Time of Castles

My mother spent her later years working on the genealogy of her family and seemed so excited when the timeline got back to early English, Welsh and Scottish nobles, their lives, their castles and the many names of important families of history she thought of as her great grandparents. In many cases these Anglo-Saxons led back to William the Conqueror (her favorite grandfather) and thus to France to Charlemagne, Germany to many Dukes and Italy where she located Mark Anthony as grandfather and Caesar as her uncle. One line, she said, even went as far back as the Egyptian Empire and found Nefertiti as her grandmother and several pharaohs as grandfathers. We all indulged her pastime and perhaps obsession, but it filled many hours and seemed to make her happy. I wondered if her primary family had left a void to be filled with all these historical people of her far past. Her passion became my interest in an education that expanded into a PhD in History, with an emphasis on the medieval history of Great Britain. For five years I’ve looked into the faces of bright students taking my class as a requirement for their history major and I do my best to keep them interested. I am still filled with excitement each semester, not only in what I teach, but about the connections I make with the students in showing the importance of our past as it relates to our future. The men and women, great and lesser heroes, in past civilizations are our heritage and their timeline in history will become our own timeline for those that follow. Sitting in our bright morning room over coffee and the Sunday morning paper, I looked at my serious faced husband, James, with his well-trimmed straight dark brown hair, his aristocratic Roman nose always topped with round glasses. What I loved most about him was his constancy; he was always the matter of fact, reliable man in my life. After a father whose journalistic career left his wife and child without his presence for most of the year, James fulfilled my need for dependability. As he took a sip of coffee, I quickly attempted to get his attention, and for what seemed the sixteenth time that week, I said, “Please James forgive me for seeming to be obsessive about this.” “But you are obsessive.” “You seem to think so, but I’ve this overwhelming feeling the time is now.” “If you must, then make your plans.” “But I want you to go with me.” “No, Leah; I can’t take time away.” “Then I’ll make plans to spend the next year in Great Britain. I wish we could do it together.” “I know, but it’s your passion. Maybe you can join a travel group and I can come over for a couple weeks next summer.” “I don’t like groups. I want to take my time, stop when I want, linger when necessary. I’ll plan on leaving early next week. My sabbatical will allow me to stay long enough to finish my book and I’ll look forward to you joining me when you can.” Later that week, as I packed my bags as lightly as possible, knowing I could buy necessities along the way, I felt uneasy about going without my husband, who in all things steadies my tendency to follow my father’s genes in exploring the world. But perhaps time alone, after ten years on the straight and narrow with my perfectionist mate would allow me to indulge deep seated inquiries and to connect in some way with my ancestors who Mother loved to include as family. Along with my ancestral pursuits, I planned on collecting material for a book on the construction of early castles, which I needed to keep abreast of PhD publishing requirements at the university. In the hours my United flight flew across timelines to London, I read all the notes I’d written for my itinerary with the help of my priceless guide book and used my Smart Phone to confirm my reservation at the Cavendish, London. I’d been in London a few times over the years, but wanted to return to Westminster Abby to check on the famous historical figures buried or commemorated there. I would stay two nights refreshing myself from jet lag, walk around Piccadilly Square and dine at some restaurants on my wish list.