The Search for Paget's Leg


Wellington comforts Paget after his surgery at Waterloo
I am so glad, for so many reasons, that my very good friends are Jo Manning and Victoria Hinshaw, not least because we share the same historic interests and the same mania for researching, and visiting, little remembered facts and places in British history. Recently, Victoria kept Jo and I in thrall with the minutae of her research itinerary whilst in England via a series of rapid fire emails - where she was going, what she was researching, the research matrix she'd prepared, who her contacts were at various archives, what the train timetable was and where she'd be eating lunch. And Jo and I swooned at the prospects. In addition to shared interests, all three of us have our own, unique historic quests and we support each other fully in these, no matter how crazy they seem. Last year, my particular quest was something the three of us termed "The Search for Paget's Leg." 
Being an avowed Wellington afficianado, you wouldn't think that I'd spare much energy worrying about either Henry Paget, Lord Uxbridge (created Marquis of Anglesey by Geo. IV five days after the Battle of Waterloo) or his leg, as Paget had earlier run off with Wellington's sister-in-law, his brother Henry's wife, Lady Charlotte. At the time, Paget was also married - to Lady Jersey's daughter, Lady Caroline Elizabeth Villiers, by whom he'd sired eight children. (Yes, eight - the bounder! He went on to have TEN more with Charlotte). Wellington felt the impact of this desertion as well, as it threw Henry into a decline from which he was slow to recover and, in the meantime, Wellington and his wife, Kitty, had to take care of Henry's two young children, as Henry was incapable of doing so himself.
You'll recall that last year Victoria and I embarked on a whirlwind London/Waterloo tour, during which I was most looking forward to seeing the spot in Waterloo where Paget's leg was buried. Yeah, yeah - totally nuts. But you have to bear in mind that Victoria, Jo and I are the Lucy Ricardos of historical research.
I realize that I'm writing this blog as if you already know the story behind Paget's leg. If for some odd reason you're not familiar with it, click here for the condensed version of the story. So . . . all along the route of our tour, from London to Waterloo, I'd sigh at intervals and tell Victoria, "I can't wait to see Paget's leg." After the re-enactment of the Battle of Waterloo itself, Paget's leg was to be the highlight of the tour for me. I've already admitted that this notion of mine was strange, but it becomes stranger still when you realize that Paget's leg isn't even at Wellington's headquarters in Waterloo any longer. It was disinterred and shipped back to England when Paget (Anglesey) died in 1854 and was  buried along with the rest of him in St. Paul's Cathedral in London. Yes, Paget and Wellington are buried in the same place. Poor Artie couldn't shake this guy loose, even in death.
So . . . . the very last stop on the Waterloo portion of our tour was the Wellington Museum (formerly Wellington's headquarters), where, out in the back garden, stands the spot where Paget's leg (once) was. Even though the Heavens didn't direct rays of sunight onto the grave whilst I was there, nor did a choir of angels sing whilst I gazed upon it, I was in alt.


The (rather smallish) back garden


The (once) final resting place of Paget's leg
The sign by the (former) grave
Of course, the grave itself was not the Holy Grail, rather it had become to me the symbol of all that was the Battle of Waterloo - the tragedy, the drama, the irony, the heartbreak and the heroics. I could have as easily fixated upon the site of the Duchess of Richmond's Ball, which would have been just as fitting, as that no longer exists, either.
So . . . what's next on my 19th century bucket list? The decoupage screen Beau Brummell was toiling away on and which was meant to be a present to his great good friend Frederica, Duchess of York.  Brummell stopped working on it when news of her death reached him in France. Trouble is, I have no idea where to begin looking for it. If you're an aged aristocrat living in the back of beyond who happens to have the screen in your attic, email me. Heck, email me even if the screen only used to be in your attic.  Victoria, Jo and I will then embark on what we shall no doubt call "The Quest for Brummell's Screen."
Victoria here, freshly off the plane from Heathrow and fighting a stubborn cold (you don't want to hear about it!), ready to prepare lots of material for the blog, including visits to the tomb of Sir John Moore in Spain, Walmer Castle, Trooping the Colour 2011, Strawberry Hill, and a lovely day in Windsor with Hester Davenport.  And the Queen in her pink hat.  However, I could not help but add to Kristine's search. And perhaps give an answer.
At Newstead Abbey, former home of the Lords Byron, and now open to tourists under the auspices of the town of Nottingham, there is a decoupage screen purportedly made by George, Lord B, himself.  Perhaps this is the screen Kristine is looking for -- and if so, my dear, you have seen it already.  Someplace among the piles of booklets and ephemera I have collected on my jaunts to England is a booklet which tells the story. Now to find it. Hopeless? Perhaps.  Stay tuned.
Kristine's reply - Byron . . . feh. No, I'm looking for the Brummell screen. I don't remember any screen at Newstead Abbey. Methinks I was too creeped out by the place to notice much. What. A. Dump. Were decoupage screens a big fad for men at that time!? We'll have to look into it . . . can't wait to see your trip posts! Did you bring back any Wills and Kate tat for me? Did you pick up any issues of Country Life? I can't believe you were with Hester for Ascot again - two years in a row. That tears it, we'll just have to book another trip for next June and make it a triple play. Went online to see when the Wellington Conference is happening in 2013 but could find nothing. Already told Greg I'm going and asked if he wanted to come along. He gave me that look, the one where his eyes glaze over at the mention of anything Artie, so it's safe to say he won't be joining me/us in Southampton . . . . Uh, oh . . . sorry . . . forgot we were in public . . . . I'll email you the rest of my rant.
Victoria responds: You mean there are two Bs? Byron and Brummell are different guys? In my clogged brain (not to mention nasal passages), I see one well-dressed poet -- oh, no. Now I remember. The one who had his valet clean his boots with champagne (what a dreadful waste) and the one who was mad, bad and dangerous to know.  So I take it all back.  But it is curious about decoupaged screens and men, isn't it?  Do you suppose they had classes at Eton or Cambridge?  What ever happened to Queer Eye, anyway?  I think I'll go back to bed. Sniff.
Kristine says - I was just thinking about Queer Eye For The Straight Guy last week! Whatever did happen to that show? I loved it. I love Carson. Did you see him on Oprah? She sent him to Bucklebury (sp?) Kate Middleton's hometown. What a hoot! I know you're still sick, but listen to me through the haze of illness . . . . Byron and Brummell are/were, indeed, two different people. And I still maintain that history recorded it incorrectly and that it was Byron who said the dangerous to know thing about that lunatic, Caro Lamb. Too bad they're separated by centuries . . . she and Lindsay Lohan would have been BFFs. [image error]