After a bizarrely early Mass this morning my thoughts mysteriously focused on London's clubs, and not the earsplittingly loud pounding techno variety either. No, real clubs, like the Cavalry & Guards in Piccadilly.
|Cavalry & Guards -- note picture on stairwell|
I remember climbing up the impressive stairwell of the "C&G"with a senior member who had kindly invited me over for lunch. I noticed the picture of a cavalry charge, Scotland Forever!, I think, and remarked to my friend, "That must've taken some courage."
|Death or Glory|
He looked me in the eye and said, "I trained for that on the South Downs in the 1930s. Perfectly useless against tanks, you know."
I supposed it was. Earlier I'd suggested that we go to the bar, only to be turned down with "let's not, they do bellow so in there."
The last massed boot-to-boot British cavalry charge was at Omdurman, in 1898, when we destroyed an army of fanatical Jihadists and killed their chieftain. Winston Churchill was part of that charge.
I miss clubland.