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to
those who love him.

James 1:12

Mutiny….

The Royal Navy is not a humorous institution, sir,
and insubordination is no laughing matter.

Vice Admiral William Bligh


(1814 painting of Vice Admiral William Bligh)

Time hasn’t been much my own as of late so I’m a bit behind in wanting to address,
add to, or simply acknowledge the most recent offering in the way of my
favorite former Church of England prelate.

And with the recent addition of a black eye patch, Bishop Ashenden is looking quite
the part of a rebel…
but in the case of the good Bishop, he is a rebel with great cause.

The other day I referenced Bishop Ashenden having had emergency surgery to reattach
a torn retina—hence the patch.
My understanding is that he will make a full recovery,
which is a tremendous blessing.

The latest video uplink of Anglican Unscripted covers a couple of issues
that I have previously touched upon as noted by the Scottish Pastor David Robertson.
One being the the church school that kicked out a Christian organization
from presenting a program in the school…an organization that was considered to
be “too Christian” for some of the more secular leaning parents.

If you’re going to enroll your child in a Christian Church school,
I think it would be a safe bet to assume that Christian organizations would,
at some point, come calling.

I liken such thought to the notion of whether or not there is salt in sea water??

The real concern of the matter however is over the headmaster who capitulated to
these complaints and demands of these put-upon parents.
The headmaster acknowledged that Cross Teach, the Christian organization that has been operating now for 16 years, does a wonderful job with the kids but he cowardly
“uninvited” them and let it be known that they are not welcome to come back.

This is not only a shame and a pity, but this is really actually a travesty.

A Church School feeling compelled to dismiss a very respected and noteworthy Christian organization from visiting the school and working with its students,
students who by the way greatly enjoy and greatly benefit from the interaction
with the Cross Teach team, all due to a few parents not wanting a “Christian”
influence on their children…in a Christian School of all places

Again…let it sink in… concern over Christian influence within a Christian church school… all within a Church of England school.

What about any of that makes any sort of sense!!??

Yet the greater area of concern and or worry is with the Church of England’s response.
The Church is in full agreement with its headmaster….who if the truth be told
is not wanting to ignite the ire within the hierarchy of the Church.

Bishop Ashenden notes that there is a new spiritual discourse taking place that
is changing Christian anthropology…and that there is actually a spiritual
disease now affecting the Church.

Whereas the Church will “offically” state that the Love of Christ is a truism,
in turn they are hard at work making a new culture within the church—
and this new culture is a Christian crisis…
as it runs counter to the Word of God and the Gospel as we have known it.

The good Bishop notes that there is a tragedy of ethics taking place as we see
leading clergy within the same diocese at odds on church teaching…
much like talking out of both sides of one’s head really….
Be it same sex marriage, women in the priesthood, transgenderism or any other cultural issue to come down the pike…the clergy, let alone the Church,
are not on the same page.

So how will the sheep of the fold know which shepherd to follow….

It is such a crisis that we now have leadership in a global Church
reinterpreting of Scripture in order to appease popular cultural progressivism…
and this will indeed be the Church’s undoing.

Bishop Ashenden notes that there is a great deal of pride in the Church and within
her leadership as it and they feel a sense of superiority for embracing cultural norms. There is that sense of being cutting edge,
as in leading the oh so progressive way…and in that pride lies her sin and her
eventual undoing.

Perhaps it would behoove us to put the hierarchy of the Church of England, and her cousins
running the Episcopal Church of America, adrift at sea…as perhaps a bit of mutiny
might be in order Mr. Christian…

Anglican Unscripted- The Diocese of Hereford goes heterodox & ‘Crossteach’ is excommunicated by a C of E school.

Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you.
Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith.

Hebrews 13:7

Onward Christian Soldier

Onward, Christian soldiers,
marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus
going on before!
Christ, the royal Master,
leads again the foe;
Forward into battle,
see his banner go!

Openning stanza to the hymn Onward Christian Soldiers
lyrics by the Englishman Sabine Baring-Gould 1865

DSCN0255
(stainglass window of St George, Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, Ireland / Julie Cook / 2015)

Share in suffering like a good soldier of Christ Jesus.
II Timothy 2:3

Christianity to the non believer, as well as to many of the faithful, must appear to be a faith of conjecture.

