Bleeding Edge

TROPIC OF MYSORE

Six months after his father’s death Winston received another mortal blow, which represented a far greater emotional loss for him.

And this particular loss hit much closer to his heart, and affected him deeply, because it untethered him from all that he considered his own. It caused him to redefine who he was. And it severed his ties, upended his moorings, and fouled his compass showing what true North is. It was a deathly blow to all that he held dear, including his attachment to his family, to his father, to his birthplace in Blenheim, to his “home house” and to his errant mother as well. All these things started falling away like stardust falls off when a child wakes up form a full dreamy sleep. And so Winston’s old dreams fell off in one clean fell swoop, the moment his nanny told him the truth of who he really was.

It was a swift moment of truth, and maturity, that opened his eyes, and let him grow suddenly to become a real man, by cutting down all his ties, and burning down his bridges.

Mrs Everest, his childhood nanny had fallen seriously ill. His surrogate Mother, the person that brought him up and believed in him, the true love of his life, his “Wooman” was deathly ill, and not long of the world. He summoned the family Doctor who had long tended to his own and his father’s health, and took him to Mrs Everest’s humble abode in London’s Highgate, where Winston spend the two final days and nights at her bedside, fully knowing that she was soon to be no more of this world.

He was devastated.

He was heart broken and he became physically sick himself at the news of her grave illness. He rushed to her bedside immediately upon hearing the news, because through thick and thin — these two had gotten along masterfully. And throughout the years the deep bond between Winston and his nurse, his governess, his confidante — had not only grown in understanding, but it had also strengthened and matured. He and She, had become an item in the most sincere way a young man can confide to his other Mother figure, when he feels particularly loveless. And here is where he found love in the extra large buxom blossom of his ‘Woom” who gave him all the Love he craved. But she also gave him Truth and Beauty, because living amongst the intricate and intriguing Churchill family he had never learned the basic truths about his parentage since that subject was taboo. And so it was at this late moment, before she faced her maker, that Mrs Everest told young Winston the whole truth about who his real father was — not wanting to take such horrible secret to her grave. Mrs Everest wanted to unload the burden that she was carrying as it was placed upon her so many years earlier, of the secret she had been terribly pained to hold, against her dearest child, Winston.

We know that before she died, Mrs Everest wanted to unburden herself as it often happens to people facing the doors of perception… Elizabeth Anne Everest could no longer hold the deep seated secret from her wonderful boy, little Winnie, her faithful companion, and finally confided to Winston Churchill, that his real father was not the man he worshipped, despite all his many faults. Lord Randolph Churchill, was not the biological father of Winston Churchill, but someone entirely different. So she told him. We must of course assume that this perceptive young lad had long suspected the truth, that Lord Randy, was not his biological father, but he did not know definitively till that moment of truthful revelation. Because Elizabeth Anne Everest, who was his best and dearest friend ever, would not have told him lies. Yet now it appears that this useful lie, was not just a betrayal that his blood father, was not the one he knew, but was instead Edward, the Prince of Wales, who at present, was still a few years shy of becoming the King, following the long reign of his Mother Queen Victoria — but it was a further blow because Mrs Everest had for so long held this “secret” against him.

He thought they shared everything, but apparently not. Yet he clearly understood her position and instantly forgave her and kept tending at her side. Now this was a liberating feeling. For Winston to instantly learn the news and adjust to the new reality flexibly and surely as he had felt the obligation to care for the deathly sick elder lady who had been his best of companions for the first two decades of his Life. Because for Winston to have this trusted “Wooman” confirm the murmurs, the hushed rumors, and even his own suspicions, about who was his true blood father — was not just a shock, but rather a confirmation. And to have finally confirmed that Lord Randolph was not the true father of Winston Churchill — was a deep relief, because besides all other things, he was also afraid of the hereditary nature of syphilis, that killed his erstwhile father Randolph.

And these conflicting emotions arising form Mrs Everest’s news was hard to reconcile, but he looked for the silver lining, as he always was able to do. And this cloud indeed had a bright side, because although it is not easy to hear that you are a bastard, no matter who the ‘cad’ that fathered you might have been — it is infinitely worse to be losing your social standing in the super stratified caste system of Victorian England — even if your father is the future King of the Realm.

