Day Eighteen: Thursday, 18 November 2010: Going Home

My last day in the UK began in the rain, but ended with sunshine.

I showered and dressed, and scoured my room to make sure everything was packed and ready to go.   Satisfied that this was the case, I left my room with my baggage, and headed to the lift to the Main Lobby.  I paid what was left on my bill, and bid the brilliant staff at the Crowne Plaza St James a fond 'au revoir' (or however it is said by the British!).   I assured them that I would return to stay with them again; the whole staff, from desk people to Spa 51 and bell-men, were incredible.   A bell-person assisted me with the baggage to the Reception Desk, and I gave him a good tip for the service.   The Concierge called a taxi for me, and the bell-person got me and my baggage in the taxi safely.   I thanked the bell-person, and waved 'au revoir'.

After telling the cab driver I needed to go to London Paddington station, we were off; at the end of Buckingham Palace Road, we passed in front of the Palace, and I waved a silent 'Good Morning' to the Royals: especially to Prince William and Kate Middleton.   I took one last look at sights like the Wellington Arch, Marble Arch, Oxford Street and Hyde Park, as we made our way through London's rush hour.   Soon, we arrived at London Paddington station, where the driver (who called me "Luv" a couple of times!) helped me and the baggage out.   I gave him a huge tip; he said it was 'too much' and asked 'Are you sure?'   I told him he deserved it, for getting me safely to the station.   He smiled broadly and said 'Thank you!'   He also hoped more Americans like me would visit the UK, if all of them would give such generous tips.  I sure hope I made his day.

Once inside London Paddington, I had to get my Heathrow Express train ticket at a self-service kiosk.  With a little assistance from another American traveler, I managed to get my ticket, and then followed a clearly-marked path on the floor to the Heathrow Express train platform.   I got on a train for Terminal One--but not before taking quick photos of the MIND THE GAP warning (photos left and below right) on the platform outside the door.  Those were the last photos I took while on this trip.   Soon, we were off for Heathrow Airport.

The ride only took a few minutes.   I sat down near the doorway, and watched London go by.   As I did, the rain stopped, and the sun broke through.   Most riders were quiet, reading newspapers or watching the news on the overhead TVs.  I kept my bags close at hand, and didn't say much of anything.   Before long, we reached Terminal One at Heathrow; I got off the train, walked down a long corridor, up two escalators, and then into the terminal.   I stopped at a bank to change my remaining British Pounds for US dollars (remarkably, I was leaving with money to spare!), and then looked out for the US Airways check-in.   It was another exercise in frustration, with those self-service check-in kiosks like I had in Syracuse.  But I managed to find a human staffer, who directed me where to go.  In this Security area, I was asked if I packed my bags myself (yes), and did I accept a parcel from anyone in the airport (no).  This person was very nice.  But she almost put a sticker on my checked-in bag for Fort Worth, Texas!!!  Thankfully, I caught it in time, and showed her the error; she changed it to Philadelphia.   I would pick up this bag in Philadelphia, in order to go through US Customs.

Next came the various layers of Security, and the UK Border check: time to strip off coat, camera case, and bags, and put them on the conveyor belt for X-ray.   Thank heavens it wasn't crazy-busy yet, but you still have to be on the ball to get all this stuff through the machine!   The coat, camera bag and gift bag came through just fine; my backpack was checked separately by a very kind lady, who was wearing a 'Help For Heroes' lanyard round her neck.   I noticed it, and told her what a great UK military support group it is.  And she told me she has a son in the British Army, and he was on leave from Afghanistan now; however, he would be returning there soon.   I wished her and her son well, and gathered my stuff for the walk to the Departures area.

When I arrived in the Departures area, I was most pleasantly surprised: there were many upscale shops selling clothes, cosmetics, and food, for starters.   And to top it all off: there were nice clean W.C.'s close by   I was almost tempted to buy some expensive chocolate!   Instead, I bought a turkey-and-cranberries sandwich, with orange juice to wash it down.   This was my breakfast, as I didn't have time to get anything to eat in London.   I sat down near the food area and munched, and watched checked-in passengers going to and fro.  The food was very good, and it helped settle my growling stomach.   I also stopped at a nearby Boots chemist shop, and bought some anti-shine ointment for my face.  I tried it in the W.C., and it really felt nice and cool.

