May 1926
It's remarkable how the years have flown by. Veronica and I spent most of 1925 exploring Europe and making a long-overdue visit to America. There, we shared laughs and stories with my parents, revisiting the neighborhood I grew up in, and allowing them to meet Veronica, who they welcomed with open arms. It was an enriching experience, seeing the world through different perspectives, but also grounding to see the world where I came from.
However, nostalgia and leisure have their limits, and we've found ourselves back in Avebury Manor, which is more alive than ever. England is a different place right now—there's martial law due to the General Strike. Coal miners and other workers across the country are protesting wages and conditions, affecting transport and heavy industry, and the government's response has been rigid. There's an odd sense of stillness and tension in the air, as if the world is holding its breath. Even the usually lively streets nearby are subdued, and the newspapers are filled with nothing but strike coverage and official statements.
John, too, has been affected by the current events as a member of the House of Lords. The responsibility weighs on him, and I can see it in the late hours he keeps, poring over documents and correspondences. He's in a precarious position, balancing his political role with his own personal beliefs. While he might not say it, I know he's striving for a middle path that upholds justice and fair treatment for all. This complex web of duty and morality adds yet another layer to our household's atmosphere. A sense of urgency often fills the room when John discusses the state of affairs with Marguerite or receives an urgent message to attend a late-night session. It's a momentous time for our nation, and John's involvement is a reminder of the crucial role he plays in shaping its future.
While the nation grapples with itself, life within Avebury Manor has its own memorable moments. We recently celebrated William's third birthday. It was a small gathering, keeping in mind the social unrest, but no less joyous. Marguerite glowed throughout the day, but not just because of the festivities—she's pregnant again. And if the doctor's suspicions are accurate, she might be carrying twins. The thought brings smiles to our faces but also leaves us contemplating how this new chapter will unfold.
The sun still rises, children still laugh, and life, against all odds, finds a way to enrich us. So, while the world outside figures itself out, we'll continue to live, cherish, and celebrate what we have. After all, history is not just made of battles and strikes but also of little joys, new lives, and the passage of time that we mark by simply being, by existing side-by-side with those we love.
Edward T. Malone