A Brush with Nobility

As an interest in any art form grows so does the need to seek out knowledge and new items. Sometimes the whole process can get somewhat out of hand, although the knowledge you have gained gives others the idea that you are an expert in the field. This is seldom so, after all an expert is only an individual who has read and remembered more than you!

During one summer we met and became friendly with a couple from Kent. He worked for BT but had taken a few months out and gone to Japan to study the art of Sword hilt restoration.  This skill gave him the title of 'Tsuka Maki Shi', roughly translated means Hilt (Tsuka) Wrapping (Maki, this is done with special silk tape) Man (Shi). 

Mike and his wife came down and we spent many pleasant hours exchanging ideas in the evenings. During the day I tried to show them things of general interest in the area plus visits to Museums and so on that had some Japanese art. Many of you that have at one time or another visited the far south west, will I am sure remember the sight of St. Michael's mount emerging from the sea at Penzance. 

On a visit there we discovered that the family had one suite of Samurai Armour and two very distressed swords, these apparently given to an early St.Levan who had some connection with that country, as is the Japanese custom, he was presented with the armour and weapons. I noticed a glister in Mikes eye as he saw the tatty rag of the sword hilts and suggested we offer to do some free restoration work. 

Now I have often wondered why we poor folk make this sort of offer of free work to people who are obviously wealthy enough to buy our children as house slaves. Several weeks later I had a reply from the secretary of the Lord of the manor, he would like to meet and look us over. 

The appointed day to go coincided with the visit of another collector from Edinburgh. I sprung it on him I suppose "oh by the way, put on some tidy gear, we are off to meet a member of the nobility! He is an educated man and oddly enough a royalist, yes a Scot who is both a Tory and a royalist. 

The night prior to the great day we, Sue and I, had a company bash some seventy miles away, the usual - stay in the hotel, eat too much and go to bed, well drunk. So as you may guess all was somewhat fragile when we arrived home and I picked up the Scot.  As we headed off to the meeting he was strangely quite. Driving across the causeway to the mount I spotted the figure of the head of the St.Levan clan ahead, picked him up and drove to the mount. Pleasant chap who, as we arrived, was greeted by a number of men in blue fishing smocks. It was at this point I thought it appropriate to introduce my Scot' friend "Charles, this is Lord St.Leven". 

Now I could see that Charles was not to sure of the etiquette involved (mine is simple, an earned title e.g. Captain, is in order for use much as Mr or Madam, Hereditary titles pop outside that law, so I feel happy introducing the man by his title but have always managed a direct address with the title prefixing it. Charlie's knee went at this time and he performed what was a hibred composition of body movement (involuntary according to him) that started as a bow and completed as a curtsy. I was so pleased by this spectacle (a) because it looked ridiculous and (b) his German ancestry would have been pro while his Scottishness would have been revolted with such an effeminate bodily function.

In the castle (a stiff walk to the untrained) we were taken past horde of holiday makers and into the Armoury. Collected the weapons (well it was obvious to St.Levan that with one of the party so overwhelmed by his presence, theft was not a considered factor). 

I polished the blades. They had no real quality although the Kosherie (Mounts) were good but filthy. Sent them to Mike and several months later we were finished. The castle staff arranged for us and our partners to return the pieces one Sunday in darkest February. Mike took some days out and came back. 

It was an awful day, force six gale with horizontal rain. We were met on the quay at the base of the mount by a Landrover.  This drove us to within two feet of the huge wooden door where we were ushered in and taken to a warm turret with spectacular views across the bay. "Lord & Lady St.Leven will be back from chapel shortly" a converted fisherman said - then retired without locking the door! 

As we milled as only four people can, the smell of a roasting lunch filled the room, this seemed good hospitality on its way. The door swung open held by another converted fisherman and the congregation poured in. I should explain here that the mount has a private chapel, the vicar and congregation are imported complete with organist every Sunday. 

Introductions over, it was decided to go to the Armoury for the handover (see photo) before Sherry (and by now very hungry, roast lunch). When we all returned a tray of Sherry was passed around and we had a few moments of pleasant chat. We were a novelty to these people, mad oiks with an even madder hobby. Glasses empty the lord of the manor approached me and said, "Edwin will see you out - thanks for coming"  .......No lunch. 

As we walked through the smell of roast beef and potatoes, I thought that at least it was nice not having to walk down the steep incline to the harbour in such foul weather. As that door slammed behind us we scanned the small park for our transport and driver - none! With Sue in her heels. Mike in his suite and none with rain gear we trudged soaking we back to my car. In some ways it was a relief to me that my much cherished concept of class divide still lived and thrived. 

Greyman