Families often have secret codes.
A friend appeared in her school play. It was performed in Latin, ambitious, but her part was not too taxing. She exited stage right waving her hand saying “vale” aged about eight. I’m afraid it’s still a source of irritation if I say “vale” instead of “goodbye” or similar. Another family says “ding dong” when a story is repeated; a helpful nudge. Incidentally ding dong wouldn’t have worked at Barmeath. My grandfather had a fund of excellent stories but as he got older there were a lot of enjoyable repeats.
On Sunday morning I repaired to the Guards’ Chapel for a Carol Service. It was super-safe, indeed safer than Matins in the old days when it seemed to me there was no security and anyone could attend with a rucksack. Yesterday the Band of the Scots Guards, sensibly attired in Greatcoats, played Christmas music outside the Chapel. Sleigh Ride to kick off and Lux Arumque last, with some great stuff in between. My friend Vale of course, knows the last piece, by Eric Whitacre, is Light and Gold. You can listen to it later.
I chose seats in front of the lectern, for I was not alone. My guests were Ding Dong and the owners of Betsy. There were seven Lessons, six of them read by soldiers in uniform. We were obsessed by the variations in the scrambled egg dripping from their shoulders. I was interested in their medals too. The readers were in order of seniority starting at the bottom. The sixth Lesson, the Wise Men are led by the Star to Jesus (Matthew chapter II), was read by a chap I have never met.
Major General CJ Ghika CBE, Irish Guards, General Officer Commanding London District and Major General Commanding the Household Division seemed rather young for so much promotion but although he read well I was distracted. It was a warmish morning on Mountain Pine Ridge, up-country in Belize, when his father with General Sir Basil Eugster, my Commanding Officer and Adjutant came to watch my platoon do a spot of live firing. It was a long time ago – 1973 – and I only remember it because they took me to lunch afterwards. I had my first taste of Mateus Rosé, a most agreeable wine for an eighteen year-old with an unsophisticated palate. My hosts did not concur: “tarts’ toothpaste”. If I’d known, and been brave, I’d have said ding dong because my Commanding Officer had used the same expression when he saw me having a spot of (green) Crème de menthe in the Mess.
I have not done father and son justice. They are Romanian Princes – the Micks get more than their share: Cambridge, Luxembourg, Bermuda, Brunei … His father was at Ampleforth on his sixteenth birthday, an anniversary marked by a policeman arriving to intern him as an enemy alien during WW II. The Abbot sorted it out. Father and son have both served our island nation with distinction.
It would have been a fitting continuation after the Service to slurp Mateus at lunch. My guests I’m sure were pleased it wasn’t on the wine list at Le Colombier.