June 30th, 2016, cont.

STRANGE SHORE: Carlisle, Cumbria. 

SUNDRY LAND: United Kingdom

WANDERING WAY: Even More Peregrinations in Carlisle, “Britain’s Happiest City”

Yes, my day in Carlisle was so delightful that I must wax eloquent some more! Carlisle deserves as much, despite its residents’ unassuming modesty about their city’s almost incredible charm.

Favorite Tribute – “Voices from the Somme 1916 – 2016” at Cumbria’s Museum of Military Life

After being gently shooed away from the front gate of Carlisle Castle as the local locksmith did his best to jimmy open the door, I wandered into the Cumbria’s Museum of Military Life, located in the active military complex behind the castle. It must be said that I hardly ever visit military museums. I don’t know why precisely, but it probably has something to do with their tendency to display guns rather than paintings. 

However, I’d heard from the ever helpful Fiona that the museum had an exhibit honoring the survivors and casualties from The Battle of the Somme, July 1^st, 1916.

Britain knows how to commemorate centenaries – I’m sure you all remember the extraordinary poppy installation marking the centenary of WWI (http://www.hrp.org.uk/tower-of-london/history-and-stories/tower-of-london-remembers/about-the-installation/#gs.=0X8tUA) in 2014, and the massive loss of life at the Somme (19, 240 British soldiers died in a single day – still the record for the UK*) has resulted in a similar outpouring of feeling, news coverage, and memorial exhibits. It must be said that the Brits do this well, as testified by the wonderful work of my friend Joanna Scutts: (http://www.nypl.org/events/programs/2014/10/22/joanna-scutts) and (http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-true-story-of-rupert-brooke). Cumbria’s Museum of Military Life was no exception to this rule, and I was particularly moved by this artifact, a Soldier’s Pocket New Testament rescued from a trench:

Yes, that’s a machine gun bullet ripping through the cover, and I’m certain that its owner Private Frederick Peil said a prayer or two in thanks for carrying it along on duty that day.

The museum displays case after case of harrowing objects, and the collection is organized into cases that lead the visitor from the Napoleonic Wars to the recent conflict in Afghanistan. The gas masks were particularly creepy, but my favorite item had to be this poster from WWII, signaling the beginnings of the feminist movement.

Only when men started realizing that women were smarter than they looked did the International Spy Ring of Sneaky Females come to an ignominious end.  Even though I have the extraordinary privilege of being paid 81¢ on the $1 for my work in these brave new times, I sometimes feel wistful about the good ol’ days when I could've used my big, dumb grin to sell top secrets for profit. Ah well.

[*For an intriguing article about J.R.R. Tolkien’s experience at The Battle of the Somme, see here: (http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/03/opinion/sunday/how-jrr-tolkien-found-mordor-on-the-western-front.html)]

Favorite Museum – Tullie House Museum 

Since the locksmith still hadn’t managed to raid the castle, I strolled across the street to the Tullie House Museum and Art Gallery without an inkling of the wonders that lay within. For those with even a passing familiarity with UK geography, you’ll realize that Carlisle lies next to Hadrian’s Wall, an outpost of the Roman Empire. Before entering the Tullie House Museum, I sorta understood this historical tidbit, but I had no conception of the bustling community that the Ancient Romans had built in Northern Cumbria. Nor did I understand how pissed the native Celts were by this development. To make a long story short, Carlisle and its environs is chock-full of Roman and Celtic artifacts, so many that I had half a mind to go outside and start digging.

As my mouth fell open at the extent of the Classical collection, a helpful guide encouraged me to “have the museum consultant downstairs show the jewelry. You can hold it, if you like.” So I did. In Carlisle, they have so much Ancient Roman stuff lying around that they let tourists handle the jewelry. Although there were several spiffy golden earrings in the offing, I’d say that I most enjoyed fondling the genuine Roman toga clasps. If I were buying a clasp for my toga, I’d choose the second one. Wouldn’t you?

Throughout the museum, curators have placed marble busts of Romans emperors alongside earthenware busts of Celtic gods, playing out the ancient ideological struggle in statuary form. The Romans and the Celts just did not get along; as it turns out, the Celts (like so many populations) didn’t appreciate the “cultural contributions” of the colonizers. Fancy that. In demonstrating a light touch, The Tullie House exploits this ancient conflict to drudge up donations, using a technique known to coffee houses everywhere. 

Myself, I wasn’t certain which side to choose. I love Seneca, but how could I discount the contributions of a people who sired the Scots, worshipped animals, and sculpted these dudes?

(The Thing!)

The ancient collections only constitute a tiny fraction of the Tullie House Museum, however. The museum covers border skirmishes and ill-will all the way through the Battle of Culloden and beyond. I haven’t the inclination to go into the full history of the Border Reivers and the Scottish Invaders; happily, it's all explained by a single artifact, a skull. 

I would like introduce one of my Scottish ancestors, Robert the Bruce, who led an unsuccessful siege of Carlisle Castle in 1315:

I know what you’re thinking: “So that’s where Sharon’s fangs come from! I’ve always wondered...” Yes indeed, it turns out that my medieval ancestor Robert the Bruce was a vampire. Totally explains everything about me, doesn’t it? And all that time, the Border Reivers were just trying to stave off the invasion of Scottish vampires. Makes sense. 

