A Knight In Geraniums

November 23, 2011

Gracious Readers;

Once again, I have been relocated, however, not to another building, as has happened so many times in the recent past, but to another vantage point in the same building where I have resided this past merry month.

I am residing still at beautiful 71 Sydney Street, however, two of the ladies, Lady Alice and Lady Kim picked me up and moved me to a beautiful sunny room which they call “The Solarium”. This is a half-round room, with pots of geraniums in glorious flower all around the edge. As they moved me, they talked of Christmas “decorating”. I shall look forward to seeing what that entails!

From my new location, I can see out onto a street called “Princess Street”. I am wondering for which of her highness Victoria’s several daughters it has been named. Looking the other way, I can see into a beautiful parlour where the sun shines onto the polished wooden floors, where Lady Kim and Lady Alice and another fair maid whose name is not known to me were busily working all the day. The activities were not the usual ones I have observed over my past many months as a guest of Chipman Hill Suites.

Am I a guest? Perhaps I am an indentured servant? My status has never been made clear to me.

At any rate, I digress………

The ladies had a large box and from it, they removed a green item, in pieces, the likes of which I had never seen. As they worked on it, fitting multiple pieces together, it began taking the form of a green tree from the forest, similar in appearance to a fir tree, although it is neither from a forest, nor a real tree. It seems to be a replica of some kind. It has no smell of forest to be sure.

This evening, now that everyone is asleep, I will examine it in further detail and report my findings to you shortly.

It is now the morrow, albeit very early. None of the guests are about, neither the Lady Kim nor Lady Alice. I take this quiet opportunity to post my blog, unobserved.

I am enjoying my stay here at 71 Sydney Street, and have been watching over the front entrance now for several weeks. My recent move has me watching over a rear (and rarely used) door, as well as the main parlour. It is interesting for me to be able to have such a fine vantage point over the street as well.

As I have learned, “cars” have replaced horse-drawn carriages, although every now and then two or three carriages indeed pass by, each loaded with riders who speak of “Cruise Ships”. I know what a ship is, but what is “cruise” and how does it relate to a ship?

Cars have a smell of their own, it reminds me of some of the areas around the factories when I was last in London as a guard of honour at the funeral of our Queen’s beloved Albert.  It seems just like yesterday.  Horses and carriages were very much in evidence there, and the smell of same when they pass by 71 Sydney Street causes me to remember………I have seen so much, and only now, with the advent of “the blog” am I able to tell you.

I look forward to giving you further tales of my past as well as an accurate reporting of my present in the very near future.

In the meanwhile, enjoy your stay here at Chipman Hill Suites, and know that I am thinking of you.

Sir Syd

A Knight on Sydney

Gracious Readers;

I must start this letter with an apology. I have been silent for far longer than I had planned, but life is going by so quickly that I am having trouble taking it all in!

As you know, since my fortunate escape from the hateful crate, I have been located in a fair number of beautiful properties, all seemingly called Chipman Hill Suites. I have been trying to work out how each of these several different homes all seem to have the same name.

In my earlier days (seemingly decades ago), when I resided in England, each house had both a street address and it’s own name………..such as Fairways, White Cottage, Sedalia, The Old Farm, The Vicarage and so on.

Here, in the new world, or at least here in Chipman Hill Suites, each building is named Chipman Hill Suites, followed by a street address.

I am, as of this morning, now guarding Chipman Hill Suites at 71 Sydney Street.

This building, I have learned, was once the home to a prominent physician and healer, a Dr. White, who was also the mayor of this City of Saint John. It is a gracious brick structure with beautiful furnishings in multiple parlours here on the main floor. I enjoy seeing the look on the guest’s faces when they open up the front door and step into the gracious foyer which I am now guarding.

Speaking of floors, it is rumoured that Dr. White went on an extended trip and in his absence, his lady wife had the roof removed and a third story added to the home! I can well imagine what a surprise, or dare I say a shock the good doctor had upon his return.

Unlike the other Chipman Hill Suites buildings where I have previously resided, the guests here seem to stay for a much shorter period of time. Often, only a night or two. I worry that I may not be able to know them as well as I knew the guests in my previous locations who generally stayed for months at a time.