On the one hand we are reminded to be like minded with Christ… to forgive without ceasing…70 times 7…
We are to be peace minded when attacked by offering the other cheek, our cloak, our possessions…
We are the followers of the “Sacrificial Lamb” who when lead before his shearers is dumb, as he opened not his mouth…
As there are those who have long considered Christians weak, passive and non-agressive to a fault.

Yet there are others who eagerly finger point and recall that throughout history Christians have been known to rile against those who were not of the faith. Waging crusades and “holy” wars…as we are all left wondering what sort of war could ever be considered “holy” as that seems to be the epitome of oxymorons.

And yet we are called to be soldiers for Christ…

However’s today’s global family is currently witnessing an extreme example of a holy war, or caliphate. This war is being raged on a terrorizing global level by the Islamic extremists Daesh otherwise known ISIS.
It is a caliphate to be carried out against the infidel and all non muslims as per the Quran.
And yet our western governments continue to assure us that the Islamic faith is one of peace.

Despite the continuing airstrikes conducted by US, UN, British, French, Russian and other coalition forces, the numbers of IS recruits has only continued growing by leaps and bounds.

Stories of what happens to those civilians who fall under IS control continue making headlines.
Beheadings, shootings, torture, caged burnings, crucifixions—all manner of public executions are rampant.

The following link is to a recent story found on the BBC concerning IS, or Daesh’s, growing occupation in Libya, as well as elsewhere throughout northern Africa and the Middle East. The article is a collection of firsthand accounts of those who “got out” before total occupation but sadly left family and friends behind. The stories of the barbaric brutality, which is on an alarming rise, is most sobering if not stomach turning…

http://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-35325072

It has also been almost a year since the tragic news of the young American aid worker Kayla Mueller’s horrific death at the hands of IS leaders. Just yesterday there was a news article stating that her parents would soon be making their first public statement regarding their daughter’s kidnapping and subsequent death— as well as their failed attempts to negotiate with her captors and of the ensuing war of words with the American Government over those negotiations.

Whereas our Government has long held the stance that the families of any Americans taken hostage by hostile nationals would not be allowed to “negotiate” a loved one’s release by paying ransoms, the irony is sadly found in the Government’s negotiating with the Taliban for the release of the American soldier Bowe Berghdahl— by exchanging 5 terrorist prisoners—all of which has rung a sour note with the Muellers as well as other families such as the families of James Foley and Steven Sotloff.

Berghdahl, as it turns out, had purportedly gone AWOL and was a suspected Taliban sympathizer.
He is soon to be tried in a military court of law, facing a court martial with a sentence of life in prison…
Our Government exchanged five terrorist prisoners for this purported AWOL soldier while the Muellers are left trying to make sense a Government “threatening” their attempts to pay a private ransom for their own daughter.

http://news.yahoo.com/murdered-hostage-kayla-mueller-s-family-is-speaking-out-013516761.html

In 1941, after three years of fighting that was raging across the European continent and prior to US involvement, President Franklin Roosevelt met secretly with the British Prime minister Winston Churchill aboard the HMS Prince of Wales in the middle of the North Atlantic. The meeting of these two leading allied leaders was for the creating of the Atlantic Charter, a charter that would help to define a post-war world. During the time the two leaders were meeting, Churchill was charged with arranging a joint church service to be held aboard ship for all the attendees. He chose all the hymns with Onward Christian Soldiers being his foremost choice. Following the meeting, in a radio broadcast, Churchill later reccounted his reasoning for his choice of hymn…

We sang “Onward, Christian Soldiers” indeed, and I felt that this was no vain presumption, but that we had the right to feel that we serving a cause for the sake of which a trumpet has sounded from on high. When I looked upon that densely packed congregation of fighting men of the same language, of the same faith, of the same fundamental laws, of the same ideals … it swept across me that here was the only hope, but also the sure hope, of saving the world from measureless degradation.

Churchill’s words could easily be spoken today…“it swept across me that here was the only hope, but also the sure hope, of saving the world from measureless degradation.”