The time soon came for me to go find the Departure Gate for my flight to Philadelphia.   Once again, it was another really long walk: more long corridors and moving sidewalks to navigate.   It felt like I was walking to the other side of the world--plus my souvenir bag and backpack felt heavier than ever.  But eventually I found the gate, and checked in.  It was fairly quiet at first, but little by little, more passengers began to arrive.

Eventually, my seating 'zone' was called (the last one to be called), and I followed the herd to the plane; I found my window seat quickly, and put my souvenir bag and coat up in the overhead compartment, and the backpack beneath the seat.   My seatmate, an older American woman, wasn't very talkative.  But I didn't mind much.   I had a lot to reflect on about my UK/Europe journey, and I didn't feel much like chattering.   It was nice to be going home to the USA.  But I knew I would be missing the UK and Belgium, and all the people I had met along the way.

As the plane lifted off the runway, I gazed out the window at the scene below: the far outskirts of London, and the green countryside--and remembered the day I arrived in England, and how excited I was, pointing out famous London landmarks.   This time, my seat faced the southern side of London's suburbs: lots of council flats and twisting roads, and then the rolling and green countryside.   Soon, we were high above the clouds, but I could still see the UK coastline, until we were finally over the Atlantic Ocean.  I tried to settle down to sleep, but it's hard to get comfortable in a narrow coach seat, with little front leg room.   My feet and legs started feeling 'twitchy', from being confined.  I envied those in Business or First Class; at least they could stretch out their legs!

About an hour or so into the flight, the cabin crew had us shut the window shades, so passengers could sleep.  I only dozed for short periods; others were fast asleep, or listening to their iPods or watching movies on their little 'private' screens.   You have to pay for that privilege now, which is ridiculous.   Instead, I had some fun watching a GPS screen you could tune into, showing the flight plan of the plane.  It showed the locations of ocean 'banks'--and wreck sites of famous ships like RMS Titanic in April 1912, RMS Lusitania in May 1915--and even CSS Alabama in June 1864!   Granted, it was a bit bizarre to be seeing shipwreck sites pinpointed on a flight map.   But it sure was better than seeing nothing.

Lunch was provided about halfway across the Atlantic.   It was enough to keep the 'growlies' from getting too bad.   I just hoped my bladder would hold out until we got to Philadelphia....!   I didn't feel like waiting in line for the airline toilets.   Not much conversation was held between me and my seatmate.   She was sleeping most of the time.   I contented myself with watching the GPS map, and counting the miles as we got closer to the North American continent.   And it seemed to take FOREVER to get there!

Soon, however, I noticed we were crossing over land; according to the map, we were over Eastern Canada: Nova Scotia (where I waved a silent 'hello' to my friend David in Halifax) and New Brunswick.  And then we flew parallel to the coast of Maine, one of my favorite US states to visit.  Then we passed over Cape Cod, and back out over the Atlantic, until we reached the New Jersey shoreline.   No one was on the beach (it was still sunny, but I imagined it was too cold to be out walking) as we flew inland.  Soon we were approaching the Philadelphia airport; as we came in, I saw both Lincoln Financial Field (home of the NFL's Philadelphia Eagles) and Wells Fargo Center (home of the NBA's Philadelphia 76ers and the NHL's Philadelphia Flyers), and the skyline of downtown Philadelphia.  It was hard to believe I was almost back on US soil.

The flight pretty much landed on time; it was still daylight outside.   But I now faced yet another long walk inside the terminal--this time, to go through US Customs.   The lines for Customs were full; I don't know if we were the only passengers going through.   As we stood in line, a Customs staffer came alongside, with her contraband-sniffing beagle.   The dog trotted alongside us and sniffed all our bags, in search of drugs, weapons, illegal fruit or veggies, etc..   It was a great temptation to pat this little fellow and fuss over it.   But the beagle was 'on duty', and not to be distracted.   He sure was cute.

When I got to the Customs table, I handed the staffer the Customs forms I filled out on the plane, stating what I had bought in the UK and Europe, and how much it cost.   Unfortunately, everything I'd bought was in either British Pounds or Euros, and I didn't know what it translated to in US dollars.   In all, I filled out five US Customs forms.   And that irritated the staffer very much, because HE had to do the US dollar conversion.   I bet I made his day (NOT!).   Thankfully, I was able to get through Customs and go to Baggage Claim; I found my suitcase in the Baggage Claim fairly quickly, and then got in yet another line for Security: time to take off the coats, camera bags and backpacks again.  And let's not forget the shoes.....   The lines moved not fast, but not too slow.   But you still have to be on the ball to get everything off that's going into the X-ray machine, and keep moving forward.   I got through the metal detector just fine, and was able to grab my stuff and move on.  I kept hoping my big suitcase and I would find each other in Syracuse....