So naturally this new revelation surely stiffened Winston’s stance against the World, but it also gave him a stronger backbone, and somehow acted as his wishbone, because it made him resolute in his belief that his Stars held well for him, and favored him to do great things. After all, he is now firmly in the bloodline of Kingship and a great regal lineage, even as a bastard.

This bit of awful “news” of course also sealed the deal for the eternal appreciation of Winston towards his nanny, Mrs Elizabeth Anne Everest, who sadly expired in his hands, later that same day. This bit of “news” was her parting gift to her dearest boy Winston whom she always propped up, each and every time his family father Randolph, broke him down, and dismissed him as a young imbecile. It was Mrs Everest who had always believed that Winston was brilliant in his own special way, and that he had a great future ahead of him, despite all his difficulties. She firmly believed that, because she had seen his native intelligence and his extraordinary powers of will and determination, his obstinacy against all odds, and his amazing resilience. And since she knew that her young charge was the scion of the Sovereign, she not only propped him up every time he fell sick, but she took extra care of Winston during his many illnesses, during his life challenging pneumonia, during his frequent bouts with bronchitis, asthmatic incidents, accidents, during his coma and convalescence, and even after all his early school life swishings, and after his schoolboy elaborate ‘defeats’ in the hands of older bullies and bastards as he called them. The terrible B&Bs, meant an entirely different thing for Winston that the Bed and Breakfast Inns of today…

Winston now reminiscing and fully aware of the sacrifices his loving nanny had made for him, during all of his life — he was fully engaged in his efforts to save her life, but to no avail. The grim reaper inexorably approached, and as Winston spent the last couple of days and nights by her bedside, holding her hand — this came as another kind of liberation too. He duly eulogized her, and he remarked that she was going straight up to Heavens Above with the Express train. Gallows Humor but that’s all Winston had to carry him and propel him through the dark long night of his nanny’s death rattle. She was surely going to meet her Heavenly Father, rising up much lighter now after having unloaded her share of that terrible burden that was foisted upon her by Winston’s Mother, such a long time ago. And the fact that Mrs Everest, his “Woom” held this secret for two decades, filled him with admiration, and a further understanding of the resilience of human spirit in the nature of this lovely woman that held this burden of a tearful secret, from her young charge, in order to protect him,  and she only shared this secret with her last breath, when her very life was about to be forfeit.

Later, Winston wrote this about Mrs Elizabeth Everest: “She was my dearest and most intimate friend, during the whole twenty years that I had lived.”

As a matter of fact, when Mrs Everest had retired from “Active Duty” at the Churchill household, and had stopped taking care of young Winston — some years earlier — Lord Randolph Churchill, had paid tribute to her devoted care, by offering her a severance pay, and taking her in a special horse drawn ‘hansom-cab’ to lunch with Lord Rothschild, in order to have him invest her Life Savings wisely, for good returns for the long haul…

Allas, at this time she wasn’t long of this world, and as at this time, Mrs Everest lived in North London — this is when Winston Churchill first heard that she was seriously ill. Immediately he got hold of Dr Keith and together hastened to her bedside to medicate her, to hold her hand, lay compresses, and pray with her, as she was always known to do with her young charge Winston when he was sick. Here and now, Winston was hoping for a miracle in Mrs Everest’s recovery, but this was not to be… as Dr Keith explained to him at length after trying all of his ministrations. She was 62 years old, when she died at 2:15 am on July 3rd of 1895 with Winston Churchill always devoted to her crying by her bedside. He later wrote to his Mother Jennie: “I shall never know such a friend again. … I feel very low — and find that I never realized how much poor old Whom was to me”

As a sign of deep devotion Winston after sitting the whole day and night by her bedside, and spoon feeding her soup and orange juice, in her little North London cottage, Winston had to return to the Aldershot military barracks for an early morning parade, but he then hurried back to be by her side again. He sat with her for many hours, and indeed he stayed until the bitter end. Winston Churchill was holding hands with Mrs Everest, when she died, and he cried to high heavens and feverishly prayed for the safe ascent of her eternal soul…

After all that death toll, the unconsolable young cavalry officer Winston Churchill organized her funeral from his small meagre pay, and when she was lowered into her grave he wept, as he had never done for anyone else. Never before, nor since, he had wept so much, for the loss of a human being. Hell — Winston hadn’t even wept for his own father Randolph’s death, on January 24th of this year 1895, or of the death of his maternal grandmother Clara Jerome on April 2nd of the same year 1895 — but he wept plenty for Mrs Everest, because his “Wooman” was a different matter altogether. She was his best friend. And he duly made arrangements for her headstone at the London cemetery at Manor Park and also paid the florist to maintain her gravesite with good blooming flowers. The headstone, with his dedication, and the grave still exist today to remind us of his devotion and eternal Love, that guided him to the end of his Life.

Several years later, in India, he came across the passage that the historian Edward Gibbon had written about his own Governess: “If there be any, as I trust there are some, who rejoice that I live, to that dear and excellent woman, gratitude is due.”
This, he declared, would be Mrs Everest’s epitaph: and to the end of his life, and even today, on this very day, her picture still hangs in Winston Churchill’s study at his own home called ‘Chartwell’ in the lovely Kentish countryside, with Mrs Everest gazing out to the green and verdant valley.

You ought to go and see for yourself sometime… even if it so that you can understand, what unrequited love looks like in the long haul.

Because back then, the young officer Winston Churchill was utterly devastated by the loss of Mrs Everest and also by all of what he considered dear and holly. The family name, the brilliant ancestry, the familiarity with the Marlborough clan, and his ancestor the First Duke of Marlborough John Churchill, the relations with the Spencers, and all of that he cherished in Society. Yet he also understood that if he were to attribute his seed to the Sovereign — he was clearly a bastard without the chance of being recognized so late in Life… especially now that he was an adult, and officer, and a subaltern in the Cavalry.

So as the story of his birthright and the carefully orchestrated secret patronage started unraveling, it seems that it was time for Winston to leave everything behind and go out in the World, to earn his own measure of distinction and honor, and to carve a path for himself.

He was indeed terribly lonely now.

All that he loved had been wrested away from him, and with his beloved nanny gone — he was again all alone in the world. Except now he knew that he was a bastard.

So he chose to make his way forward and to leave all little boys’ things, all familiar things, and all English things, behind.

He chose to leave the country to go away, in the bitter sweet sentiment of shame and pride all meshed into one force, of wanting to make something of himself. He decided that he will go out in the world and make his own way, unassisted by family and friends, and fully reliant in his own two hands, two feet, and his own fecund brain.

He looked for a way out, and indeed two months after Mrs Everest’s death, Winston agitated and strove to leave England until he succeeded to be included in the “4th Queen’s Own Hussars” who were known to be an Expeditionary Force for the Empire for 300 years, since their inception in 1685, and were experts at fighting mounted on good sturdy stallions, anywhere, and everywhere, across the Globe. They had a reputation for bravery and honor, that they had to uphold and therefore trained daily with their horses.

Their favorite game was polo, a game that further kept them trained in the arts of mounted warfare and manly competition, and had plenty of battle readiness exercises. Their uniforms were blue, brilliant, and dazzling, and their swords, were the sharpest and strongest than any other service brand. Even their scabbards were highly decorated and gilted.

And Winston amongst them all, was the handsomest boy, and his appearance was striking. He was tall, strong, and wiry, with a head that seemed too large for his body, but his perfectly expressive eyes conveyed intelligence and resourcefulness. He had a pug nose, large protruding blue eyes, a pink and white skin, that even a girl might have envied, and a shock of red-gold hair that matched the braids on his uniform. An impediment in his speech prevented him from pronouncing the letter V clearly, and gave him a slight lisp, that made him if nothing else, at least memorable…

People called him baby face, and indeed his face was cherubic, ruddy, with white skin, and all in all his features were beautiful — but he was anything but effeminate. His blue eyes were impudent and challenging, and his round face could turn ominous and dark at will, and his ruddy complexion had the pugnacious look of a street urchin — if he willed it. And his ready made sarcasm, fighting spirit, and cynical humor, had him always at the edge of either a fight, fisticuffs, or guffaws, always spread amongst his mates and colleagues, amongst whom he was the unsung hero, and the Leader of the pack.

Winston led other men always onwards. He was leading his people from the front, because he was always and forever fighting for his dreams, and for what is True & Beautiful unafraid of any consequences. He was a firm believer on his stars holding the sky for him and charting out a great path, and his self assured manner was always showing. This is what led many other people to follow him into battle unquestioningly, and for grown men to engage onto his many flights of fancy, and into his far too many fights all around the world, leading to an awesome number of defeats, interspersed with the occasional victory…

He didn’t mind the odds of defeat, as he was assured that we always die once — so no need to fear death and destruction.