I am still trying to work out exactly how all this works, but as far as I have worked out, some of the buildings tend to have long term stayers, but this one, and perhaps there are others, have mostly nightly guests, somewhat like a coaching inn from back in my earlier days.

This building also has a piano. It is not a shiny white baby grand style like my beloved young lady played so wonderfully at one of my former residences, but it is older and taller, apparently it is called an “upright” piano. Apparently the Lady Susan plays the piano, although I have never heard her play it.

During my transportation here today, I noticed that fall is in the air, although on my way out, from 9 Chipman Hill, I saw Sir Keith artistically applying a fresh coat of paint to the doors. He commented that there will only be a few more painting days before it is too cold, so he is painting as fast as he can, although perfectly.

I smelled a new smell during my transportation. It is called “New Car Smell”. Apparently, the Lady Marilyn, has a new coach. It is called a “van” and has, indeed, an engine. No horses are needed, and it goes very fast. She is very pleased with it. It seems to be called “Toyota”. I wonder what Toyota means.

As I write my blog during the night hours, inbetween patrolling the building, and dawn is breaking, I must once again bid my readers “adieu”, and return to my frozen stance.

I will write again soon, dear readers.

Sir Syd.

Knight to Chipman 9

Gracious Readers;


I have been most remiss in my duties, of chronicling the comings and goings at the delightful lodgings at Number 5 Chipman Hill.  Please accept my sincerest of apologies in this regard.  I have, of late, been most preoccupied.


In my last missive, I shared with you that I had been posted next to a large musical instrument unlike any I had ever seen before.  It called to mind a clavichord or harpsichord, and yet was quite different.  I was fascinated with it.


I have since learned that this instrument is called a piano.  There was a guest, a most beautiful young maiden, who exclaimed in delight when she spied it.  At first I believed I had inspired such a response, but I was in error.  Even so, a knight in shining armour is a gallant sight indeed, and I have, in the past, received my share of admiration.  It was an honest mistake.


The young lady immediately sat down at the instrument, her long graceful fingers bringing forth the most beautiful music.  It was haunting and passionate, and although I am trapped within this rigid armour, I was profoundly moved.  It was in that moment, I believe, that the young maiden captured my heart.


My time here at Chipman Hill has taught me that our guests do not stay forever, no matter how much they might wish.  I did my best to still my heart, but I was, I must confess, utterly smitten by the radiant young lady.  For two weeks, she would come each evening to the piano.  Each day I watched the shadows steal up the hallway, counting the moments until her return.  As she played, and sometimes sang -- her voice angelic and sweet -- I longed to reach out to touch her.  Mute and motionless, however, I remained.


One tragic morning the inevitable happened; I heard my lady speaking in the front hallway.  Her voice carried back to me, her words tearing me asunder.  She was leaving, and unknowingly taking my heart with her. 


The piano lay silent, and my world -- which had recently known such light -- was now dreary.  I had oft, in my earlier years, teased the young men at court about lovesickness, only to find myself stricken later in life.  I could no longer find joy in the comings and goings of the guests, but could only focus on she who no longer came near.  The piano, which had once brought me such joy now served only as a reminder of what was lost forever.  I began to pray for release, and to my utmost gratitude it came in the personage of Sir Kenneth.


"We're on the move," he said, moving a chair away from me.


As he had done before, Sir Kenneth picked me up, carrying me away from the piano.  It was a painful relief, to be taken down the hall, toward the front door of #5 Chipman Hill.  It was not a leaving I could have endured -- or initiated -- alone.

The journey to my next assignment was not a long one;  I now reside in the front hall of the adjoining building, Number 9 Chipman Hill.  Like my previous postings, at Number 1 and Number 5, this is an elegant heritage building (young in comparison to my years, however).  I am situated just inside the front door, at the foot of the stairs, standing sentinel for the comfort and safety of all within.


I am grateful for the new beginning, and am looking forward to once more concentrating on being an ambassador to our guests.  Again, I humbly beg your forgiveness for my silence of late.  I do not anticipate any further difficulty in attending to my correspondence duties, for not only am I free from distractions here, but I have been placed next to an apparatus which Sir Kenneth assures me will enable the swift posting of letters.

Your humble servant,

Sir Sydman Orion Gerburg of Princliff

A Knight On A Hill

Gracious Readers;

As I suspected, I have been moved yet again!

