A Lazy Me Day

In bed this morning I announced, 'I'm having a Me Day today.'
'Every day's a Me Day for you, isn't it?'
I scowled at Husband. 'Okay, then, I'm having a Lazy Me Day.'

So far this morning I have spoken to grandchildren, found some photos I wanted, watched Grayson Perry's Art Club (I was trying to find the 'famous people learning Welsh' programme but couldn't so watched Grayson instead), finished reading my book, and eaten lunch. And breakfast of course.

I could get used to this. (No, I couldn't. I need to do stuff.)

My grandfather's mother lived in Sebastopol Street in St. Thomas, on the other side of Swansea. There was also an Inkerman Street and a Balaclava Street. I suppose I might vaguely have known that there was a historical story behind the names but never looked into it. But now I've just read two books, close to one another, set in part in the Crimea War, so I have a better understanding of the significance of the names. I suppose the British French allies did win in the end but many men were killed, thousands and thousands, including those who died of frostbite or cholera. The leadership seems to have been a bit of a shambles. 

The Rose of Sebastopol
by Katharine McMahon
4*

When both her fiancee and beloved cousin go missing in the Crimea timid - maybe even prudish -  Mariella Lingwood is compelled to go and look for them. What she discovers causes her well-ordered world to crumble. I found her quite an irritating character for a large part of the book until she finally shakes off her fear and is able to put the needs of others before her own. 

Some horrific descriptions of the Crimea war, the manner of death, the injuries, and living conditions, but most fascinating is the idea of spectators at a battle. It was the thing for people, including officers' wives, to ride out and view the battles from a nearby hillside. Seeing thousands mown down and not knowing if your loved one is amongst the them doesn't sound the most appealing way to spend an afternoon, although, on the whole, I guess it was the higher-ranking officers who had their own yachts who had their wives with them - and they weren't the ones at the forefront of the action.

I recently read The Liar's Daughter by Laurie Graham. (3*) The narrator is told by her mother, who had been a sailmaker on Nelson's ship, that her father is none other than Admiral Lord Nelson himself. A large part of the book covers the narrator's attempts to find proof of this, to contact people who may have known her mother, or who were on the same ship. That gets a bit tedious but in the final quarter the narration is handed over to the next generation daughter who goes to the Crimea to nurse.

Both novels talk about Florence Nightingale and other women who led groups of nurses in horrendous conditions. Before I read these books I didn't even know the Crimea was in the Balkans. I certainly didn't know that Ms Nightingale would only take women from good families but not if they were pretty.