Compacted by fatigue the happy tale was soon told. James sat on the bed and took it all in, his long Stuart face registering no emotion. The young Queen Mary Beatrice, her fair italianate form more decently covered by sheets, in contrast applauded each development and shook cascading black locks in glee. When betrothed to James as his second wife at the age of fourteen, she’d proclaimed the alternative desire to take the veil. Now twelve years later true love had made a surprise arrival and good news for James was likewise joy for her.
When all was said the King slowly nodded and betrayed his hidden lightness of heart by sounding just like his late brother.
‘What I want now,’ he said, ‘is m’clothes and a sword.’
A hovering courtier supplied the first and Oglethorpe the second. Excalibur remained marked with the black blood of Arthur. Theophilus had never before been so unsoldierly as to fail to clean his blade. Fortunately James didn’t notice.
‘Right then, Master Oglethorpe, now I’ve got hose and shirt on, you may fall to your knees – and don’t go to sleep on me.’
Theophilus obeyed and was lightly brushed with steel on each shoulder. Excalibur buzzed with the desire to bite deeper and avenge its misuse but could not. Where the dried blood touched him his tunic was scorched.
‘Arise a Knight, thou good and faithful servant.’
Sir Theophilus Oglethorpe trod unsteadily to his feet, while Mary Beatrice placed two slim fingers to her sensuous mouth and whistled wild acclamation.
And thereafter, as far as the House of Oglethorpe was concerned, things just went on getting better and better.
At Westbrook he received a welcome from Ellen that culminated in a broken bed and footprints on the walls. Another Oglethorpe set off along the road to birth that very night. The convivial memory of that return would remain with the couple always.
Theophilus’s initial alarm at the state of the place was soon allayed by finding all essentially well. He was duly grateful, both to Providence and his fellow man and those who’d served his family got to bathe in the torrent of favour that now flowed upon him. When the seat in Parliament arrived, the Colonelship of the King’s Holland Regiment was granted, and the forfeited Scottish estates, the property in St James’ Park, twelve-hundred acres in Huntingdonshire and the Sir Christopher Wren designed lodge in Windsor Forest – and all the rest – came his way, many others benefited also. Loyalty and virtue were for once rewarded. Theophilus and Ellen made sure of that.
All and everything was suspiciously fine and they were in danger of growing used to it. Though it was hardly to be credited, misfortune seemed permanently banished beyond the boundaries of Westbrook. However, a sensible degree of perching-on-the-edge-of-your-seat style caution remained.
Then, later on, at the christening of Theophilus junior, his father was suddenly struck by the words of the twenty-third Psalm, as recited by the Reverend Wharton.
‘…my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.’
Oglethorpe hadn’t ever thought to make a personal appearance in Holy Scripture; but there again recent events had familiarised him with all kinds of miracles. Nothing was beyond the realms of possibility.
‘Did you hear that last bit?’ he whispered to Ellen. She had.
He puzzled for a moment and then surrendered to the happy notion, smiling at his wife.
‘Do you know what, Ellen? I think he means us.’
From James Boswell’s ‘LIFE OF JOHNSON’ 1791
May 1738. ‘…met with General James Oglethorpe, whose “strong benevolence of soul” was unabated during the course of a very long life: though it is painful to think that he had but too much reason to become cold and callous, and discontented with the world, from the neglect which he experienced of his public and private worth, by those in whose power it was to gratify so gallant a veteran with marks of distinction. This extraordinary person was as remarkable for his learning and taste, as for his other eminent qualities: and no man as more prompt, active and generous, in encouraging merit.’
Sunday, 23 March 1783. ‘…I was glad when General James Oglethorpe’s arrival was announced, and we left the ladies. Dr. Johnson attended him in the parlour, and was as courteous as ever. The General said he was busy reading the writers of the Middle Age. Johnson said they were very curious. OGLETHORPE: “The House of Commons has usurped the power of the nation’s money, and used it tyrannically. Government is now carried on by corrupt influence, instead of the inherent right in the King.” JOHNSON: “Sir, the want of inherent right in the King occasions all this disturbance. What we did at the 1688 Revolution was necessary: but it broke our constitution.” OGLETHORPE: “My father, Theophilus, did not think it necessary.”
