12.30 14.06.2007 The Queen, former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher the Prime Minister and their partners attend the Falklands Memorial Service, with those who took the decisions, those who led and those who were led, together with those who lost, filled the chapel in the grounds of Pangbourne Navel College, Berkshire, built in memorial, and in thanks, for the 255 who sacrificed their lives, and for those who damaged their bodies and their spirits in the horrors, and in the honour of serving their country.
The Queen later inspected the three swooping albatross sculptures created by a veteran, and now part of the surrounding garden, before inserting a stone to complete the present Cairn, and which includes 255 stones brought back from the Falklands. There were two moving moments. The most poignant was when after the service the Queen was introduced to two 25 year old sons and one twenty five year old daughter born after the death of their respective father's in the conflict. The "sermon" was the most moving and apt I have experienced since attending the funeral services for my aunt, who had provided mothering in childhood, and which took place on an end of May hot sunny morning in Gibraltar in a tiny chapel at the entrance to an amazing cemetery dominated by the structure of the southern end of the Rock, and which was followed by the words spoken at the family tomb, after a sung requiem mass on the previous evening in the church where she worshipped as a child, where my mother played the church organ and my father conducted the services. I searched in vain to find the name of the clergyman at the Falklands service but will pursue until I can obtain a copy of his words and discover if they match my emotions at the time and since.
13.15 Once more an unplanned event shapes the rest of my day. I did not pay much attention to the usual lunch salad mixture, except to savour the thick slices of small Napoli salami, bought whole. My internet searching found the media dominated by the news that Michael Barrymore had been arrested with two others after fresh investigations into the death of a man at his home six years ago. My interest is with the family of the man who have pressed their concern over the years despite previous enquiries coming to nothing. In my own instance for over four years I have followed the separate formal complaint process involving two health authorities, one hospital an one community, and one local authority, and the appropriate appeal's machinery in relation to the circumstances of the death of my aunt who provided the mothering in childhood, convinced, and to some extent vindicated, that relevant information was mislaid or withheld, that key witnesses have suffered an amazing level of amnesia, but also that it was unlikely that the truth would emerge, even if there was to be a police investigation, and or some form of judicially structured investigation, My experience also suggests that such enquiries, and the raft of recommendations which follow, rarely result in effective measures being taken to prevent similar tragedies occurring and that the costs and the consequences for everyone involve rarely, if ever, justifies the findings and the process. But although I nearly pulled out two years ago and would love to do so now, the lingering concern is for the welfare of others and a sense of owing it to my aunt to do everything within my power and resources to get as close to the truth as possible. One of my four drawer filing cabinets is filled with the papers of the work involved to-date.
20.10. I was not in the mood to give undivided attention to work, and after a mixture of unsweetened strawberries and sliced pear, sat down on the floor of the front room to watch the last film production of James Ivory with Ismail Merchant before his death in 2005. I am puzzled why I did not see this bitter sweet film in the theatre or that its existence had not previously registered. The White Countess is the name of a club established by the role of Ralph Fiennes in Shanghai in 1936 after his diplomatic and subsequent political advisory role to an international trading company ends, following the death of his daughter who he has raised as a single parent, and his own blindness, after being caught up in terrorist activity.
20.30 The White Countess is also the daughter of a post revolution Russian Prince Émigré, the Countess Sophia, who in order to provide for the family, and her daughter, works in a sleazy dance with options nite spot where she encounters, and the helps Fiennes avoid being mugged, and in return he offers her the position of making his dream of running a sophisticated night club into a reality. The films has three issues which come together as the story reaches its climax. There is the sense of guilt and failure felt by Fiennes over the death of his daughter and which leads him to submerge himself in an alcohol haze of the Shanghai night life. There is the relationship of the Countess with members of her family who include the Redgrave sisters, Vanessa and Lynn, and her sister in law who covets the care of the daughter of the countess. There is also the political dimension with the club being used by a Japanese diplomat and fixer to pave the way for the invasion of China, in a situation where the Chinese authorities regard Fiennes as a good Chinese speaking friend. Step inside some of the situations in this film and you are sliced open through heart and stomach. I felt as I had when in the film of Dr Zhivago, Rita Tushingham describes how her mother let go of her hand in the midst of the revolution and she was never to see her again, or the stoicism of his wife when she leaves for the USA without him because he has fallen romantically and passionately in love with another, or when he nearly meets his love again after the upheavals, but dies before they can be reunited. The White Countess does not have the epic and enduring quality of Dr Zhivago but it adds to my experience of what it must have been like to be forced from everything that gives you identity, to be forced to do things that numbed and sickened until you were hardened into a void filled shell.
One of my constant dilemmas, is that viewed collectively the Russian aristocracy thought little of those they used and exploited to maintain their power, wealth and lifestyle, but no different from the ruling classes before the French, Chinese and other revolutions throughout time, and there is sympathy and understanding for why the people rose up, and then behaved as they did, Then you look at the individual lives of those who survived, and some who did not, and at those who replaced them and you wish there was another way.
8.55 There is one memory of the Falklands service which will linger as Margaret Thatcher appeared to offer Tony Blair and his wife some words of understanding as he approached the end of his ten year reign as Prime Minister. Looking around the assembled British hierarchy who had taken the decision to send the young men, and a few young women, into a war, it is easy to portray them as the "establishment" warrior class and to contemplate an overthrow. I for one continue to be thankful for what has become the British way of doing things and that I became a convert to organic change where the process governs the outcome.
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