Across the Pond & Monty

A stopover in Iceland seemed like a grand idea when I made the flight arrangements last fall. We envisioned a mini-tour around Reykjavik during the day to kick start our European travels. The problem, of course, was that it’s dark most of the day in Iceland in December! We picked up our rental car around 10:00 am and it was still pitch black outside and freezing. After getting thoroughly lost in the neighborhood directly around Keflavik Airport, we managed to find our hotel. Once inside the stylish Hotel Keflavik, we checked into our surprisingly luxurious room (it was very reasonably priced) and decided we’d earned a rest after all the strenuous work we’d put into leaving Virginia. We were able to get a brief glimpse at sunrise around noon before the sun dropped back below the horizon around 3:00 and we were perfectly content to lounge and enjoy an unprogrammed day for a change. Then, sometime during the night, a snowstorm moved in from the frigid North Atlantic. Our flight was at 9:45 the following morning. Luckily, Icelanders know how to deal with snow clearing so the going was reasonable as, once again in the dark, we navigated our way back to the airport. After some delay de-icing, we were relieved to be off again to Heathrow in London.

We hadn’t been back to the UK in quite a long time so it was a special moment especially for Martin to be back on English soil. We started our three hour drive to Shrewsbury just as the sun was setting directly in front of us as we drove west towards Wales. Shrewsbury was all lit up for the holidays, the day's rain creating a peaceful, shimmering gleam welcoming us to this enchanting medieval city.

History suggests that Shrewsbury was founded in the 8th century by Saxons though Neolithic artifacts date back to 2000 BC. It is believed that Romans occupied in the 5th century and evidence of Saxons date back from the 7th century. Established within a broad loop of the River Severn, obviously beneficial for the security of the town, it was a major center of the wool trade for centuries and then, in the industrial era, it became a railroad hub between Wales, nine miles away, the busy port of Liverpool in the north and heavy industry in Birmingham to the southeast. Fortunately, Shrewsbury was scarcely bombed during the war and, because of it's tight fit within the Loop, most of the ancient buildings are still intact. Like many tourists, we were unaware of the charm of this little city which means that, unless there is a festival in town, it is not as congested as other English towns of its size and, in the evenings, one can enjoy a quiet amble through the quiet streets and alleyways.

Early in our US journey, knowing that Christmas is a very busy time in England, Martin made the arrangements for our B&B in Shrewsbury. He found us a room in the middle of town at a surprisingly reasonable rate. We discovered why when we arrived that evening to Cosy 1 on Mardol Street – there were no windows! We had rented something akin to a cave furnished with beds! Our landlord, David, greeted us warmly to the mid-terrace house which had been renovated to include three apartments, two of which are used as rentals. The two were on the ground floor snugged between an alley and a fabric store so whatever light there was came indirectly through small skylights or none at all. We had a good laugh about it. The original plan was that our son Nick would stay with us in an extra bed when he came over for the holidays but it was immediately clear that was not going to work.

Over the last couple of years, we have often noted the good fortune we have been granted in numerous ways, large and small, along the way, Finding this humble little place in the middle of town, five minutes walk from Monty's flat was one such instance. The other was that we were able to find, at this late date, a hotel room for Nick two streets away. The town was so packed that this was no small feat. But the greatest blessing, of course, was getting to see Monty!

The next day, we immediately made our way to Monty’s flat in Kingsland Bridge Mansion, a beautiful red brick converted hospital. The building is right next to the Quarry, a beautifully planned and maintained park in the loop of the River Severn that had been created after builders stopped quarrying stone there in the 16th century. It was, of course, wonderful to see Monty again. I’ve had the pleasure of his company only about a dozen times over the years starting with his appearance with the heirloom ring that Martin offered me for my hand back in 1988. During that visit as well as during our wedding festivities at the farm in Virginia, Monty and I had a blast together. He could keep up with us youngsters as we celebrated but his wry sense of humor and gentlemanly manners endeared him to everyone, even my usually stern stepfather. Thirty plus years later, we found that little had changed except now he was a more fragile 92 years old. He had gone through a couple of medical crises, during one of which Nick had come to lend a hand, but by the time we arrived, he was definitely on an upswing. Living independently in a pleasant 2nd floor flat with no elevator, he impressed us with his drive to keep moving. (Ellie here)

Over the next weeks, we would spot him with his cane making his way slowly but determinedly through town running his errands. Once we saw him going up St. John’s Hill with a bag of warm samosas he’d just picked up from his favorite booth at the Shrewsbury Market. On Wednesday and Friday evenings, he walked the few blocks to his pub, the Admiral Benbow, where he would enjoy a pint in his Senior Pensioner seat at the bar. He would be surrounded by a group of buddies he cultivated from the Royal Welsh Fusiliers or Rugby School or the Conservative Party or through the large social group he and his late wife Maggie had enjoyed since they moved from Welshpool. We spent as much time with him as possible. However, from time to time, we’d call to say we were coming over for tea and he would say he was busy and perhaps tomorrow!! I think it’s fair to say that having his son back in England lifted his spirits and that he seemed to have found new energy to visit or call old friends and comrades. (Comrades from the Fusiliers, not the communist types. Pronounced “com-raids, by the way.) We were tickled by all of this and so pleased to see him in such a good frame of mind.

The Thursday before Monty’s 93rd birthday in February, Ellie and her husband David flew in from their home in Spain in preparation for a long-planned celebration dinner on Saturday. When they got in, the five of us went to The Riverbank for dinner and Monty sat between Ellie and Martin. We all strained to hear his delightful stories in his softened voice and, as usual, he showed off his remarkable memory for dates and names and places. I watched the three of them together and was deeply touched by how well and happily they interacted, an image that is etched in my memory. I observed that all three of them shared a childlike sense of fun and were fond of quick, wry comebacks. That sense of humor has proven so important to Martin and my success together over the years and it was clear where it came from. (insert my reflections here??)

It was a more poignant moment than I understood. First thing the next morning Ellie called to say she had discovered Monty on the floor of his living room. He had apparently been watching television after dinner and was stricken with a stroke. Too much time had elapsed by the time he got to hospital and there was little that could be done. Ellie and Martin stayed by his side during the next few weeks until he passed, peacefully, from this life. We trust that he was greeted by our William among others who loved him and he joins what my dear friend and mentor Jean Gold always called her "committee" watching over us.

On a happier note, having Nick with us was another bright light in our holiday festivities. Since he had spent time in Shrewsbury the previous year, he was our guide at first, including introducing us to the best baked goods in town and touring around the quaint and labyrinthine network of streets and fascinating alleyways. In addition to reacquainting himself with England, Martin also took us along to Cheltenham to enjoy an afternoon with some of the guys and gals he "ran" with in his twenties before going to the US. Although I had met almost everyone, it had been a very long time and now we are all mature folks with grown children! It was a raucous and story-filled afternoon that couldn't have been merrier - very appropriate for the holiday season and a good start to launching ourselves into social life in the UK.