With boarding pass in hand, I walked through the crowds, to find the shuttle bus that would take me to the domestic US Airways terminal.   It came along quickly, and I got aboard.   It was dark by now, as the driver skillfully made his way to the right terminal.   I got off and found the right gate for my flight to Syracuse...after yet another long trudge.   I sure was getting my exercise today!   I gratefully sat down in the waiting area---and discovered my flight home was being delayed.   JOY....!   I was running on adrenaline and managing to stay awake.   But I knew that, eventually, I would crash with exhaustion.  I found my US mobile phone and called my sister Joanne, to tell her the flight was delayed, but not for a long delay.

Sitting in that waiting area, I realized I was back in the Land of the Rude American.   Three men were seated near me talking very loudly amongst themselves, and a businesswoman on a Bluetooth device and a laptop computer was yapping on and on, like she was talking to herself.   I like technology as much as most people.   But too many have no sense of privacy anymore; it's irritating being in earshot of someone else's business.   I tried my darndest to shut it out mentally.

At long last: the plane for Syracuse arrived.   My seat was way in the back, right by the toilets (lovely).  At least it was a window seat, so I could see the sparkling lights in the darkness below me.   It was a short flight: just enough time to have a drink and some snacks.   Before I knew it, we were landing in Syracuse; I collected my carry-on stuff and got off the plane, and into a nearly-silent terminal.   Soon, I saw my sister Joanne, and I almost ran to embrace her.   She was happy to have me home.   Once again, my suitcase arrived in rapid time at Baggage Claim, and off we went to the Parking Garage, where we put my bags in Joanne's car, and she drove me home.   I immediately started chattering on about the trip.

Soon, I was back home at my apartment.   We decided to leave the heavy suitcase at the bottom of the inside stairs for the night; it was too much to drag upstairs.   Anyway, my brain was becoming much too fuzzy to think straight; all I wanted was a shower and to go to bed.   I bid Joanne good night, and thanked her for the transport from the airport, and off I went to meet The Sandman.   I would write my reflections about my journey on the morrow in my diary.

Day Fifteen, Part One: Monday, 15 November 2010

A new week has begun--and today, I am off to Cambridge, to a meeting with Mr. Allen Packwood, the Chief Archivist, to see the Winston Churchill Archives at Churchill College.   I was really looking forward to meeting Mr. Packwood, and viewing some of Mr. Churchill's letters, photos and other documents.

It was a bright and sunny November morning: a far cry from the damp and chill of Remembrance Sunday.   I had a round-trip ticket to Cambridge, and would leave around 10 am, so I had a little time to walk about and see some London sights.

I slept like a baby overnight (after all the walking about I did on Sunday), and woke up around 7 am.   After showering and dressing, I decided to walk to the 'other end' of Buckingham Gate, which led me to the front of Buckingham Palace.

The walk was really interesting: I noticed a number of the older buildings had been converted into small businesses--but kept the lovely exteriors.   The area directly in front of the Palace, around the Queen Victoria Memorial, is closed to vehicular traffic--probably for security reasons.   But it's great that one doesn't have to dodge cars around the Memorial any longer.   A few tourists were about, snapping photos.  But most of the foot traffic was made up of commuters walking to work in London.

After I took a few photos of the Palace, I crossed St James's Park to Birdcage Walk, where I heard and saw a military band playing and marching about behind a tall metal fence (photo left).   The bandsmen wore bearskin hats and camouflage uniforms (an interesting combination!).

I also saw soldiers in camouflage, and wearing military berets, near them--and took photos of both through the fence.

I am not entirely sure what unit these soldiers are serving in, but I believe it's the Life Guards (photo right).  

The building behind them is their London HQ, and it holds an excellent Guards Museum.   All these men are serving British military personnel.   I wonder if these fellows were deploying to, or returning from, Afghanistan....

By now, I was feeling very hungry, as I'd not eaten breakfast at the hotel.   I made my way back to Victoria Street, and to Victoria Station, where I'd catch the Underground to Kings Cross Station, and the train to Cambridge.   Near Victoria Station, I found a natural-foods shop called "Pret A Manger" (more about them later!), and went in and ordered a tomato-mozzarella-basil sandwich with tea.   The shop was full of morning commuters, but I did find a place to sit and eat.   The sandwich was excellent!!   And the tea hit the spot, too: enough to take the edge off my hunger.   I then went back outside, and into the heaving mass leaving Victoria Station and heading into central London.

I found the Underground station at Victoria, and arrived at the platform in time to catch the next Tube to Kings Cross.   I stood the whole time, for the short trip to Kings Cross; most of the British passengers were quietly reading the newspaper, or lost in their own thoughts--but two young American women were seated nearby, and they would not stop talking!   I assumed they were probably university students on a semester-long International Studies stay.   And they didn't stop talking when they left the Tube, either!

The Tube finally arrived at Kings Cross, and I got off and walked yet another long corridor out of the Tube station (thank heaven I was only carrying the backpack this day).    In the train station at Kings Cross, I noticed the Express train for Cambridge, and what platform it was leaving from, and made a dash for it--only to discover it was really leaving from a different platform some ways away!   So my fellow passengers and I dashed to the other side of the platform, and got on the right train.   I was out of breath from the dash, and I collapsed into my window seat.

This train had only one stop to make: at Cambridge.   It took around an hour or so, I figured.   The sun shone brightly on the scenery: bare fields and small hills, mostly.   Not as many animals, as I saw on the way to Worcester, however: just a few horses, and the usual 'puffy' sheep.

Before we knew it, the train was rolling into the Cambridge train station.   I was surprised at how small the station was, for such an important city as Cambridge: home to one of Britain's oldest, and best-known, universities.

I hailed a cab outside the station, and asked to be driven to the Provost's House at Churchill College.   The cab driver was a really nice fellow; he told me he'd been a Cambridge cab driver for over 30 years, and never tired of showing his passengers the sights: the various historic colleges that make up the University of Cambridge.   He said that Peterhouse College, for instance, is the oldest Cambridge college, founded in the year 1284.

As we rode along Queen's Road, the cab driver told me to look to my right.   And when I did, I saw the most gorgeous sight: the King's College Chapel, where the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols has been held every Christmas Eve since 1918.   I've seen many photos of the Chapel, but nothing compares to seeing it 'in the flesh', right before your eyes.   I made a mental note to go visit the Chapel afterwards.

It was around 11 am or so, and my appointment with Mr. Packwood wouldn't be until 12 noon--so I had a little time to wander about and explore the main building at the College.  I didn't go too far afield, however, as I didn't want to get lost.   Just after noon, I went to the Provost's Office (photo left), and asked to see Mr. Packwood.   The gentleman in the Office rang up Mr. Packwood's assistant, and she gave him directions as to where I should go.   I then went into Jock Colville Hall, which houses the Churchill Archives, and almost literally crashed into Mr. Packwood's assistant, who showed me into his office.   And there he was.   He warmly shook my hand, and invited me to sit down.

After the introductions, Mr. Packwood (he invited me to call him Allen) inquired about my UK/Europe travels so far, so I described my wreath-laying 'duty' in Ypres on Armistice Day, and my breakfast meeting in London with Sir Martin Gilbert.   Turns out Allen knows Sir Martin well, and I noticed one of Sir Martin's books on Churchill on a shelf in his office.

Allen then asked me about my research on Leonard Jerome, Winston Churchill's maternal grandfather, and what I had planned to do with what I found.  I said that I was planning to create a Web site about Leonard Jerome's life, and its connections in Upstate New York.

Allen took a few notes, and then said something extraordinary: he'd told me in our pre-visit correspondence that the Archives was sponsoring a major Exhibition on Churchill and his American ancestry, to be held at the Morgan Library in New York City in 2012.   He asked if I would be interested in being a contributor in some way, in assisting the Churchill Archives with any information I might find in historical societies near me (Leonard Jerome was born in the hamlet of Pompey Hill, New York, in the hill country south of Syracuse, and also lived for a time in the Western New York village of Palmyra, and in Rochester, before moving to New York City).   Allen also said he would like to link the Archives site with my Leonard Jerome Web site.

Of course, I was absolutely gobsmacked!   I said it would be an honor, and would do whatever I could to assist the Archives' efforts.   I am still working on the basic Leonard Jerome biography.   Thankfully, the Exhibition is not until 2012, so I still have time....but it'll certainly go by fast!

After this chat, Allen took me on a short tour.   As we left the Archives, we came to an open area between campus buildings, and he pointed out a very large oak tree.   But it's not just any oak tree: it was planted by Sir Winston himself in 1957, as the College was getting on its feet.   It's absolutely huge now (photo left).

