Very Courageous - the only woman to win the VICTORIA CROSS



Elizabeth Webber Harris
(Photo courtesy of the Daily Mail

This story caught my eye yesterday as I trawled through the  largely depressing news in a variety of daily newspapers, mainly because it had something good to say about war. And about women.

 

  Mrs Elizabeth Harris, pictured above,  is the only woman ever to be awarded the Victoria Cross - the  highest military honour in Britain - for bravery on the frontline.  A replica of her gold cross will be displayed in the Imperial War Museum next month in celebration of International Women' Day, which was held last Sunday

A lone woman serving alongside the Bengal Fusilier in Peshawar, Nurse Harris  was said to have 'saved more lives with her tender consolations than a surgeon did with his medicines.'

 

 Born in Kent in 1834,  Elizabeth married Webber Harris, a captain in the 2nd Bengal Fusiliers (later renamed the 104th.)  In 1869, the newly promoted Major General Harris took the regiment to Peshawar on India's North West frontier. The following year cholera swept through the country and by August many of the soldiers were seriously ill.

 

Many soldiers and their families had died from the disease and Mrs Harris  accompanied them to a temporary camp in the country.  Now in her mid thirties she spent three months 'nursing the sick and  keeping up their spirits' in the baking Indian countryside. One night she was attacked by two tribesmen who seized her horse in an incident she modestly described as 'alarming.'

 

On reading this story, historians  and feminists alike will realise that women were officially ineligible to receive the Victoria Cross until  1921.  But her regiment were so struck by her 'indomitable pluck' that, after gaining special permission from Queen Victoria, they had a replica gold VC made for her.

 

 A journalist in June 1921 wrote 'throughout their trying time in the isolation camp Mrs Harris remained with the regiment and it was largely owing to her indefatigable exertions that the losses of the regiment were not infinitely heavier than they were.'

 

Interestingly,  no woman has been awarded the honour since.  Isn't it time that changed?

 

 

 

 



 

 



Born too late?

My mother always said I was born too late. Not too late for her, you understand, but too late for me. I have always been fascinated by the past and am never happier than when surrounded by the relics of another age...

Is it possible that I  have lived before? When I was little more than five-years-old my Mum took me to Newarke Museum in New Walk, Leicester, where I wandered into an authentic Victorian street setting complete with cobblestones and carefully reproduced shops. Fascinated, I scrambled over the low perimeter fence and stepped into the cobbler's shop.

Looking at the  man in flat cap and shirt sleeves working on an old last, I failed to notice the security man who appeared out of nowhere. 'Hey, you, little girl,' he shouted,  'Can't you read?' pointing at the sign that said 'No Admittance Beyond this point.'

Of course I could read - I'd been doing that since I before I started school - and I could certainly hear. He didn't need to shout. But I didn't say this out loud. Instead, I continued to stare in wonderment at the spectacle in front of me. 'I think I've been here before'  I replied.

Of course you've been here before,' he retorted. ' We have thousands of visitors every year, but the majority of them, I'm glad to say, obey the rules.' With that he picked me up by the scruff of my neck and deposited me back on the cobblestones.

'Can I go in one of the other shops?' I asked, innocently, determined to remain in this wonderful place for as long as possible.

'Ah, there you are,' my mother ran towards us, clearly out of breath.' I was just about to report you missing. What on earth were you thinking of?'

I was thinking of a time when horses and carts roamed the streets and women dressed in floor-sweeping skirts  like the queen, but somehow I knew this wasn't the right answer.

And that was the beginning of my love affair with the past.

Victorian Cobbled Street,

Newarke Museum, New Walk, Leicester



Image courtesy of https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3067/2926749550_91da8179d0.jpg

            
 

Bigoted? Baby I don't Care....

Dear Traffic Warden

My wife has gone into labour and I am unable to move my vehicle at the moment, but will move it ASAP.

I appreciate your understanding of the situation.

Many thanks

What kind of holiday photos do writers and authors take?  Those with a story behind them, like the one above from a car spotted in a short-term parking space in the picturesque island of Guernsey.

Obviously scribbled hastily,  the note looked genuine to me. But was it? Did the driver get a parking ticket? And if so, was he too busy being a proud father to worry?

Whenever I travel I  like to look for out of the ordinary scenes that might one day inspire me to write.

Like this one, below.

I wonder why the owners chose the name? No doubt it has some historical significance but, according to the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, a bigot is 'a person who is prejudiced in their views and intolerant of the opinions of others...'

Well, it certainly  makes a change from Rose Cottage.

 

To me, what really separates Guernsey from any other holiday destination is this simple message posted outside a memorial to Queen Victoria, who visited the island in August 1846.  The key to Victoria Tower may be collected from Guernsey Museum and Art Gallery during normal opening hours. Can you imagine  anyone in this country calling in  at a provincial museum to 'borrow the key to the Tower?' 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Victoria Tower, Guernsey 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which brings me back to where I began. If you are looking for something to write about, just take a look around, especially when you're away from home. You'd be amazed at what you can find (yes, even on the car park.) At least they didn't have parking wardens when this car ( an MG TB?) was made.