And that’s how he opened the gates to the best possible future he could visualize for himself, and for the rest of us, and for Western Civilization. Of course, his birth, his breeding and his regal bearing, automatically opened the doors to the powerful oligarchical society which ruled Britain at the time. But even so, his bearing and natural authority helped along with the fact that at this time all the members of the High Society knew, who his real father was. Indeed this was so, because this society consisted of a few hundred great families who throughout the years of intertwined history, had also become interrelated by marriage, and they all intuitively understood superior bearing and natural leadership as coming from Royal DNA and royal breeding.

This is what Winston said about this time in History: “Everywhere one met friends and kinfolk. The leading figures of Society were in many cases the leading statesmen in Parliament, and also the leading sportsmen on the Turf. Lord Salisbury was accustomed scrupulously to avoid calling a Cabinet when there was racing at Newmarket, and the House of Commons made a practice of adjourning for the Derby at Ascot. In those days the glittering parties at Lansdowne House, Devonshire House, and Stafford House, comprised all the elements which made a gay and splendid social circle in close relation to the business of Parliament, the hierarchies of the Army and Navy, and the policy of the State.”

Winston Churchill continued writing in his book “My Early Life,” that he found this “London social world” greatly to his liking. Not only because he was free from the constraining atmosphere of the classroom, but also because he was delighted to find himself moving on terms of social equality with the most distinguished men of the day. Furthermore, he had discovered in his Mother a new and kindred spirit, that was behaving as if she were of the same age as Winston. Because although up until then, Lady Randolph Churchill, had paid little attention to her son — now that Winston had reached an age where he could fit into her life, she began to take a genuine interest in him. She introduced him to whoever he wished to meet and made every effort to smooth his path. She did not attempt to exert a maternal influence, and with Jennie always behaving far younger than her age — they gradually developed a deep and affectionate respect, and almost a brother-sister relationship, which lasted them happilly until Jennie’s death.

Winston, however, was far from being a universal favorite, or even the flavor of the month, the day, or the minute. He was actually quite disliked by most of his class of subalterns, because of his innate competitive nature, and his assertive need to lead.

He moved bombastically and assertively through the sedate circles of Victorian society burning bridges, and sinking ships, all throughout those feint of heart, and the dainty souls. He was blunt and opinionated as he was totally indifferent to the social graces. His prolonged failures at school, had – increased – not diminished his aggressiveness, for he was now so eager to impress people through his as yet unrecognized abilities, that he seized every opportunity to force his ideas upon all others. Small talk bored him and he made no attempt to conceal his impatience with stupidity. He did not hesitate to engulf his elders in a tide of rhetoric, against which they often struggled helplessly; and as a result he soon won the reputation of being egotistical, rude and bumptious.

The young men of the 4th Hussars regarded him with good-natured amusement. The majority were rich, charming and intellectually lazy. Most of them had chosen a military career because it interfered less than anything else with hunting and shooting and the pleasures of the London season. In those days cavalry officers were paid only fourteen shillings a day, and were obliged to dig into their own pockets to support themselves and a string of horses as well. But their meagre salaries were balanced by certain advantages. They had five months’ leave a year, and even when they were on duty their hours were neither arduous nor long. Although Winston’s mother made him an allowance of 500 a year which in those days had considerable purchasing power, his brother officers lived at such a high standard, that Winston regarded himself as ‘a poor man’.

However, Lieutenant Winston Churchill had not joined the army in order to be a rich scion. Nor did he embark on a military career as if he were on the social career ladder. He joined the Army to earn his distinction of Courage and Bravery, because it was not for nothing that the Duke of Marlborough was his hero, or that he had arrayed his lead armies, made up of tin soldiers in lines of battle formations, while he dreamt of heroic deeds suitably rewarded by Fame that will soon be following. He was determined to make a name for himself, but at this time, he had to face the depressing truth, that there could be no sensational military exploits, if there were no wars to be had. He looked around him at the world of 1895 with dismay. If only he had been born at the end of the last century with twenty years of Napoleonic battles stretching out before him — things would have been different.