To the left of this tree, and close to the building, is a row of more-recently planted younger trees.  And one of them was planted by Sir Winston's youngest--and sole surviving--daughter, Lady Mary Soames, who is an Honorary Fellow (or Faculty member) of the College.   Allen said she wanted to plant it here, so it would stand in the shadow of her father's tree.

On the way back to the Provost's Lodge, Allen told me he had been interviewed for a Canadian documentary, in reference to Sir Martin Gilbert's book Churchill and the Jews.   Allen said he'd been interviewed for quite some time.   But, as things in television usually go, the interview will probably be cut down to a 30-second sound bite!

Allen then led the way into the building behind the tree: the main Administrative building of Churchill College, where staff offices and the Dining Halls are located.   On a stairway near the Dining Halls is a very good sculpted bust of Sir Winston, and Allen asked if I'd like my picture taken next to it.   I agreed, so he took my camera and did so.   I must say it's not a bad photo--more so for the Churchill bust than for me!

Doesn't it look like Sir Winston is pensively getting ready to listen to me (photo left)?

Then, it was up the stairs we went to the Dining Halls, as it was almost lunchtime.   There are a couple of Dining Halls in this building: one for the students, and one for more formal meetings of College officials and their guests.   The students' Dining Hall was quite spacious, and didn't feel like a school cafeteria.  I think the brickwork on the walls, and the extensive woodwork, made it feel much warmer and inviting.

Before we went into the main Dining Hall for lunch, Allen showed me something really exciting: a chair once owned, and sat upon, by Sir Winston himself!   It was nicely padded, with some interesting woodwork on the arms and legs; above it stood a bust of Churchill by the celebrated British sculptor Sir Jacob Epstein.   Allen asked if I'd like to sit in it myself--and, after some hesitation, I agreed!   He asked me to look 'lost in important thought' as I sat down, and he took my photo.   So I can say that I sat my bum on the very same chair that Sir Winston sat upon!   Never thought I'd ever get to do THAT...!

And the proof is the photo at right!  

On the opposite wall from the "Churchill Chair" was a wonderful painting of a younger Winston Churchill done around 1915--the time of the Dardanelles/Gallipoli fiasco in Turkey, during the First World War.  Allen told me it was one of Clementine Churchill's favorite portraits of her husband.   I wish I had gotten the artist's name, and a photo of the painting.

We then arrived back at the Dining Hall for lunch.   Allen graciously paid for the meal: everything looked quite delicious!  I chose lamb with Yorkshire pudding (never had the latter before), zucchini in tomato sauce, and two small desserts: fruit crumble, and one with custard on top.   We found places at the Fellows' Table: the one the Faculty uses!   We sat down and had a wonderful chat about many topics.  One would never have guessed we'd only just met that day.

After lunch, Allen then took me to visit the Archives itself.   As we climbed one staircase, I noticed a large portrait on the wall; Allen told me it was of none other than Professor Barnes Wallace, of The Dam Busters fame.  He is the scientist who created the 'bouncing bombs' which 617 Squadron of the RAF (thereafter known as 'The Dam Busters Squadron') used to destroy several hydroelectric dams in Germany's Ruhr Valley, in May 1942.   Allen told me Barnes Wallace became a Fellow of Churchill College after the war.   And the Barnes Wallace family coat-of-arms includes a picture of the 'bouncing bomb'.

Allen told me the College is doing much work to make the Churchill Archives more accessible to researchers; it has contracted with a company to digitize the documents for online research.   Much of what the Archives currently holds is on microfilm.   And the room where researchers can work was also being renovated.   Eventually, it'll be turned into two huge rooms, where visiting researchers can bring their laptops to work.   Of course, there will also be a whole lot of security measures in place.

The Churchill Archives themselves are stored in a climate-controlled and very secure area.   There is low humidity within, and it was a bit chilly to boot.   Right now, the documents and photos are kept in boxes stored in closed, safe-like shelves--and Allen knows what's in every one of those boxes!   He had brought a few of them out, to show me specific items.

First of all, he showed me several of young Winston's first letters from his boarding school, which were written in huge, well-formed script.   Most of these were written to his mother, Lady Randolph Churchill  (the former Jennie Jerome), but there was also one written to his father, Lord Randolph Churchill.   As Winston got a bit older, he wrote letters from Harrow School that were virtually pleading for his parents to come visit.   In one of those, he pleaded with his parents to send instead his nanny, Mrs. Elizabeth Anne Everest (whom young Winston called "Old Woom")--and she eventually did come to visit.   It is sad that Winston's parents didn't come to see him while in school.  He had to have been a very lonely child.