OGLETHORPE, James Edward, 1696–1785. English general, the ninth and final child of staunchly Jacobite parents. He nevertheless succeeded to the Family estate and largely restored its stricken fortunes following the fall of their patron, James II, in the ‘Glorious Revolution’ (which was neither of those things) of 1688. One elder brother, Lewis, died of a wound taken in an attack on the Hague, whilst serving under Marlborough in 1704. His other brother, Theophilus jnr. was obliged by his inherited Jacobite fanaticism to live abroad. James served under Prince Eugene against the Turks and in 1733 established the colony of Georgia in N. America (heavily mortgaging his house Westbrook to do so), as a refuge for paupers and debtors. He defended it in several campaigns against the Spaniards. His alleged lack of commitment as a general during the Jacobite rising of 1745 was the subject of a court martial but he was acquitted. He was also notable as a Philanthropist, Member of Parliament, prison reformer, viniculturalist (establishing at his home the largest vineyard in England), importer of the edible snail (still to be found in Westbrook’s vicinity) and friend of such luminaries as Johnson, Boswell, Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick and Reynolds. Members of the American-Indian “Yamacraw” tribe accompanied Oglethorpe from Georgia to Godalming and were presented at Whitehall, Eton and at Court. The poet Pope favourably immortalised him in his “Imitation of Horace”, ep. ii:
“Impelled by strong benevolence of soul
To flee like Oglethorpe from Pole to Pole.”
I reckon I would have liked the bloke …’
Prof. Magali Williams. ‘Some Decent Poms’. University of Northern Queensland Press. Cairns. Australia. 1992.
FRIENDS OF OGLETHORPE
GODALMING – GEORGIA LINK
The Oglethorpe Connection.
The ‘Friends of Oglethorpe’ is a local voluntary organisation formed to foster friendship with the State of Georgia in general and the cities of Savannah and Augusta in particular. Friends reflect the modern day link with one of Godalming’s most famous sons, General James Edward Oglethorpe, the local member of Parliament who at the bidding of King George II, took the sailing ship ‘Anne’ and 100 souls to found the State of Georgia, in the Deep South, 260 years ago in 1733. The friends initiate and organise visits to Georgia and welcome and host visitors from Georgia who come to Godalming to seek the roots of their founder. The Oglethorpe family house was Westbrook House, now the Meath Home near Godalming Station, which can be visited by arrangement. More information is contained in Godalming Parish Church and in the Oglethorpe Room in the Town Museum where enquiries about membership of the Friends may be made.
Membership:
Is open to all with annual subscriptions of £5 per person (£8 per couple). Corporate membership is available at . .
[Leaflet distributed at ‘Godalming Comes Alive’ celebrations, 16/10/93]
THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1702
‘Hello,’ said Theophilus. ‘How are you? Long time no see.’
‘We have not met before,’ replied the Elf, though sociably taking his place alongside Oglethorpe in the garden chair.
‘No? Well, perhaps so. You all seem very … interchangeable to us. And besides, memory fades. My acquaintances of yo
ur race can hardly be said to have kept in touch …’
‘No,’ agreed the Elf, most amiably and apparently admiring the view of Godalming. ‘We saw no point in it.’
‘Blunt and honest as ever,’ Theophilus smiled wistfully into his cravat. ‘And what has now occurred to alter your perception?’
His visitor turned in the seat to regard him.
‘Nothing yet – but it is imminent. Your aura fades, your image wavers upon the breeze.’
Theophilus took the news as he always hoped he would. It was no great battle: he wasn’t that put out.
‘So, I’m on my way, am I?’
The Elf nodded once.
‘The Force that gave you birth now calls you home. You cannot hear it yet …’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ answered Oglethorpe, jocularly, ‘you should see me struggling out of bed in the morning. Drink? It’s decent sherry. I drink a fair bit of it these days.’