May we be reminded that as Christians we are to be that living embodiment of hope, that sure hope, as we march forward as the Soldiers for Christ casting His brilliant Light into a world held hostage by darkness.

“When you go out to battle against your enemies and see horses and chariots and people more numerous than you, do not be afraid of them; for the LORD your God, who brought you up from the land of Egypt, is with you.
Deuteronomy 20:1

The rallying cry of St Crispin

“Be Not Afraid! Open up, no; swing wide the gates to Christ. Open up to his saving power the confines of the State, open up economic and political systems, the vast empires of culture, civilization and development… Be not afraid!”
Pope John Paul II / taken from his address to the world following his election as pope 1978)

“They themselves do not see the world of light as we do, but our shapes cast shadows in their minds, which only the noon sun destroys.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

Bossche_Saints_Crispin_and_Crispinian_(detail)_14
(detail of the Martyrdom of Crispin and Crispinian /Aert van den Bossche / 1494

“Oh no, don’t come up. . .there’s danger out there. . .”
This always being the response from my Dad when I tell him I’m coming up for a visit.
I live an hour away from Atlanta, from where I grew up, but one would think after hearing Dad, I was traversing a long harrowing journey over enemy territory and dangerous minefields.
“There’s danger on the roads and Atlanta is a war zone. . .”
“Dad,I don’t think I’d call Atlanta a war zone. Not to worry, I’ll be careful and I’ll be fine.”

Now granted I’m no fan of driving along the Atlanta interstates, as not a day passes without some sort of catastrophic accident or wreck, but I’ve yet to notice that the moment I pass into the jurisdiction of the city I come under the hail of gunfire–thank goodness. . .

My 86 year old dad stays glued to the news and the news does have a way of painting life in Atlanta, or any large global city for that matter, as violent, dangerous and grim.
Locally there are robberies, shootings, killings, rapes, drug dealings, kidnappings and globally there is the grim visions of terrorism, all of which seems to greet any and all tuning in for the latest local and world update. You should have heard his response to my throwing out there the possibility of an adventure across the proverbial pond later in the year. . .there was great wailing and gnashing of teeth.
“Oh my gosh, noooo. . .can’t you just stay at home?!
Why do you have to insist on traveling.
It’s simply too dangerous to fly.
Planes crash.
Don’t you know that terrorists are out there waiting!!???
It’s all so dangerous. . .just stay home. . .watch things on television . . .keep your head down”
This litany of the warnings of safety is usually said as he tucks his own head down between his shoulders as if we were hunkered down in a bunker in some long forgotten war zone as the enemy begun a round of shelling overhead.
Ugh.

So perhaps it shouldn’t come as any surprise that I have my own deeply rooted, irrational sense of fear, dread and foreboding, all of which raise their ugly heads from time to time–as all of this is come by rather honestly having been raised by a “henny penny the sky is falling” doomsday’s calling, overtly cautious, dread filled dad whose own sense of irrationality sadly has had a tendency of rubbing off.

I can remember when my son was born 26 years ago, of which sometimes feels like only yesterday. He came in to this world with an ulcerated esophagus. How and why he had this issue, I never gleaned— It wasn’t until he was 5 weeks old that we knew something terribly wrong was unfolding. He was prone to throwing up any and all sustenance that would go in and hopefully down. So much so that when he’d throw up, there would often times be blood. And any baby who throws up everything that goes in, does not tend to thrive, let alone gain weight, as he hung around the lower end of the growth charts.

In those early worried filled and sleep deprived days, I would wander back to bed in the wee hours after having unsuccessfully attempted to feed only to then spend forever cleaning up redelivered formula— exhausted, worried and delusional. In the place in between waking and sleep I would find my mind racing to dread filled visions of our new son and his precarious health. . .Of which in turn caused me great worry, dread and angst over a possible prognosis as my subconscious played out dire dreams.

Three months in, a litany of meds and finally one revealing endoscopy later, it was determined that he would need a specially formulated, and none too easily procured formula, thickened with powdered oatmeal. I often wonder if this was not the begining of his often eclectic and expensive tastes. . .