In another box, Allen showed me letters to Jennie, from Winston as a young man.   There was one written from New York City, where Winston was staying with an American friend, Bourke Cochran; from Cuba in 1895, where Winston was covering the country's rebellion against Spain for a British newspaper; and from South Africa in 1899, where Winston was a journalist covering the Second Boer War.   At this time, his handwriting was much smaller, and not quite as easy to read.

Next, Allen got out of another box a typed copy of now-Prime Minister Winston Churchill's 1941 Christmas Eve broadcast to the American people.   At that time, he was visiting President Franklin D. Roosevelt and staying at the White House.   The copy was double-spaced, with corrections written in Churchill's own hand.   In the same box was a copy of the speech Churchill gave to a joint session of the US Congress, where he refers to Jennie's American birth.   Accompanying this speech was a handwritten insert from Churchill, which said he felt that Jennie would have been proud of what he had accomplished in his life!

Allen told me that Churchill would normally have had dictated these particular speeches to one of his female secretaries.   But on this American visit, he brought along a male shorthand writer, Patrick Kinna, because he felt that crossing the Atlantic with the Nazi U-boat menace in place was much too risky for the women.   Mr. Kinna, by the way, passed away in March of 2009, aged 95.

One of the other US-related documents Allen showed me was a letter from President Roosevelt in 1942, in which FDR quoted a line by the American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: 'Sail on, O Ship of State....'  Churchill had this letter framed, and placed it on the wall at Chartwell, his country house in Kent.   He even saved the envelope, in which FDR addressed Churchill as a 'certain Naval person'--referring to Churchill's service as First Lord of the British Admiralty during the First World War.   Churchill and Roosevelt had actually met once before: in London in the 1920s, when FDR was US Secretary of the Navy. At the time, Roosevelt didn't think much of Churchill as a person.

The next box Allen got out was huge, and it contained something really special: one of Churchill's personal photo albums.   In this one I found several photos of Churchill as a child, that I'd seen in several other books: one of him with his mother and his younger brother, Jack.   And there were the original formal photos of Lord Randolph and Jennie I'd also seen in books.

Also in this album were photos of Winston in military uniform in India and South Africa; on the political stump after the Boer War; and with his wife Clementine.   I noticed some empty spaces, with tear-marks: Allen said it was most likely done by Clementine, who often didn't like her own photos.   (I can relate to her on that!)   Allen didn't show all the photos in this album, as the binding was showing some signs of wear.   He didn't want to put extra stress on it, especially the album's spine.

The Churchill College Archives not only contain Winston Churchill's public and private papers.  It now also holds the papers of Second World War Field Marshal William Slim (who mainly served in the South-East Asia and Burma campaigns), and former UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.   The latter were the most recent donations to the Archives, and can't be revealed yet for some time.   But Allen did show me something interesting: the handbag that Mrs. Thatcher used while Prime Minister!   It had a note with it, in her own hand.   And I was able to touch the bag with my own hands!   I think it was made of alligator skin.

There was also another fascinating Thatcher-related display: two British flags and an Argentinian flag, from the Falkland Islands.   One British flag was rather battered: it was from the islands' capital, Stanley, and had seen hard service during the Falklands War between the UK and Argentina, from April to June 1982.   The other British flag was from the Royal Navy ship leading the Task Force that liberated the Falklands from the Argentinians; the widow of the ship's commander donated the flag to Mrs. Thatcher.   I suppose the Argie flag was a war trophy....?

By now, it was early afternoon, and Allen led me back out of the Archives, and back to his office.   He gave me a signed copy of the brochure done for a Churchill exhibit in Washington DC (and it was one of only a handful of brochures left!), and a map of Cambridge itself, in case I wanted to go see any of the other historic Colleges.   He led me out to the entrance of the Provost's Office and shook my hand and thanked me for coming.   In turn, I thanked him profusely for his time, and for lunch and the awesome visit to the Churchill Archives.

I had such a memorable time here!   I hope I can make a return visit soon.

It was a beautiful day for a walk, so I decided not to hail a taxi or take a bus back into Cambridge.   My next destination: King's College Chapel, which will be the subject of Part Two!