Monthly Archives: September 2014

The military situation

In his letter to Kittie yesterday, Calderon wrote: ‘We hear that cavalrymen on the Oise have put their horses by, and are standing in the trenches with the rest.’  This was true and highly revealing.  After 9 September the German … Continue reading

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29 September 1914

It is clear from something Calderon wrote to his wife at the end of October that he did suffer from bouts of depression whilst he was an interpreter with the Blues.   On this day, Tuesday 29 September, he wrote … Continue reading

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‘Connected with the Hamiltons’

A hundred years ago today George V, Queen Mary, the Prime Minister, and their entourages, visited Windmill Hill Camp.  The Third Cavalry Division had now been officially formed and was being reviewed by the monarch. George Calderon described it as … Continue reading

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A lacuna

When I wrote in my posting for 16 September 1914 that George Calderon went off to say goodbye to his ‘only visitable relation’ in London, the word ‘visitable’ was carefully chosen. George’s widowed mother was in the New Forest at … Continue reading

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26 September 1914

Today Kittie left Hampstead to stay with the Pyms at Foxwold, near Sevenoaks in Kent. It was a sign of her desperation, or of her need for comfort, or at least of her desire to be with people she loved … Continue reading

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25 September 1914

[From Windmill Hill Camp, Salisbury Plain] Friday Mrs P., So you didn’t have too much of your sleepy mole?  Well, I don’t know about any more upcomings.  Next Sunday, that’s the day after tomorrow, I certainly can’t; it’s too soon; … Continue reading

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Status

There are no letters from George to Kittie on 23 or 24 September 1914.  At first this seems odd, since he had been writing to her every day.  They were a Wednesday and a Thursday, and you would expect him … Continue reading

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22 September 1914

On this day Kittie had lunch with Nina and Reginald Astley at the Royal Automobile Club and visited Nina’s son Sir Roland Corbet (Jim) in hospital at Grosvenor Gardens. He had a lot of visitors, so, as Kittie wrote George … Continue reading

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The thickness of events…

When writing a biography, you can go for months in its subject’s life without hearing a word from them, as it were: no letters from them to anyone have survived, they are not recorded as having said anything to anyone … Continue reading

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20 September 1914

Calderon had only been separated from Kittie three days, but was missing her.  Yesterday was a Saturday. My servant wanted to go up to see his wife; I thought of my old ‘ooman with a tearful sigh, and told him … Continue reading

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Kittie’s feelings

Kittie Calderon also wrote almost every day to George, but thirty years later she directed that her letters be burned after her death and only one has survived (from which I shall quote on 22 September).  Nevertheless, after the War … Continue reading

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A possible penny drops

Yesterday Calderon sent his wife three large closely written pages of letter, today he sends her four.  He describes tents, ‘messing’, people, clothes, furniture, military equipment, horses, exercises, soldiers, officers, all in vivid detail and thick with names. His back … Continue reading

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17 September 1914

In the morning, George and Kittie left Ringwood and travelled to Southampton.  Here they said goodbye for the time being and Kittie returned to Hampstead.  After lunch George caught the train to Ludgershall and walked to the vast Windmill Hill … Continue reading

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16 September 1914

This morning, ‘between us’ as Kittie put it, Calderon was got up and dressed, his luggage was put on (sic) the car, and he and Kittie came out of the house just after eight o’clock.  At that moment, a telegram was … Continue reading

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15 September 1914

On this day, Calderon was thrown from his horse at the riding school.  He was quite a short man (five foot nine and a half), slightly built.  The horse tossed him against a wall and his back was very badly … Continue reading

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‘Who is George Calderon?’

Obviously, this is a question I am often asked.  Sometimes it is even delivered with a kind of reproach, as to say: ‘Why are you writing this biography of somebody no-one knows, rather than of someone we all know, (a … Continue reading

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