The trip was not long, in fact, it was only next door. Based on the road sign and the numeral on the door, I am now residing at 5 Chipman Hill. This building is remarkably similar in architecture to 1 Chipman Hill next door where I formerly resided. I have heard some of the staff discussing the history of these fine homes with some of the guests (I have worked out that this is some sort of inn, although they do not have a tavern attached). Apparently the 1 and 5 Chipman Hill buildings were owned by two brothers who were merchants in this town.

The buildings are prominently situated on a hill with a view of a busy harbour, although I must admit that I am totally unfamiliar with the type of boat/ship traffic that I see out the window. I have been at sea on at least three occasions that I recall, back and forth from my home in the UK to the continent, and then the long voyage to wherever I am now. None of the vessels looked like the ones I behold at the wharves here.
As I was being carried down the hill, I noticed that there is a lot of work going on at the top of the hill, and a large sign saying “PEEL PLAZA”. During my stay in London, there was a chap called Peel who set up a professional police force or something of that nature. I wonder if there is any connection. That was long ago and far away, so likely not.
There is a large white musical instrument with keys resembling a harpsichord or clavichord here in the room with me. The finish is very shiny, like nothing I have ever seen before. It is very beautiful once you get used to the brightness of the colour. It has a different shape to the keyboard instruments with which I am familiar, but I have no doubt that it is, indeed, an instrument of music. Hopefully someone will play it soon so that I may hear and compare to the instruments in my past.
I am a little tired just now, moving, lock, stock and barrel, even a short distance, is tiring at my age.

Now I am back in the habit of “blogging” (what a brave new word), I will, indeed, keep it up more regularly.

Sincerely
Syd
Sir Sydman Orion Gerburg of Princliff.

A Knight On The Move

Gracious Readers;

It has been a month since I last posted my blog.
After due consideration, I have decided that it is time to bring you, dear readers, up to date on what has been happening within me that has caused me to pause in my musings (bloggings) until now.
As you have no doubt surmised (clever readers that you are), I spent most of my formative centuries in England, although I was seconded to Europe for a decade or so with one of my masters……..
It has taken me some time, but I have worked out that I am now somewhere across the ocean, in the colonies, perhaps. Things are very different here. Although the people speak the same language, they speak it quite strangely, and I must listen very carefully to get the full meaning of what they are saying. I am, however, determined to “fit in” here, as I do not wish to be returned to my crate, so during the past month, I have spent my every waking moment listening and learning in hopes that if I am called upon to perform any service to my new masters, that I shall be able to do so properly. (When in Rome, do as the Romans do…..but where AM I?)
Speaking of listening, I have heard that I am once again to be moved, but not far. Apparently weeks of rain have postponed my relocation, however, on the next fine day, I will, apparently, be moved once again. I have very much enjoyed my time at the 1 Chipman Hill address, and although I have yet to work out in exactly which country and city I am residing, I am confident that it is either America, Australia or Canada due to the language spoken by most of the people who pass me here in the hall. Occasionally, I thought that perhaps I was in a part of France where the spoken French is quite different to what I had heard before from nobles who crossed the channel to meet with my superiors in the great halls…….but in retrospect, I think not. I shall advise you, dear readers, once I work out exactly where I am, other than the street address, and the fact that the sign on the building reads “Chipman Hill Suites”.
I am happy to be in contact with you again.
Syd
Sir Sydman Orion Gerburg of Princliff.

A Knight In

Oh!  The excitement!  Even though my journey here was on the shoulders of others, I must admit to enjoying it: sea air and the sights and sounds of the city, albeit slightly bewildering in its (to me) newness and unfamiliarity.  I have experienced far more in the last few weeks than I have in an age! I must admit though, I do not crave the same excitement I did in my youth and it is far more pleasurable to be able to enjoy oneself without the spillage of entrails!  I consider myself most fortunate that the entrails spilled were never mine and, thankfully, rarely those of friends.  Mind, there was an incident with a French gentleman at a battle in Castile – the Spring of 1367 I believe, if my memory serves me well.  I came far too close to leaving various organs on French land and would have, if it were not for the intervention of the Prince Edward.  I do wonder why he was referred to as the ‘Black Prince’ though as he was most definitely not, although his character could also not be referred to as white – more of a medium shade of grey.  He was a few years younger than yours truly and even more of a charmer with the ladies! Talk of his various offspring, prior to his marriage, were abundant and his wife, the Princess Joan (who truly was a ‘’Fair Maid of Kent’’), was most discrete in her dealings with those claiming to be her own sons half-siblings.