Indeed at that time, the last war Britain had fought was in the Crimea in 1854, and still there was scarcely a cloud on the horizon of Peace today.

The only place where any fighting was going on in 1895, was in Cuba, and one could scarcely call this minor rebellion against the Spanish Empire, a war. However, he was soon to have a few months’ leave and a rebellion was better than nothing. He persuaded Reginald Barnes, a fellow subaltern, to undertake the journey with him and secured a few letters of introduction to the Spanish authorities in Havana by writing to his father’s old friend, Sir Henry Drummond-Wolff who was at that time British Ambassador in Madrid, Then he remembered that his father had once written several articles for the Daily Graphic. In those days there were no regulations which forbade Army officers from writing for the press, and many newspapers commissioned serving officers to act as correspondents. Winston saw the editor of the Graphic and succeeded in securing a commission for a series of dispatches at 15 apiece.

The two young Hussars set out for Cuba early in November. Their adventures proved to be more comical than dangerous and more jovial than instructive; nevertheless the trip was an important turning point in Winston’s life for it launched him on the career of a war correspondent which was to make him a national figure before five years had passed. He supplemented his tiny income with a small stipend he received as a junior Spy for the Foreign Service and for the Intelligence Committee, to whom  he also gave his reports…

The cover held, and the Spanish authorities in Cuba, welcomed the two subalterns with surprising cordiality. The Spanish, were attempting to suppress a Cuban thrust for full independence, and they insisted on interpreting the visit of the Englishmen as an official gesture of friendship from a great and interested power. In Havana, every courtesy was shown to them and every facility was placed at their disposal. Arrangements were soon made to send them to join a Spanish column of four thousand men that was marching through a jungle in which many enemy patrols were operating.

It took the two young spies, dressed as Queen’s Own Hussars, in tropical uniforms, several days to reach General Valdez’s column.
They first travelled by train, then by boat and finally caught up with him in the town of Sancti Spiritus. The General greeted them warmly, provided them with horses and explained to them that he was making a fortnight’s march through the insurgent districts. The long column set off in the morning first moving through tangled jungles, then open spaces, then more jungles. The enemy was well hidden, but on the morning of 30 November, Winston’s twenty-first birthday, a few bullets whistled over his head while he was camped near the roadside eating a chicken for his breakfast. This was his baptism of fire. The next evening another volley rang out while he and a group of officers were dressing after a swim, causing them a certain amount of inconvenience and a good many jokes.
And later that night several more bullets lodged themselves in the thatch of the hut in which he was sleeping.

On the third day the Spanish column attacked. Churchill and Barnes were mounted and advanced with the General and his staff about fifty yards behind the Spanish infantry. They watched the puffs of enemy smoke in the distance and sat with dignity while bullets whistled around them. Soon the rebel fire died away and the Spanish soldiers occupied the insurgent positions. It was impossible to pursue the enemy because of the density of the jungle, and the battle was over. The next day the Englishmen left for England.

Winston sent several dispatches home. One opened with the jovial declaration that first sentences, whether of a proposal of marriage or a newspaper article, were always difficult. The other explained the handicaps under which journalists operated. ‘While the Spanish authorities are masters of the art of suppressing the truth,’ he wrote, ‘the Cubans are adepts at inventing falsehoods.

Churchill and Barnes felt that they had gotten their money’s worth in this tropical Caribbean adventure and they duly reported their findings to the Foreign Office…

Besides all the fun, they had learned to appreciate Havana cigars, rum cocktails, and the merits of the Spanish siesta. Subsequently, when the first World War started, Winston had already adopted the habit of the afternoon siesta, and he continued it ever since till the end of his mortal coil. Resting the brain was considered huge, but more important still, the young men now considered themselves authorities on war. None of their fellow subalterns had been to a war and although their own experience was limited to three days of fighting, they could boast triumphantly of ‘having seen fighting in Cuba’. At least in proximity… with bullets aimed at them, but happily missing them by wide margins.

They happily took the slow steamer back, and reached home in England, only to learn that the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars, were to sail for India immediately. Immediately? Not exactly. Mainly because the necessary regimental preparations would take nearly nine months, and thus it was not until the autumn of 1896, a year and a half after Winston had first received his commission, that the 4th Hussars finally set forth and sailed towards the Raj in the subcontinent of India.

