Last night was spent in the Mess at Wyvern (HQ, A Sqd, TUOTC), which is one of the most delightful places in St Andrews. They have the cheapest pint in town, and even still it somehow seems you only need to drink half as much as usual to alter your consciousness.

If you are not a member of the Officer Training Corps, and I am not, then you have to be signed in by a member (2LT. Chris C. obliged) and introduced to the PMC, Tom Kerr, who lives a few floors above me and is an admirable man despite having gone to school with Dave Watt. Wyvern’s a beautiful house though, and adequately looked after by A Squadron of the Tayforth Universities Officer Training Corps.

Speaking of Mr. Watt, Dave had gone to Wine and Cheese that evening and showed up in the Mess pretty late, grievously attired in a black shirt with red stripes, accompanying tie, a white jumper, and with the obligatory blazer on top. He had hassled along some other OCDT (officer cadet) who had been at Wine and Cheese that evening to come along to the Mess. Now this chap was decked up in the more usual tweed jacket (and riding boots, without explanation) but was lacking in necktie. As one might expect, jacket and tie are de rigeur for the Mess, and once the said tie-less fellow showed up the lack of tie was noted and brought to the attention of the PMC.

Disgrace! What was to be done? A Mess Court would be convened, Tom Kerr presiding. The shameless and inebriated David Watt would provide the defense, the shameless and inebriated Chris C. the prosecution, and George Irwin, Euan Gorford, and I were appointed as jury.

Now, the poor lad in the dock, whom we shall call Oliver George Wilson, since, when asked to state his name for the court, he replied “Oll… Oll… Oliver George Wilson”. Well, the poor Oliver George Wilson could barely compose a coherent sentence, most likely due to the imbibing of wine at “Chine and Weese”, and seemed to posess very few of his own faculties and certainly even fewer of anyone else’s. Nonetheless the Prosecution opened the case charging Oliver George Wilson with entering the mess without a tie by effortlessly pointing to Oliver George Wilson sitting in the makeshift dock (actually a barstool) suffering from a complete lack of any form of neck attire bar
the collar of his shirt.

I began to have my suspicions as to the integrity of the court when I, a member of the jury, was called to testify on behalf of the prosecution. Now, the questions interrogated of me and the responses freely, and I dare say deftly, given are not for stating in the public realm. Nonetheless they were of a such a nature as to make the padre blush (or so Gorford told me when I left the stand and returned to the jury), and the denizens of the Mess were rollicking, so in my humble opinion it’s all for the better.

The defense was then given the opportunity to state their case, which was lacking. [Note to self: if in trouble, never call on Dave Watt to act as my defense]. Mr. Watt threw out some rambling, barely grammatical sentences in a highly dramatic style which he no doubt hoped would distract the jury from the matter at hand. It was to no effect, as the jury of three — and a fine jury it was, mind you, one of the best juries in the land — as I was saying, the jury of George, Euan, and I were pretty much convinced by the defense’s argument and my own stand in the witness box and thus Oll… Oll… Oliver George Wilson was convicted on all charges. Lord Chief Justice Kerr sentenced the delinquent to an “H.M.S. Wyvern” which involves drinking lots of gin and being turned around incessentantly, this processes being repeated four times in some vaguely nautical fashion while singing, not their own A Squadron ditty, but instead the B Squadron (Dundee University) song, to the tune ‘Cwm Rhondda’ aka Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer:

Dundee, frightful. Oliver George Wilson didn’t even chunder (at least not in the faux German helmet in the Mess designated for such a purpose), and thus a good time was had by all.

Commandant, Old Guard of the City of New York.

I came across this illustration of the original plan for Grant’s Tomb in Riverside Park on the Upper West Side, back home in New York. The differences are conceptually slight, except for the complete lack of this grand staircase and triumphal arched watergate on the Hudson River, which was never constructed. It would be an intriguing addition if built, but I think slightly awkward, as it leads up to the side of the mausoleum, rather than the front. Had the tomb been constructed with its orienation towards the Hudson rather than on the axis of the long Riverside Park, it might be sucessful, but otherwise, it was wise of the city fathers not to execute this part of the plan.

For more views of Grant’s Tomb, see the Bridge and Tunnel Club’s page.

The Chicago Tribune reports that three of Virginia’s best public universities are seeking to privatise. I’ve often thought that it’s about time the College of William & Mary returned to the private sector. If only because it would allow them to keep a cross in their beautiful Wren-designed chapel full time (see above). But of course, given the state of academia today, that’s unlikely anyhow. W&M only became public around 1912 if my memory serves me well. Similar proposals have been aired in South Carolina, especially in regards to the more prestigious of its public colleges, the College of Charleston (f. 1770), and the Citadel, the Military College of South Carolina.

Williamsburg is also home to St. Bede’s Church, which was once also the American Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham. The parish is now the largest “faith community” in Williamsburg, but seems to have faltered in its devotion to Our Lady. Due to its increasing size, a dodgy new round church is being built.

The officers-in-training from the College of William and Mary form the Queen’s Guard, named so in recognition of the honors bestowed upon the College by Queen Mary II, Queen Anne, and Queen Elizabeth II.

…to join in the fight against our cousins, the Hun. I doubt many of NYU’s ROTC students would be brave enough to don their BDUs in the streets of Greenwich Village these days. Well I don’t doubt they’d be brave enough, but they’d no doubt be more prudent perhaps. Anyhow, the ROTC program for all the colleges and universities in the City are based up in the Bronx at fortress Fordham, where the administration has been happy to play host to the future leaders of America. (Though we’ve heard the Pershing Rifles at Fordham are given to somewhat riotous behavior). This li’l bit of New York nostalgia was dug up from the NYU Archives.

Today we bring you the story of a man known as both Brother Louis of the Trinity, OCD, and Admiral Georges Thierry d’Argenlieu.

D’Argenlieu graduated from the Ecole Navale in Brest and was awarded the Legion d’Honneur for his actions in the Great War. After the war, he became a Carmelite friar, taking the name of Louis de la Trinité. As the Second World War commenced, he once again put on the uniform and partook in the defence of France from the pagan Nazis. Once France was vanquished, he escaped to London where he allied himself with General de Gaulle and the Free French Forces, eventually becoming the commander of the Free French Naval Forces. At the Liberation of the Paris, he strode down the Champs Elysée with de Gaulle and Leclerc and attended the Te Deum at Notre-Dame.

Incidentally, he was also the one who suggested the adoption of the Croix de Lorraine as the symbol to differentiate the Free French Forces from those of Vichy France.

In 1947 however, while Governor-General of Indochina, his request to leave the Armed Forces was granted, and he returned to life as a Carmelite, dying at the Priory of Avon in 1964.

More about Admiral d’Argenlieu/Father Louis here, here, and here.

It was July 20, 1944, sixty years ago today, that Col. Claus Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg was executed for his masterminding the plot to kill Adolf Hitler. Stauffenberg was a devout Catholic who became convinced that Hitler was an Antichrist.

“Fate has offered us this opportunity, and I would not refuse it for anything in the world. I have examined myself before God and my conscience. It must be done because this man is evil personified.”

His uncle, Graf (Count) Nikolaus von Üxküll, recruited him into the resistance movement after the Polish campaign in 1939. After a series of missed opportunities, Stauffenberg finally placed a bomb to kill Hitler. Unfortunately, it was moved to the other side of a strong oak table supporter, shielding Hitler from the full force of the blast. Claus Philip Maria Shenck Graf von Stauffenberg was shot by the Gestapo at half past midnight that same evening.

His dying words were “Es lebe unser heiliges Deutschland!” – Long live our holy Germany.

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