Content that his point was made, the Elf once again leant back.
‘Well there you are,’ he said, downing the offered glass without pleasure or effect, ‘your body heeds the call your mind will not admit. By your kind’s standard you have had a tumultuous life. So, what did you make of it all?’
For the first time, Theophilus could not strain every bit of bitterness from his voice.
‘Depends what you refer to. If it’s our fraternisation then I’d say there was little point.’
The Elf didn’t dispute it but was merely curious. ‘How so?’
The tired old soldier spread wide his hands. At long last the great dammed up backlog of disappointments broke free and flowed out as words.
‘Well look,’ he said, only too willing to be contradicted. ‘What did we achieve? Monmouth got the chop for sure, but James himself only lasted three years in place. The half dozen lordly ones who own this country would rather conspire in treason than have a papist, people’s King. Their nominee, Good King Billy the sodomite soon had James out, and my life’s been wasted since in trying to undo that. I’ve been harried up and down the land, arrested, fined to penury and spent years in exile – and Ellen likewise – all to no avail. They even accused us of substituting a baby Oglethorpe for James’s new son, of sneaking him in in a warming pan to hide a royal stillbirth. A maid of ours betrayed us – why should she be the odd one out? – and published the lie in a pamphlet. So now we’re also unnatural parents. Whiggish wits called the rightful heir “Prince Oglethorpe of Godalming”. No, I admit it: we were defeated and I’ve made despairing truce with the regime. I tired of Westbrook being searched and seeing my name on wayside posters. Loyalty staggers when it meets with such divine disfavour. “King” William and all the others were allowed their way and that’s the truth. My only comfort is at least I saw him out.’
He suddenly seemed abashed to have made such an impassioned speech – and yet glad to have confessed the venomed wound.
‘Though only just it transpires,’ he added, smiling ruefully.
‘First James, then William, now you,’ said the Elf, as gently as he could. ‘How curious that all the players should depart in such swift succession.’
‘James of melancholy in France, and glad to go. And dear Billy, well, you’d need a heart of ice not to laugh: most reluctantly and thrown from his horse due to a molehill.’
‘One hears the party of your persuasion now commence their dinners with a toast to the “little gentleman in black velvet”.’
‘God bless him. I’ve never persecuted master mole myself but now he ranges unmolested in many estates thanks to that day’s work. By the bye, since you mention the word succession, do we ever get a rightful King or Queen again?’
‘Rightful?’ asked the Elf, plainly unfamiliar with the term. ‘In your terms, you mean? A newcomer of the Stuart blood in legitimate succession? Would you count James’s daughter, Anne?’
‘That traitress?’
‘Then no.’
Theophilus sighed but then rallied.
‘And so it ends, as do I,’ he concluded, hardly pleased to find his private fears confirmed. ‘And what good did any of it do?’
The question was rhetorical but got an answer anyway.
‘It seems of small moment to you perhaps,’ the Elf replied, ‘but concede that mankind has a rather … basic perspective. To you, for example, Keynsham was a trifling skirmish, but in other planes it was mirrored in great slaughters of the Null. Swirling cavalry battles with millions of combatants, under skies you cannot conceive, hung upon your charge into that village. Null lancers on lizard steeds fell under your sword although you did not see them. Glorious cities died in flames with each shot you fired. Believe, Theophilus: you do not exist only here. Accept that a pinprick on Earth can be a mortal wound elsewhere.’
Oglethorpe shrugged but did not speak, interested but unmoved.
‘And the vision of Nostradamus was fulfilled,’ prompted the visitor.
‘Who? Oh, him. A great help that was.’
‘Prophecies must be opaque lest in speaking clear they abort the very events they predict. You’ll admit Monmouth did leave life in London and through the actions of his Uncle.’
‘But hardly “murdered”,’ Theophilus protested.
‘Doubtless a fault in translation. Remember the seer was an eavesdropper and a furtive one at that.’
‘And the “Heavenly Temple?” The “false peace”?’