Dreams of India’s ancient traditions, occupied their time aboard during this overlong journey around Africa’s  cape horn towards the subcontinent.

First they entered India through the Gate of Mumbai. And indeed it was here, where their ship anchored. They disembarked in Bombay harbor. Yet it was also here that Winston was so anxious and impatient to get ashore ahead of anyone else — that he jumped in a small fishing boat, and asked the fishermen to take him immediately ashore.

Unfortunately, upon reaching the high quay, he was again rash and foolishly impatient, and instead of waiting for the gangplank to be set up, he grabbed at an iron ring to pull himself up. But because of the boat’s movement with the swell going against him – he had to pull harder than his shoulder joint could hold, and thus badly dislocated his shoulder, which proved to be a painful reminder for the rest of his long life, and a handicap for his tennis and for the polo games. It also gave him what he called his own private barometer that warned him of imminent barometric highs and lows, and of sudden changes of weather, through a piercing shoulder pain for the rest of his life.

Still after bandaging up his sore shoulder, and after sowing his wild oats at the brothels of Bombay where they spend significant amount of hours and days duly documenting scientifically the virtuous of the nautch girls and the beautiful prostitutes of the Mumbai Raj, they had to rest…

Yet not for long, because they got up on the saddle immediately and … run back to the girls.

The girls were exceedingly beautiful exotic and mesmerizing… Their dark olive smooth skin made them irresisstible and the more they enjoyed themselves, the more they wanted them. The fact that these pretty whores were schooled into the sexual skills carefully, and they knew the dark arts that made themselves indispensable and kept the men captivated in a state of Lust and Love indistinguishable from the real thing. Winston and his men were like sleepwalkers always leading their steps to the brothels of Mumbai where they not only spent all of their money, but where they also got in huge debts to the money lenders and that kept them further attached… to the beautiful girls and their habits of making men Slaves to their need to be loved.

Loved as only whores know how to love a Man.

So Winston and his fellows all rested for a while, to regain themselves, and embark upon the continuation of this scientific expedition not the underbelly of this amazing ancient city and it’s wondrous pleasures.

Here Winston sampled all the earthly and carnal delights India had to offer as sen in the sculptures of the Holy Temples dedicated to Shiva.

And it was here that the young subaltern fully tasted and feasted up to the point of satiation all of the human lust he could handle, along with all the other officers of the Hussars and all the enlisted men, in a show of camaraderie and classless equality in front of the pretty Indian whores that were employed at this most ancient industrial coupling business.

Only after this sojourn tat lasted a full fortnight, they were able to free themselves and clear up their social calendar so that they can continue onwards and forwards. Some no doubt stayed behold but were brought forth when the regiment traveled South towards Bangalore in Southern India.

Bangalore, is a thriving and technologically adept city, near the ancient city of Mysore, at the great Princely State of Mysore, resting in a high plateau of 3,000 feet, whose latitude and longitude coordinates are: 12.972442, 77.580643 and that is rather useful for topographical maps that Winston was always learning how to use properly for war ad peace purposes. Today, Bangalore (Bengaluru) is a large city, since it became the capital of Karnataka state, with its population reaching about 9 million people. That is why it is considered the third most populous city of India. Bangalore is an old and beautiful city, with plenty of attractions, cultural and architectural relics, religious buildings, and a vibrant life and innovation.

Needless to say, Bangalore had a similarly thriving sexual scene as Mumbai and their brothels were populated by Tamil girls that were darker and even prettier than their Northern competitors…

The Hussars had to sample the earthly delights some more here in their Southern hospitable station, as well.

The 4th Hussars regiment was stationed at the plateau of Mysore in the city of Bangalore in Karnataka state of Southern India. Because this plateau rests at an elevation of more than 3,000 feet — it is quite pleasant to live there year-round.

So soon enough Winston needed his privacy, and thus sought his own accommodations, away from the military barracks, or the Officer’s Club, and he went out, found, and rented a pink and white stucco bungalow, covered with roses, which he shared with three other fellow cavalry officers. The young men pooled their money, organized their servants and furnished their own home where they settled down happily to enjoy themselves.

They all together spent the mornings drilling, parading, and attending to their regimental duties, and then spent their hot afternoons sleeping off the midday heat, and the Monsoon. But at five o’clock the real business of the day began, because in the cool of the early evening, they had strenuous and thrilling polo matches, since polo was the main social and athletic competition pivot, around which all the Life of the cavalry officers in India was built.