Nonetheless, moving in to such grand quarters is exciting.  I am currently admiring my surroundings and am quite delighted by what I see before me.  There is a beautiful staircase leading up; gracefully curved and charmingly highlighted by the exquisite moulding that frames the window.   This brightness is such a delectable change to my existence in the crate!  If only I could move (and if I had bones to rest) I would sink into the cushioned sofa or rest my arms on one of the high-backed chairs, pondering my next chess move.

I have heard that this building is one of few that survived a fire that swept the City of Saint John in 1877. A most terrible and destructive force in any uncontained environment and one which, miraculously, only cost the lives of 18 people.  Sadly, many thousands of people lost their homes and livelihoods and had to start anew.  Saint John, however, arose like a phoenix from the ashes and was built again, far stronger and more determined than ever before to become a great city once again.

It is, however, rather quiet here and I do miss my friends Ken, Marilyn and Jane.  I also miss the soothing sound of the water feature that was in the office foyer.  One could close ones eyes (if one had them) and envision oneself sitting on the banks of a small stream, breathing in the scented air that spring brings.

Apart from my surroundings there is, however, another source of light in my existence: there is a computer, so I can continue to write my Blog and, if I do not hear guests in the vicinity (there is so much to do in Saint John, people are often enjoying the amenities and entertainment venues, which are all but a few short minutes walk away), I am not limited to out-of-office hours! Joy!

A Knight Out!

Gracious Readers;

I have been pondering.  Well, it is something I have had ample time for as I am not very active as of late.  Being an avid listener, I have come to know the names of the Chipman Hill Suite locations.  I have come to love word games as they require only a brain and no other tool.  Being unable to move in public, that is a propitious hobby to have.  Anyway, I today discovered that if I rearrange the letters of my name I can write, or at least partially so, the names of several Chipman Hill Suite locations:  Sydney, Chipman Hill, Orange, Union, Germain, Coburg, Princess and Cliff!  Yes, yes, I am aware it is probably just a symptom of my perceived self-importance, brought on by years of imprisonment and self-pity and just pure coincidence, as opposed to fate, but still it installs in me a sense of belonging.  A sense of coming home...

Now, where was I?  Ah, yes! Things are afoot! I have been a travelling!  I was, indeed, correct in my assumptions of an impending move! 

Let me start from the beginning...   today, I was surrounded by the people I have come to know as family and there were quite excited discussions:  "Yes, he would look great there!", "I still think 145 Germain would be better", "Personally, I think suite 1 at 2 Mecklenburg would be best considering how grand it is, it would be perfect", followed by "Ok, you’re the boss and, well, it is closer".  After a "Well, let’s move him then. He can’t do it himself." by the boss (that’s Susan, whose wine cellar I apparently inhabited for what seemed like an age) I was hoisted on to the shoulders of a few strong men and taken from my sanctuary! 

This, apparently, is Uptown Saint John in New Brunswick!  I have not seen "outside" for a considerable length of time, so you must imagine my surprise at the sights that befell me!  I realise that motor vehicles have come a long way since the Austin A40, and I was familiar with the BMW M6 (the Colonel drove one), but the vehicles rolling past were monsters!  Nissan Pathfinder, Chevrolet Silverado and many more whose names I could not catch.  There was also the occasional wasp-coloured "School Bus" rumbling past.  Some people, dressed from top to toe in green, walked by animatedly announcing that the "Sea Dogs had it in the bag since day one".  I have absolutely no idea what they were discussing but, needless to say, my imagination went wild. Sea Dogs? Sailors? Fishermen?  Had they caught something spectacular?  Had they won a prize? I know not, but am very curious.  Yet more people passed by adorned in green.  And yet more.  This was getting stranger with every step my carriers were taking, until all became clear when one green person tipped his green hat and said "And a happy Saint Patrick’s day to you Sir!". 

We reached a crossing in the road and before me was a large building housing only motor cars! How bizarre!  "Nearly there" one good man said and, a few short steps later, we arrived at a beautiful ornate front door, with stately pillars beckoning us to come in... we had arrived at 1 Chipman Hill!

