The return of the royals

Paris, France. In the olden days, if you were born a king or a queen, you lived a very good life, you died and they gave you a big send-off and a proper burial. And then you rested in peace. In France, that likely took place in the Basilica of Saint Denis. He was a Christian martyr, beheaded, yet he supposedly walked around for a while till he dropped, ostensibly at the site of the church we see today.Continue reading “The return of the royals”

“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life…”

London, England. So said Samuel Johnson, and we have always felt him to be absolutely correct. We could never tire of this city, but we do have to leave it on occasion. Our month here has now ended. It was all too short, but just long enough to make us feel so at home in the little corner we have occupied.Continue reading ““When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life…””

Not just for children

Burwash, East Sussex, England. Of course, as a young reader, I knew of Rudyard Kipling, though I always thought of him as a boys’ writer and never did pay much attention to his works for children.

But that didn’t prevent me from being very interested in his home in East Sussex, Bateman’s. We often heard his name in India, as he was born in Bombay, and wrote so much about the country. His father, Lockwood Kipling, was an English art teacher, illustrator, and museum curator who spent most of his career in British India.Continue reading “Not just for children”