And although Winston had to ride with his shoulder strapped, he often played ten, or even twelve chukkas (rounds). His Bangalore life was not entirely carefree because he was driven to do something with himself, and he was also going to earn some measure of military distinction, so he was looking to join the fighting sooner rather than later. He also had to face constant money worries, because the polo ponies were expensive, and his gear and kit was also in need of constant replenishment, and even the military mess, and the officer’s club, operated on a lordly scale. So every now and then, Winston was forced to visit the native money lenders where he borrowed money at the rate of twenty-four per cent interest per year. From then on, he always declaimed the usurious rates of the Indian money lenders, but he also learned the economic lessons of inflation and the attendant loss of value and productivity…

Soon enough though Winston managed to fit in, and to find his groove, and in the end all home front things, all Bangalore matters, and all the worries around Winston, seem to have adjusted themselves to a tropical balance, because here it is where he found LOVE. Winston found Love in the face of beautiful Pamela, the daughter of the local British Raj “Resident of Hyderabad” representative of the Empire.

Pamela Plowden, was an ice queen whom Winston loved like a lovebird — and she reciprocated his love in carnal and lustful ways, but not in the ways of the heart. Still they got stuck to each other as if they were twins until Winston discovered her triple timing betrayals with three other lovers simultaneously to her professing her Love to him. But that is to be expected of marriageable upper crust English girls seeking the best match in a cool profitable way for their progeny.

Love, lust and circumstance, brought them together. The Tropics only helped… And that is No-Balance at all. Ambition, distinction, and the life of an Officer of the British Empire along with Pamela’s slutty ways, and her being too much like Winston’s mother — drove them apart.

And although Winston hated to part company with his lovely Pamela, but at least he had forgetfulness to assist him with it, along with some strong Indian hashish, that accompanied his midday meals and caused the following longish naps…

Ahh, the strong habits of the Raj might still rankle some to this day, but there you have it. Hash was good and weak back then, and the people were fond of it and favored it for their “gateaux” after the main meal.

Winston with his love muscle satiated, went on to stumble forwards with panache and boldness, and he found success and distinction, in his many campaigns. At least this is what Winston learned in his time spent as an Officer of the Empire within the Indian Raj, and also peculiarly enough, it was in his Bangalore tropical days where his Star shone the brightest, at least as far as Love, Lust, & Circumstance were concerned. And let’s not forget the abundant sexual gratification with all kinds of nautch girls, and the romantic sex with his beloved, and the stimulation of writing, while finding his own Life’s Purpose. All of these processes got started in the Indian tropical subcontinent and as far as Winston was concerned, the world was at rights again after the terrible season of death he had experienced in old England.

Here is where he gained depth in his waters, and he started writing in earnest, and that’s how he also came to erase his addiction to the nautch girls, to his romantic love English ice princess, and to the other pretty prostitutes of Bangalore’s harems in the great subcontinent at the tropic of Mysore.

True Love, cured him of his need for frequent coupling with the dark pretty whores whom he called the true Goddesses of India, and the mistresses of the soft underbelly of Civilization.

Here is where Winston also learned a whole lot about women, while out there traipsing around the flesh-pots of Bangalore. “Bang-galore Bangalore” as it is commonly known to this day… has more earthly delights than Paris and London combined, and those old Maharajas of Mysore cultivated the Art of the Harem for centuries, so this was not a new thing for the New Masters of the Empire to master and ride on…

Winston learned quickly, no matter the subject at hand. He learned by observation and by practice. Same like an infant who is watching other people walk — learns that walking is possible — success calls you to turn possibility into reality, by stumbling forward, like every other ambulatory infant, or young adult. And so did Winston learned the esoteric arts of the Orient…

Many other pioneers before him like Rudyard Kipling and all the Explorers of the East, may have stepped out boldly into the unknown, but the “jungles” surrounding Bangalore and the deep flesh of India are still the unknown for everyone who hasn’t gone there before. Yet Winston said that it all feels like having to let go of custom and civilization and keep going forward.

KBO, became his motto of keep going on, or best said as keep going forward. KBO is an axiom of living life according to a plan that is straight forward — yet flexible and resilient. Because K.B.O. is simply in the rough language of the brothels of Bangalore, or in the argot of the polo riders, or of the soldiers under fire charging uphill against fortified enemy positions: “Keep Buggering On.”

