England's Fair and Pleasant Land -- Day Seven: The Slaughters; then Churchill, from Blenheim to Bladon

A warm and sunny day, starting in the misleadingly named Cotswolds village of Lower Slaughter (yet another most beautiful village in England!) No blood in the streets or sanguinary history here, simply a name that comes from an Olde English word (think of the word slough) having to do with marshes and water, as in Slaughter Brook, which as you see, runs through the town.

The Brook at one time powered a flour mill, the first mention of which dates back to the 1086 Domesday Book. 

The Mill is now a museum and pricey gift shop

The walk between Lower Slaughter and Upper Slaughter, mostly following the brook, is a popular perambulation, so we set off on the obligatory hike through the countryside with Louise as usual, setting a brisk pace.

The Brook is a pretty tame waterway, but the parents of these cygnets were nowhere to be seen. A local woman I met along the path told me that there had originally been nine of these baby swans, and she expressed serious concern that these last two would also come to a bad end unless their parents re-appeared.

These lambs relaxing in the adjacent fields don't seem concerned. 

Nor this most attractive moth ...

Or is it a butterfly? Perhaps some lepidopterist can settle the question ....

The walking path, with its swaths of wildflowers and dusky bowers, is the very definition of bucolic ...

... eventually leading to Upper Slaughter and the manicured lawns of the swanky Lord of the Manor Hotel, where Louise was waiting for me.

Croquet, anyone?

We took a short walk around Upper Slaughter, along with the inevitable busload of Japanese tourists ...

They clearly weren't hiking through the countryside ....

... as well as a group of earnest, official-looking types and a local codger doing his best to ignore them.

Somehow in this tiny town, Louise and I got separated, so once again, I'm traveling the path back to Lower Slaughter without her, although there are plenty of other people and their pets.

We swung through another highly-touted Cotswolds town, Bourton-on-the-Water, but it was crowded, commercial, not terribly charming. and overrun with tourists, chain stores and tee shirt shops.

Over-rated Cotswolds town ....

We could see these ducks anywhere ...

In any event, our principal destination for the day was Blenheim Palace, so we pushed on, passing along the way this fantastic Victorian-era woolen mill on the outskirts of Chipping Norton (where we ate dinner with Rick and Sally later that evening at was is reputed to be Prime Minister Cameron's favorite Cotswolds dining spot.)

This mill was once the largest employer in the area; it's now a fancy condominium.

Blenheim Palace -- seat of the Dukes of Marlborough -- was the gift of a grateful Queen Anne to John Churchill, the First Duke, for leading her armies to decisive victory over the hitherto unbeaten armies of Louis XIV at the Battle of Blenheim (1704) thwarting the Sun King's ambition to gain dominion over all of Europe. 

                    John Churchill was the General whose wife's close friendship with the Queen lasted just long enough                                                 to get most of the money to build the Palace.

Although the falling out between the two women was serious enough so that the Marlborough's left England before Blenheim could be completed and did not return until Queen Anne's death, the Duchess was not ungrateful to her old friend;                 she had this statue of the Queen placed prominently in Blenheim Palace's magnificent library. 

Blenheim -- one of the two or three largest residences in all the UK, is the only residence in the UK called a palace that houses neither a royal nor a Bishop. 

Given the connection with Louis XIV, I'm sure it's not coincidental that Blenheim's layout is reminiscent of Versailles.

The Palace is replete with Marlborough martial memorabilia, both actual



and miniature.

The ceiling decor and the tapestries depicting the Duke's achievements are particularly impressive.

The dining room is not exactly intimate ...

... and you certainly would need to know which fork to use!

And speaking of silver, this enormous centerpiece was referred to as her cache mari by the 9th Duchess, Consuelo Vanderbilt, because the piece was so large that she could have it placed on the table to completely hide the view of her detested husband, the 9th Duke.

                          That's the First Duke on horseback. The photo does not do justice to the size and scale of this piece,                which weighs several hundred pounds.

Consuelo Vanderbilt, a justly celebrated beauty and the wealthiest heiress in America, was in effect sold by her mother -- who locked Consuelo up until she consented -- to the Duke for what would be almost $70 million in today's money. No matter that 19 year old Consuelo was in love with another man, and the Duke was in love with another woman. Alva Vanderbilt was determined that her daughter would become a duchess, and the 9th Duke was determined to rescue the Marlborough's from bankruptcy and Blenheim Palace from ruin.

She divorced the Duke and re-married happily.

The grounds are equally impressive.

Not Consuelo Vanderbilt. No $70 million. Column of Victory in the background

Various of the Dukes and their kin are entombed in this elaborate mausoleum.

Blenheim Palace of course, would be only one of many "stately piles" available for viewing around the UK, except that this particular pile has the most intimate connection to the most important Englishman of the last several centuries.

There is considerable confusion and debate  regarding the exact circumstances of Churchill's birth. Did Jennie casually step out from a dance to give birth in this cloakroom? Did she induce labor during a tennis match that afternoon? Was Churchill indeed born prematurely, or was his mother pregnant before her marriage?

Churchill's Hussars uniform

More of his cavalry rig

WSC's velvet slippers

                 And one of his velvet "siren suits" that Churchill wore during WWII, made for him by my own tailors,                             Messrs. Henry Poole, Savile Row ....

Winston Churchill's father, Lord Randolph Churchill, was the third son of the Seventh Duke of Marlborough. His mother was the American heiress (and courtesan) Jennie Jerome, whose many lovers among the powerful and influential men of her day would include not only Queen Victoria's eldest son, the Prince of Wales (their affair possibly continuing even after the Prince ascended to the throne as Edward VII) but also Otto von Bismark. Needless to say, his mother's circle of friends was to prove most advantageous to young Winston in his military career and as he rose to prominence in British politics.

Blenheim was where he proposed marriage to Clementine Hozier (whose own provenance is a matter of speculation and controversy, since her mother was notorious for her infidelities. Clementine is reputed -- even by her own daughter -- to have been sired by one of at least two men other than her putative father.)

Churchill had already lost his first love when he simply couldn;t get around to asking her to marry him. Clementine recalled that while she was sitting in the Temple listening to Winston go on and on, she noticed a spider crawl across the floor.       She said that if Winston had not proposed by the time the spider reached the wall, she was going to get up and leave.

The proposal site: the Temple of Diana

Churchill and his kinfolk are buried in the tiny churchyard of St. Martin's, in Bladon, a mile or so from Blenheim Palace. 

There are no signs or obvious directions to this humble graveyard. No eternal flames or other garish monuments.

This is it. Churchill's grave.  A heart at peace, under an English heaven.

And his mother.

And here is Consuelo Vanderbilt, identifying herself only as the mother of the 10th Duke.