I was a wreck early on in motherhood as I constantly feared the worst. I think this was in part due to the fact that my dad and I had, 3 years earlier, watched my mom wage a fatal, albeit brief, battle with lung cancer. An incident that seemed to cement in him, as it also sucked me in, to if bad or worse can happen—then so it shall. . .

Any ache or ailment and my dad will have you good and ready for the undertaker. A cold will be Typhoid and God forbid you have a fever or cough–Consumption for sure. Your time drawing nigh.

This Eeyoreesque, the glass is always half empty approach to life of my dad has always driven me nuts. I, from all outward appearances, possess the demeanor of the perpetual positive.
No Pollyanna mind you, but positive nonetheless. As all the while the negative beats of the gloom and doom drums reverberate within my own head- —this as I cheer on any and all in need of predicted success and glorious hopeful outcomes.

All of this thought of fearfulness comes to mind as I find myself sadly being taken in by the frighteningly real warnings and calls for vigilance in light of the latest terror warnings regarding attacks on shopping centers in the US, the UK as well as Canada. Only as the world slowly regains some semblance of composure following the Charlie Hebdo attack as well as the attacks to Jewish sites of interests in Paris and throughout France as well as sadly in Denmark.

If it’s not due to the prospect that we will all eventually come down with some form of dreaded cancer, ebola, superbug or disease, we then will in turn fall victim no doubt to some crazed group of Islamic terrorists vowing to destroy any and all who stand in their way toward perceived world domination. Certainly not the most positive prospects greeting anyone turning into the nightly news or staring mindlessly into a daily newspaper.

I am, however, happily reminded and bolstered by the thoughts of those individuals who have gone before us in their own time of bleak outlooks, warnings and turmoil who, although they may have been afraid, as they stood before a massively numbered and heavily armed foe, as they set their jaw while squaring their shoulders, marching forward just the same.

And on those days I find myself feeling fearful and downtrodden, as I look out across the world’s perilous horizon, I recall the moving speech and rallying cry offered by King Henry V at the onset of the Battle of Agincourt, also known as the speech of the Battle of St Crispin’s Day.

Saints Crispin and Crispinian were 3rd century twin Roman brothers who were cobblers by trade and followers of Christ by devoted choice. Fleeing persecution in Rome, traveling northward, repairing shoes and preaching their faith, they were eventually martyred for their faith by the Gauls. Their feast day falls on October 25th. It was on this fateful feast day in 1451 that Henry V led his poorly outnumbered rag tag troops into battle against a heavily fortified French Army.
Miraculously Henry V and his men were the victors on this particular St Crispin’s day. . .

Now I’m not saying that I advocate fighting, taking to arms, wars or marching off willy nilly into any sort of battle, but I do find that at times I need a rallying cry.
I need to be reminded that, as some days it is indeed a life of battles and the enemy does most often appear so much larger than I. . .that I need to be reminded and prodded that I have been given my marching orders. . .
That I am to, as Pope John Paul II so boldly proclaimed. . .BE NOT AFRAID!!

The LORD is my light and my salvation– whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life– of whom shall I be afraid?
Psalm 27:1

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Henry V St Crispin Speech, William Shakespeare

So Mrs. Landemare can cook eh?

“My idea of a good dinner is, first to have a good dinner, then discuss good food, and after this good food has been elaborately discussed, to discuss a good topic – with me as chief conversationalist.”
Sir Winston Churchill

During a visit to America, Winston Churchill was invited to a buffet luncheon at which cold fried chicken was served. Returning for a second helping, he asked politely, ” May I have some breast?” “Mr. Churchill,” replied the hostess, “in this country we ask for white meat or dark meat.” Churchill apologized profusely. The following morning, the lady received a magnficent orchid from her guest of honor. The accompanying card read: I would be most obliged if you would pin this on your white meat.”
One of the many Churchill stories

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I’ve just finished reading a most insightful, as well as, delightful book: Dinner with Churchill / Policy-Making at the Dinner Table by Cita Stelzer
As I truly adore Winston, I adore dinner as well–cooking it and eating it—what could be bad about a book which combines both?! The answer to that little notion would be absolutely nothing— as it was /is a great little read.