So KBO became his official motto, expressly understood as his own claim to Leadership. And this is what ultimately brought him distinction in Life, because in some ways Winston truly admired the people who went before him, but never wanted to imitate other people’s path to success, and he wanted to carve is own way out of the jungle of Humanity’s vast possibilities.

Indeed the Indian subcontinent was good for him, because he wondered how can anyone even imagine the possibilities that the future holds, until one has climbed the hill in front of them, and has spied the terrain ahead as only an artillery forward observer can do?

How can Moses talk about the distant horizons and the lands beyond, unless he has been up on the Mountain and has seen the “future” clear and vivid as one can see only from the top of the high peaks?

And once he had truly “seen” he started sharing with others his vision of the World. Because the very art of writing for Winston Churchill, began with looking forward form the high tops, and the magnificent vistas afforded to him, because after his father died – he had to climb his own mountains. And besides, he also had to earn an income to be the head of the household, since his Mother had no head for finances, and his brother Jack was five years his junior. And indeed he was not afraid to fail, nor to try new things, as he often times announced to his mates – that “I had no idea what the heck I was doing, since I had never written anything beyond papers in school, and yet now I write and get my stuff to be read, by our leaders back at home, and others all over the world…”

And it is in those writings that Winston Churchill shows us how normal his common sense were, as he grabs the opportunity to go forward, as this opportunity appears every day, to each and everyone of us. Except it is young Winston Churchill who tries to move ahead, and who sets out to make his mark in the world by earning some measure of distinction for himself.

Because “distinction” for Winston Churchill does not mean earning medals. Earning medals like the Victoria Cross, that he richly deserved, and yet never got… is not what the game of Life is all about. Same as it is not about being liked in Real Life or in earning likes on Facebook. Life is far more important to be lived rather than go about playing a small game by seeking other people’s approbation and acclamations while being afraid to offend anyone, or tackle anything of note…

“Distinction” for Churchill means that you have a clear idea of where you’re going, but you’re not certain of how to get there, so you try the general direction, and hope for the best. Of course this method of putting a dent in the Universe, requires taking outsize risks, and accepting dangers that other men simply will not take.They will not take, not because they are lesser men, but because they are weaker in the heart. Because heart is where Courage exists and that is what differentiates Real Men, from Mere Pussies.

RMs vs MPs is a real thing if you want to know… but I will not explain to you this particularly political sentiment here in these pages…

So long as you are not setting out to make yourself an empty shirt — you’ll be OK. Because I truly believe like Winston, that the clothes, the money, the positions — do not make the man. All these are empty vessels, as most people around us would attest. It is the Man that makes the man and changes the world. And it is only the REAL MAN that carves the widely marked distinction in this Life.

Only then you can make your dent in the Universe…

And let’s include some PASSION in the mix, because passion is what Winston Churchill had aplenty, and this is what allowed him to clarify what his forward movement might look like. And forward he went. First he moved like a baby elephant making all kinds of noise and rejecting perfection, but he nonetheless kept swinging for the fences. Anyway, this is what he did best, each and every time that he started an adventure by stepping into something unknown, something new, and something strange, with passion, openness, and gusto.

His everlasting and evergreen confidence, always began with ‘I think I can do this’ but still, I will gather around me all the best heads to teach me, and support me, if I am to reach success. This he did, because, he had to stumble forward boldly, and like a baby elephant he might fall and roll over, and then he might also have to traipse through the foliage for quite a while, before he gains his sure footing.

But every time he asked for help — he reckoned, and often times he even used and said this harmless “petard” in order to entice people to help him in one or another of his harebrained schemes like the Dardanelles campaign where he wanted to redraw the glory of the Greeks sacking Troy, and fashioned himself as King Agamemnon — the Victor of that famous battle and the long remembered War that Homer sang for eternity.

That is why young Winston Churchill, as the First Lord of the Admiralty, used this “petard” in order to change the old policy with the new policy, that he had devised in order to take Constantinople from the remnants of the failing Ottoman empire: “It is far easier to help a young elephant stand-up, than it is to try to prop-up a dying elephant, by attempting to stop him from falling down.”

To Be Continued…