A Knight's Past

Gracious Readers;

It appears I must apologise!  I have been absolutely remiss in my manners and have committed a terrible crime completely unbefitting someone of my title. I can only surmise that my new found freedom from the crate and the joy which has overcome me since my release has affected me more deeply than I imagined. I have, to my utmost horror, completely neglected to introduce myself!   I will herewith correct this error and hope you, my dearest followers, can accept my humble apologies.

My name is Sir Sydman Orion Gerburg of Princliff.   I was born in 1321 in the town of Ludgershall, in the county of Wiltshire, England.   I swore my allegiance to the very noble Lord Charles Lytton and the Lady Eleanor, and lived in a cottage on the grounds.  Ours was but a small town, with barely 100 inhabitants and those fortunate enough to have work were in the employ of the Lord and Lady.  My humble beginnings were in the Crown Inn, an alehouse, where I was born to Maude and Thomas Gerberg.  My father was originally a tanner from nearby Biddesden, but was involved in a rather unfortunate incident which put a premature end to his craft.  Instead of using the fermented mulberry in the tanning process, he developed a taste for it.  As this was mixed with various other substances, not meant for consumption, his behaviour became rather erratic.  When he tried tanning the hide of a potential customer’s steed, whilst it was still (temporarily) in perfectly good health, he found himself suddenly in a different location with no memory of the facts, which I daresay was not a bad thing.  Taking pity on him, and having done some admirable work for the landlord in more sober times, he became a trusted bartender and eventually managed the Inn until the end of his days.  I do believe he told some untruths to my Lord, but the outcome was that I was sent to the Castle as a page, at the tender age of 7, to begin my journey down the long road to becoming a Knight.

Anyway, that is the story of my beginning.  I will divulge more in time, but I would like to share with you the happenings of today.

Today, there appeared to be great excitement at Chipman Hill Suites; which I have now learned is the collective name for a group of beautiful, historical buildings which can be used for a small tariff by people on their travels or remaining in the city of Saint John.  Several people entered the building and disappeared into a room, where I heard them discussing several things including, apparently, yours truly!  A kindly, distinguished gentleman stopped to look at me and nodded his head ‘’Yes, excellent idea.’’, whilst another lady, who I have come to know as Marilyn, informed him that it would be very soon.  I cannot be completely certain, but I get the very distinct feeling that I might not be here for too long.  Where I will be going, I do not know.  I know only that I have felt very much at home here and will miss my conversations (albeit unheard) with Ken, Marilyn and the other people with whom I have spent such pleasant times recently.  Intriguing...

A Knight on the Keys...

Gracious Readers;

I admit it, I have a confession!  I have been looking over Ken’s shoulders for a while now and have learnt a lot.  I was not just chosen to be a Knight for my good looks, you know!  On top of my other excellent qualities, I am in possession of intelligence far superior to, well, my superiors. My superiors of days long left behind, that is.  I have, to date, led a very long and varied life. I have seen progress over the years (indeed, centuries!) that would be difficult to fathom for the most ingenious of minds. Yet I have experienced things. I have, over time, learnt. I have learnt many many things that, had I not seen the progress through my own visor, would not have believed possible. I have seen armies lost and Kings conquered. I have seen swords change to weapons capable of the most evil destruction.  I have seen the humble horse replaced by a mechanical carriage, which in turn has developed further still. I have seen women become the equal to men.  I have seen food heated up in machines and people transported from one end of the world to the other in a matter of mere hours.  Progress has been frightening in its speed.  It also means I know how to blog! So there you have it.  