I have always been one to tout the virtues of feasting and fellowshipping, as I’ve often written about such, extolling the virtues of “breaking bread” with family, friends and strangers–because after the breaking of said bread, the latter will no longer be a stranger. It seems as if the Prime Minister and I were and are on the same page. Lest I remind you that great minds think alike—

As I was reading through this tasty little morsel for the mind, I came upon a description regarding the cook whom the Churchills had hired when Winston was Prime Minister. As the Churchills entertained a great deal, at either N0. 10 Downing as well as at their permanent residence at Chartwell, they were in great need of a great cook.

Enter Mrs. Georgina Landemare.

Mrs. Landemare was married to one of France’s more renowned chefs yet she, herself, was no stranger to the kitchen. Upon her husband’s early death, Mrs. Landemare decided she would take on some temporary work and job assignments cooking for some of England’s more prestigious events. The Churchills first procured her services for the occasional weekend gala or banquet at Chartwell. It wasn’t until the war broke out in 1939 that she actually offered her services full-time to the Churchills, as her part for the war effort—what a brave woman! Following the war, Mrs Landemare remained cooking for the Churchills for the next 15 years up until her retirement in 1954.

Imagine my excitement when I read in Ms Stelzer’s book that Mrs. Landemare had actually written a cookbook in 1958 on behest of Mrs. Churchill! Oooooo, I just had to find a copy! Imagine—me cooking dishes, the same dishes, Winston would oooo and coo over—I felt the excitement rising.

First I had to find the book.
And just as I pretty much figured—the book was long out of print.
But leave it to my trusty Amazon— there just happened to be a copy or two that could be found, for a wee fee no doubt, from a used book source. And in this case, one located in the UK.
Well, I’m a sucker for my quests and goosechases so I picked the copy I thought was in the better shape, pushed the order button and proceeded to wait with grand anticipation.

I had thought that once the book arrived, I’d pick a fun little recipe and give it a go here—you know, for you and me. I’d highlight a particularly Churchillian looking dish, preparing it step by step, taking photos all along the way, all for our fun—your’s and mine. That whole Julie and Julia thing but this would be Winston, Georgina, and Julie.

The book made it’s way from there to here, safely arriving at the end of last week. I was so excited. I practically ran back from the mailbox. I gently unwrapped it, taking in that musty old book smell, gently opening the marvelous little tome as I began to sift through the recipes.

Suddenly it dawned on me. . .
There will be hurdles.
Big hurdles.

There will be the wading through the “translation” as it were. I know, you’re thinking how in the world can you mess up translating from English to English—well, since we are talking about US English verses UK English, there are some very distinct and subtle differences. Also I fear we will run into a bit of trouble with the measurements. . . but thankfully this book does enlist, on the whole, the imperialistic measurement system, none of that metric nonsense I never could figure out in grade school (there’s a post there somewhere).

Plus certain items that may be called for, say in the UK, may not be called for here in the US or exist here in the US. Then of course there’s our love of the step by step, spell it out in plain simple terms, which is not exactly the mantra of this little book– or– maybe it is and that’s actually part of the problem. Then there’s the hunting and the procuring the right ingredients here in the US, which may not be as easy as anticipated—enter the world wide web. . .

And of course there was that whole rationing of food items as that was such a very keen part of the UK throughout the duration of the war and beyond. Cooking and substituting became a way of life to the intuitive cook—as is the mark of truly any great cook. And then there’s that whole modern take on things verses the not so modern. . .and with the book being written in 1958, we’re talking not so modern.

Just let me share a few examples with you. . .

The first stumbling block I ran across was Mrs. Landemare’s constant call for a “gill”
“A gill of cream”
“a gill of oil”
“a gill of water”
What in the heck does a fish have to do with any of this I wondered.

Then there was the call for “oiled butter” How does one oil butter—isn’t butter greasy enough?

Everything is to put into a basin. Would that be the kitchen sink or somewhere in the bathroom?

“Add a knob of butter”—now you’re talking. . . I wonder how many tablespoons the average doorknob measures.

Mrs Landemare will have us bake in “a slow oven”, “a medium oven”, “a cool oven,” yet “the oven should not be too hot”—no clue there.

