ElderChicks

General Burgoyne stumbles out of a wrecked fort at Yorktown, his face showing the wretched depths of humiliation to which this red coated Aristo has been reduced.  He is followed by starving soldiers , British and Hessian, dressed in rags, fearfully looking about and expecting to be shot, despite the terms of surrender. The huge mural dominates its space in the Capitol, intimidating this British tourist who shrinks, and slinks away down a stone corridor, away from the mocking painted eyes of the American militiamen.Only in the United States of America does the British tourist experience defeat!  There are no commemorative paintings of the Battle of Waterloo, no Agincourt, no Plassey, nor Blenheim, which we are accustomed to celebrate in our country. It is a strange feeling, even though my first ever visit to the USA, in 1985, was the most exhilarating week of my life.  I stayed in Princeton, visited New York and then Washington and was on a high throughout.  Years later, when my son and his wife lived in Yorktown, of course we toured the battle site, and a reenactor with a gleam in his eye appointed my husband Captain of the gun crew of Yankees, as we would call them.  Even though my husband had done national service in the Royal Artillery, he made a poor fist of his performance, failing to motivate the crew by yelling damnation of the scurvy Brits etc as I would have done.

We were on safer ground visiting Williamsburg one year, where we were back in 1760 in a community utterly loyal to King George III. We went one evening to a musical entertainment allegedly fresh from the Drury Lane Theatre in London. The band opened up with the British national anthem.  For the rest of my life I shall regret not jumping to my feet, and taking the whole audience with me.  Unfortunately, the band did not linger on the first chord, to allow people to stand as in the UK, so the opportunity was lost.

We also went to the Carter Plantation, and found the dismal relics of the original settlers, a few burnt out squalid buildings, nevertheless signifying the utter determination of these pioneers to make a go of life in America. Perhaps this determination is what we should celebrate together today.  My son and his American wife always fly both national flags on July 4. When he became an American citizen, he received one card (among many) saying “Glad you’re now one of us — but we always thought you were anyway.” A  pleasing thought on which to end.