‘One lies dormant in the Glastonbury landscape, awaiting our return. The other you have just bewailed. King James would not have disputed the falseness of the peace he so briefly acquired.’
‘Hmmmm.’ A wealth of scepticism rode alongside that affirmation.
‘And above all,’ the Elf added softly, ‘you did deal with Arthur.’
Oglethorpe considered and then admitted that. ‘But only for the moment, I suspect.’
The guest agreed but would not have his host entirely free of consolation.
‘That would always have been so,’ he told him. ‘We swim against the mighty tide of the age, and you chose to swim with us. By its nature it could never be an easy trip. For the present humanity seems to want the Null. Our joint efforts have ensured they shall only have it in dilute form. It will be bad – but not eternal. Arthur was critically weakened. King William and all the others who now bargain with him can interpose their own lowly agendas. Do you really think Arthur cares for the survival of Holland? Or the welfare of homosexuals? No, he has had to compromise. Those he contracts with are not mere puppets as Monmouth would have been. Nor do they have knowledge of us. Because of you the Null’s ambitions will come in more slowly and in milder form.’
Theophilus considered that as he sipped at his sherry.
‘Well, now you put it like that … Incidentally, is Ellen joining me?’
They both looked across the grounds to where Mrs Oglethorpe worked, merciless pruner of the great banks of roses. Their planting arose from the need, long ago, to conceal a burial pit. Beneath them lay a jumbled mass of eel-men and Celts, surefire tenured-professorship for some future archaeologist – not to mention amazing fertiliser. Those house servants who’d succumbed to ‘the plague’ at the same time were more decently interred elsewhere.
One rose of especial splendour rose perennially from what Grimes confirmed was the Elf-soldier’s resting place. The old gardener just as regularly won prizes with the uncanny blooms. It thrived with or without libations from his manure cart; though no cutting from it ever took.
‘Of course she will. All mortals do. But not yet. She has a long road yet to tread: her flame still burns bright.’
It certainly did. Most of Theophilus’s remaining energy was spent in defusing her more gallows-threatening Jacobite conspiracies. But he would miss her, for all that their parting might be short.
‘And the children?’
‘They will mostly prosper, storm fortresses and maidenheads, found nations and reform the prisons and show every sign of your good upbringing. I see them as profuse
as stars in the sky and shining just as glorious. They will be called many things but never petty. By inbred instinct, all unknowing, your progeny will fight the Null.’
‘I am answered,’ said Oglethorpe, ‘and obliged.’
‘Curiously enough,’ said the Elf, ‘we have one question in turn for you. Where is Excalibur?’
Theophilus chuckled to himself.
‘Safe – and seemingly frozen to the shape of a standard issue English cavalry sword. I did not care to carry it any more, knowing the spirit that dwells within, and so gave it to Godalming Corporation. Don’t look so worried. Their night-watchman required an instrument of intimidation: it saved them the expense of the more customary stave. Those fret-pennies will never lash out to replace it and he is too feeble to lift the blade. Also, Godalming’s early hours present no opportunity to indulge its tastes. If it must be freely given for another to wield it then I think my choice was good. Our enemy’s chiefest resource is hidden in the safest of places – out in plain view.’
‘Ah, yes, I can see it now,’ said the Elf, his long head tilted up, looking into realms not vouchsafed to mere mortals. ‘They do keep it, you are right. A long while from now I note it in their “museum”, a place where they store useless objects from the past. It is brought forth on high and holy days to go in procession before their mayor.’
‘All’s well that ends well,’ said Theophilus, half-flippantly.
‘Indeed,’ agreed the Elf, in all seriousness. ‘And that brings me to my main business here …’
‘Which? Wells or ends?’
‘The latter. Here at your end of things I come to tell you of our blessing. We have decided that we liked your company.’
Theophilus poured himself another glass.
‘If deciding that took you so long, I’m not sure I should be flattered. Still, I’ll take it in the spirit given, for I know you’re not a sentimental race.’
The Royal Changeling Page 29