Most Unexpected Discovery – Old Tullie House Art Gallery

One or two of my most devoted readers will recall that I’ve spent the last couple years seeking out the stomping grounds of the Pre-Raphaelites in an ongoing attempt to learn more about the Victorian Arts and Crafts Movement, even going so far as to visit the Red House in Bexleyheath for edification and excellent tea cake. 

Given this Pre-Raphaelite predilection, a trip to Carlisle is perfectly logical, isn't it? It’s the home of George Howard, the Ninth Earl of Carlisle, who was a major patron to the Pre-Raphaelites, most notably to Edward Coley Burne-Jones, after all. I must’ve planned my itinerary quite carefully, mustn’t have I?

Well, no. It was just dumb luck (even though I'm "not so dumb") when I stumbled into the Old Tullie House Art Gallery.

While there might’ve been one or two other visitors in the Tullie House Museum, I was the only visitor to the Art Gallery. My eyes popped (as the saying goes)  – the gallery displays an Amati violin in the foyer and the largest Pre-Raphaelite collection that I’ve seen assembled anywhere outside the Tate Britain. A question also popped to mind, "Why isn't Carlisle swarming with tourists?" Don't get me wrong: I was grateful to be spared the hustle and bustle of tourist season, but it simply doesn’t make sense. Carlisle is a city that deserves to be besieged.

Putting aside my mystification for a moment, back to the gallery's collection. Here's a couple of my favorite pieces, but there were ever so many more:

1. Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s “George Price Boyce with Fanny Cornforth in Rossetti’s Studio, Chatham Place, Blackfriars, London (1858)” 

This ink drawing deserves special mention, if only because the affectionate lady pictured is named “Fanny Cornforth.” Sexy. (Let's not forget the British connotation of "Fanny," shall we?) Here, Rossetti’s fine line captures a rapturous yet ridiculous moment between his fellow artist, George Price Boyce, and Fanny Cornforth (who was Rossetti’s mistress and mostly likely Boyce’s, too). How is poor Boyce expected to paint when Rossetti’s mistress is nuzzling his cheek and hanging all over him? I really don’t know. Perhaps it was just a perk of using Rossetti’s studio…a little muse time. Moreover, do you see the small painting of the woman in the top left-hand corner?

That’s Louisa Ruth Herbert, another “close friend of Rossetti’s.” Consider. Why would Rossetti draw two of his “close friends” in close contact with his colleague Boyce? The mind reels. Beyond all this suggestive melodrama, the drawing is impressive for its use of cross-hatching to suggest the fall of light in the studio. See this loving detail:

2. George Howard’s sketches of his Pre-Raphaelite buddies; shown here are Howard’s sketches of William Morris (1875)  and Burne-Jones (1875).

In addition to being the fabulously wealthy and powerful Ninth Earl of Carlisle, George Howard was a talented artist with a cool group of friends. Although Howard painted several canvases worthy of a glance or two, I was most taken with his sketches, which convey a loose humanity. 

Howard was a well-liked man, partially because he funded huge art commissions and partially because he was a nice guy – as a result, it seems that an impressive number of Victorian artists and writers (Frederic Leighton, Alfred Tennyson, Thomas Carlyle, etc.) were willing to sit for Howard as he sketched with his ever-present pencil and pad. Despite the responsibilities and privileges that attended his "ninth earl" title, Howard showed dedication to his craft throughout his life. Even at age 19, Howard writes to his father about his resolution to be an artist: “I think that one ought to find out what one can do best. I do not think it need prevent a useful life… I have as great a dislike as you for a Dilettante life but think that work at art for me, would prevent not cause idleness.”

Favorite Moment – Carlisle Cathedral

At a pivotal point in Henry James's "The Golden Bowl," Prince Amerigo comments, “We must see the old king; we must ‘do’ the cathedral,” and so we must. “We must inevitably stop to see them,” that is, cathedrals (Golden Bowl, Volume 1, Chapter 22), especially in old medieval cities like Carlisle.

As is expected of medieval architecture, the stones of Carlisle Cathedral shoot skywards with impressive urgency, imposing their holy wills on meek passersby…or they would if the happy Cumbrians of Carlisle ever gave the cathedral stones a passing glance. Even cathedrals seem humdrum if they’re neighbors, it seems.

Along with a small spattering of tourists (three), I entered the venerable arched doorway.

I even paid a pound for a photography pass to take home the awe. The ceiling dazzled, the ornamentation amazed, the organ overcompensated, and the stained glass glimmered even as it rained.

Then. Then. Two things happened simultaneously: the sun came out and the Carlisle children’s choir began to sing. It was miraculous, and what was particularly revelatory about this “tolle lege” moment was the song selection. Did the Carlisle children’s choir intone Gregorian Chant or a traditional hymn? Hell, no. They sang, “Misty.” That’s right. With all the sun’s splendor shining down in a thousand different colors, the choir sang the gentlest, most touching rendition of “Misty,” the 1954 jazz standard made famous by Johnny Mathis in 1959: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JwhJMFDybQ. Listen.

It was beautiful. Perfect. I shan’t ever forget it.