When adding the butter to the flour, one is to “rub it together”—between my hands, my fingers. . .hummm

When mixing, one should beat things for 20 minutes or longer, be it eggs, sugar, cream—I’m thinking that is by hand so surely a mixer could cut that by at least half.

Measurements come in a wide variety: 1 teacup, 1/4 teacup, 1 coffecup full, 1 salt spoon, 2 breakfast cups or a dessertspoon full. . .hummmmm. . .but I do like the call for one wineglass of rum—my wine glasses are those rather large balloon types–could make for a little fun or a little disaster in the kitchen. . .

There is the “bare 1/2 oz of yeast” —bare? does that mean naked or minimal?

the 2 tablespoons of Kümmel —what is Kümmel?

dark foot sugar, caster sugar or Demerara—-still trying to figure out the dark foot business

a call for French sago or the 1/2 pound of nouille paste—again, what???

the need for the crushed ratafia biscuits–what??

the whole Vanilla essence verses Vanilla flavoring–whatever happened to good ol extract?

one should mask the top of the pudding with the jam—really?

pour contents into castle pudding cups–mine don’t look like castles

grated suet–I thought we fed that to birds

I need to increase my variety of flour as she calls for rice flour, potato flour, self-rising flour and good ol plain flour.

one example of say, I’m guessing, chocolate sauce is to:
“Melt 6 bars (yet she often calls for a slab–is a slab bigger than a bar?) of chocolate (would that be a hershey bar, milk, dark, unsweetened, bittersweet, 70% , 60%, 3.5 oz??) in a gill of water (again how much water can a fish gill hold?) add 1 oz of sugar and a knob of butter (again my happy place of excessive butter but I fear it might make things a tad greasy) Cook 5 minutes (cook on what, low, med, simmer? Should it be in a bowl over simmering water, over direct heat ???)

And just for fun I’ll offer her recipe for a wedding cake. No need here anymore for that but I was quite taken by, first the list of ingredients and then secondly by the “simple” preparation—

3 lbs. butter
4 1/2 lbs sugar
36 eggs
4 lbs of currants (tiny raisins for you and I)
4 lbs sultans (raisins for your and I)
2 lbs peel (I’m thinking maybe lemon?)
1 lb chopped almonds
4 1/2 lbs plain flour
1 lb glacè cherries (I think those candied types)
1 teaspoon spice and cinnamon mixed (I suppose it’s your call on the spice)
1 gill of brandy (I was hoping for the wine glass)
Grated rind of 1 orange and 1 lemon (which takes me back to that whole 2 lbs of peel business)

Cream together the butter and sugar, preferably with the hand (hummmm—don’t wear your rings) until very light.
Beat in the eggs and sifted flour alternately (all freaking 36 of them and 4 1/2 hefty pounds)
Beat all together for 10 minutes (I’m thinking that is again, by hand)
Add gradually all the fruit (does that include the peel?), spice (remember, your call) and grated rinds.
Finally stir in the brandy (just a gill no wineglass?)

Cover a baking sheet with salt or sand ( whoa, sand??!!) Line the tin (would that be the cake pan?)
or tins ( layers or one giant thing) with greaseproof paper (hummm) and place three thicknesses of brown paper on the outside of the tin. (What?!)

Place cake mixture in tin, or tins, stand (how’s that work?) on the prepared baking sheet (with the sand) and bake in a moderate oven (not slow or cool, but moderate) for the first two hours, lowering the heat slightly for the further five hour. ( 7 hours to bake a cake??!!)

Once I settle on a recipe, I’ll let you know—it won’t be the wedding cake, but I’ll find us something tasty. . .
Until then I’ve got to find some dark foot sugar.

***PS–Please, all my UK friends, forgive my ignorance—I’m learning–it is obvious that Mrs. Landemare had the gift of the intuitive—she cooked and created by an innate sense and ability. A gift that can take others a lifetime to barely develop—hence why the Churchills loved her.
Thanks to a little internet research I am uncovering the secret identity to gils, ratafia, and oiled butter—but the dark foot sugar—still a mystery. . . .