ON July 19, 1919, a vast procession of 15,000 servicemen and women seven miles long wound its way through the streets of London, past a naval pageant on the Thames and saluted the King Emperor, George V, at the end of The Mall. It marched to the acclaim of an enormous and elated crowd. The so-called Peace Parade celebrated not only the end of hostilities in the First World War eight months previously, but also the Treaty of Versailles, signed three weeks before. It brought together soldiers from the nations, colonies and Dominions that had fought for the Allied cause during the conflict, from France, Belgium and America to China, Japan, Siam and New Zealand. There was only one important omission—the Indian contingent was delayed on its journey and paraded alone a couple of weeks later on August 2.
At one point, the triumphant mood dramatically subsided. As the massed ranks of troops marched down Whitehall, they passed a tall thin monument hastily fashioned from plaster, timber and canvas to look like stone. It rose by stages from a low podium to a surmounting tomb draped with a Union Flag pall and a laurel wreath. It is from this elevated tomb, honouring those buried elsewhere, that the monument takes its familiar name, from the Greek for empty tomb: the ‘Cenotaph’. Where the tall, dignifying base ends and the tomb begins is impossible to tell. To either side were fixed three standards and at each end was a further laurel wreath with the inscription of the date and the words The Glorious Dead. For the parade, there stood at the corners four sentries with their arms reversed.
Denne historien er fra November 11, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra November 11, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery