Monthly Archives: December 2018
On this day, 27 December 1381, Edmund de Mortimer passed away. He was my 20th great-grandfather.
Born on 1 February 1352, Edmund was the son of Roger Mortimer, 2nd Earl of March, and Philippa, daughter of William Montagu, 1st Earl of Salisbury, and Catherine Grandison.
When Edmund was only an infant, his father died. At that time, Edmund became a ward of the crown, which indicated that his mother had already died (possibly in childbirth or soon thereafter). Edward III (my 21st great-grandfather through his son Thomas of Woodstock, my 22nd great-grandfather through his son Lionel of Antwerp of Clarence, my three-times 19th and three-times 20th great-grandfather through his son John of Gaunt, and my 20th great-grandfather through his son Edmund of Langley) placed baby Edmund in the care of William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor of England, and Richard FitzAlan, 10th Earl of Arundel (my 21st great-grandfather through his granddaughter Alianore Holland and my 20th great-grandfather through his granddaughter Margaret Holland).
That Churchill Woman, a novel written by Stephanie Barron, focuses on the life Jennie Jerome, a Brooklyn-born heiress whose world of wealth and privilege is filled with disillusionment and despair. Jennie’s parents, Leonard Jerome and Clarissa “Clara” Hall, had a marriage of convenience. Because of this, Leonard was occasionally absent from his daughters’ lives, devoting himself, instead, to his latest mistress. Then, when Jennie was nine-years-old, she and her favorite sister Camille were stricken with rheumatic fever. Jennie survived; Camille did not. To help Jennie cope with her sister’s loss, her father advised:
The only way to fight death…is to live. You’ve got to do it for two people now—yourself and Camille. Take every chance you get. Do everything she didn’t get to do. Live two lives in the space of one.
I woke up old this morning. Old! But I swear, when I went to sleep last night, I was still slightly youthful.
However, at the break of dawn, as I stretched myself from slumber, my body creaked and cracked like tree limbs in winter.
They called it the Wolfsschanze, the Wolf’s Lair…As hapless as Little Red Riding Hood, I had ended up in his belly. A legion of hunters was out looking for him, and to get him in their grips they would gladly slay me as well.