 I was there at the dawn of the ‘’computer’’.  I was in an office in Germany, although the language spoken was English.  I adorned the office of a Colonel Hughes.  What a wonderful chap!  He spoke in a soft Irish accent and was very popular with his men (and women!  There are women in the military!)  He was writing a book on a battle on a remote Island far away.  He only had to tap on the board for the letters to appear in front of him on a large box.  He rubbed his eyes often after looking at the green lettering on the black background and cursed frequently ‘’Darned WordStar! A typewriter is far easier!’’.  His progress was slow as he tapped in each letter using only his forefingers.  Occasionally, the volume of his voice rose considerably as the computer ‘’crashed’’ (I later learned that this meant it ceased to function and had caused considerable loss of information).  I will always remember the painting on his wall – a picture of a soldier in red battle dress and, curiously, a small mouse close to him.  Anyway, that is where I learnt about computers.  The box was called a ‘’monitor’’ and the board a ‘’keyboard’’. That was a long time ago and it seems much has changed. Both keyboards and monitors have changed dramatically!  It appears there now also exists a thing called the ‘’internet’’, which is a place on the computer that holds all the information one could possibly imagine, and one can add to it and pass on information.  I was correct in saying that Ken was looking at a painting by a Dutch person, but it was just an image of the painting, not an original.  One can apparently create copies for one’s own walls by pressing a button and it appears!  Ken was also looking at a ‘’blog’’ which appears to be a diary one can keep in the ‘’internet’’.  As I did not want my experiences to just disappear and never be noted, I thought it might be interesting to write it down myself.  So, I watched and learnt. I decided to write the first instalment after the fact, but now will attempt to keep up to date and impart more of what I have learnt at every given opportunity.  Luckily, I do not exactly need much in the way of sleep, so can continue whilst the Chipman Hill office is empty.

A Knight at Ken's...

Gracious Readers;

My surroundings are unfamiliar and strange: I see things that I cannot fathom.  The gentleman they call ‘’Ken’’ is tapping on a strange tablet of some kind, whilst staring at another flat object in front of him. It is almost as if he is playing an instrument from some distant land, whilst observing the latest paintings from one of those popular new artists from the Netherlands. Quite the rage these days. Or at least, well, they used to be.  I have no idea where I am, nor what date it is. It could be 1990 for all I know, some things are so far beyond  recognition.                                        

                                            

Ken appears oblivious to the rhythm of the instrument, but completely engrossed in the painting, if that is indeed what he is studying.  What was that?  Another person has entered, a lady this time.  ‘’What on earth are we going to do with this?’’, the lady asks Ken.  Indeed, what ARE they going to do with me?

A Knight's Tale...

Gracious Readers;

Finally, I have been unearthed and am currently standing in the reception area of a beautiful building.  From what I have heard so far, from the people around me, I am in Chipman Hill Suites.  I’ve not heard of that city before, but I’m sure I will learn more the longer I am here.   

A very nice gentleman has just brushed some dust off my visor, for which I am very grateful - it has been obscuring my vision for years. I heard someone call him ‘’Ken’’.  I wonder if that is short for Kenneth?  One of the Lords in a nearby county to where I used to live was called Kenneth.  Such a shame he fell to the plague.  Personally, I blame it on the new chamber maid, as I’m sure she showed signs of the sickness on her return from the city.   

Anyway, I digress.  Where was I?  Ah yes, I have been unearthed.  For years I was in a wooden crate, with only the rustle of distant leaves and the creaking of beams to keep me company.  Occasionally, I would hear someone close by, and see a small crack of light between the gaps in the crate in which I had been imprisoned for so long.  On occasion, I would hear ‘’Yes, this is the one.  Excellent vintage and it will go perfectly with the roast venison. The lady will love this.’’    Could he possibly be talking about... ?  No, of course not.  I have dreamed of her for so long, but I fear it will remain only a dream.  If only...

I can’t recall how much time has passed, but it has been long.  I feel I have travelled the length and breadth of the world for so long, I have often wondered if I had fallen off it. That is, until yesterday.  Yesterday.  Oh what a wonderful day that was.  Having resigned myself to my non-existence, I was surprised to find myself surrounded by people!  Yes, real people; and the conversation appeared to be directed at me.  They weren’t talking to me though, they were talking about me.  ‘’I really have no idea.  It was here when we bought the house and I’ve never paid any particular interest to it. I had no idea what was inside the box and certainly didn’t expect something like this.  It’s rather spectacular. It does need a bit of a clean though.’’   I hardly consider myself an ''It''.  I do have feelings, you know.  But then followed the polishing!  Oh! How glorious it was to be outside that crate and have countless years of dust and grime rubbed from me in a massage fit for the King!  The very pleasing words when the task was completed were something I had not heard in a long time ‘’What a fine figure he is’’, ‘’What a handsome object!’’  Object? Object!  I am not an object, my fair lady, I am a person.  Or at least that is what I used to be. I often used to be told how handsome I was.  I used to be a true favourite amongst the ladies.