Bows, arrows and battles keep my godmother credentials fresh

I’m blessed with a fantastic godson, but cursed by distance. We rarely rack up more than 10 days together over the course of a whole year, some of it usually during his expat family's annual "return to Blighty" each August. So when I get my turn, I want to roll out activities that perpetuate my best-godmother-ever reputation. 

The last summer before lockdowns, I scored big with his first baseball game as the Yankees and Red Sox came to London. Last summer, I was a hero thanks to the National Motor Museum and its Aston Martin Day. This year, he'd be staying for a whole week. How to maintain my track record? Archery, battle re-enactments and a few more battles on celluloid. With lashings of American pancakes, barbeques and home made pizza.

His favourite, I'm delighted to say, was the archery.

I probably could have found something closer than the hour and twenty minute drive, but online research showed New Forest Activities to have the best mix of instruction, timing and group size for the money. It turned out even better than planned when we were the only people in our time slot, meaning £27 each got us 90 minutes of exclusive use of their range with instructor Tom. 

It was blazing hot, humid, and we were shooting at things in a corn field. I was flashing back to my Missouri youth. Those days, of course, were why I'd chosen this. I like to have some credibility with kids when trying to impress them, and this was my high school sport. I was physically unfit and chronically uncoordinated, but I was also keenly competitive. I quickly realised that archery was the only "sport" at which I could stand still, not perspire, and be good enough to win Field Day prizes. The bookworm in me, meanwhile, loved all the literary connections. That still works for kids today, though they're more likely to associate with Hawkeye, the Green Arrow or Katniss Everdeen than Robin Hood.

Tom's instruction was fantastic and Sacha was soon getting most of his arrows somewhere on the target. I was doing better at a further distance but this was the kid's day, so after a third of our time further back we returned to the starting line. Meaning I didn't beat the kid by quite the margin I wanted to. (That's my story, anyway) He had a great time and used up almost every minute of our allocation, even though instructor Tom and I were both clearly ready to quit early if he'd wanted to wrap up.

New Forest Activities is only 10 minutes down the road from Beaulieu with its motor museum and adorable village, so you could easily do a kid-friendly weekend down there. New Forest Activities also do kayaking, canoeing, ropes courses and paint ball.

Earlier in the week we were off to the Marlborough 300 Pageant at Blenheim Palace, marking the tercentenary of the first duke's death. History is always dicey territory with teenagers, who may have had a bad experience in school and whose short attention spans can make traditional events boring. Luckily this one had a military encampment full of child-friendly historical re-enactors who were letting the kids beat on their drums, play with their weapons (under close supervision) and try on bits of their costumes. There was a full-scale battle re-enactment with foot soldiers, cannon, cavalry and a commentator on loudspeaker to explain it all. 

But the most captivating bit for teenager and adults alike was the "Meet the Churchills" session, where John and his wife Sarah welcomed you to their pavilion to tell you about their lives and answer their questions. Historical re-enactors are passionate about their periods and part of the game is staying in character, but I've never encountered any as good as these two. It was as if the real people had time travelled for our entertainment. Both were magnificent actors, fully inhabiting the persona of 17th century nobles, but they also both had a staggering knowledge of their subject matter. 

This is even harder than you might imagine because they had to place themselves at a very specific time: 1685. Because that was the date of the day's battle; a re-creation of part of the Monmouth Rebellion. (Re-enacting Marlborough's most famous victory at Blenheim would have required a troupe of re-enactors from Louis XIV's army who were willing to lose. Unlikely in the heart of England.) So the couple could only anticipate the victories ahead, the future residence and Blenheim and the falling out with Queen Anne. Between their performance and some very informed questions from the audience, it was the highlight of the day.

I am not above easy teenage-friendly options, however. Take the kid to a blockbuster summer film, buy him whatever he wants at the snack counter and enjoy the air conditioning. Fortunately, the film was Thor: Love and Thunder. My superhero grasp can be sketchy but is better when characters have links back to mythology or classical literature. With his deep immersion in Nordic myth, Sir Kenneth Branagh as an early director and co-stars like Natalie Portman and Anthony Hopkins, Thor has always been my favourite. And then there's the delectable Chris Hemsworth.

Not that you really need much prior knowledge for this glorious romp of a film. I didn't think anything could beat Maverick in the summer blockbuster sweepstakes but Love and Thunder is equally joyous. It's a comedy. A love story. An action flick. And while I might not have needed my context setting, a thorough grasp of mythologies of the pre-Christian world makes one plot-pivoting scene even better. I liked it so much I may be going back for a re-run with the husband.

The teenager is gone, the house is quiet, mountains of laundry await and I am perversely excited to have 13 days stretching ahead with nothing in the social or cultural diary. Perhaps I should use some of them to start researching next summer's godson activities. This trajectory of delight is going to be hard to keep up, even if Hollywood gives me a few more epic blockbusters.

Exploring Blenheim and Stratfield Saye: From the same start, radically different results

Blenheim Palace and Stratfield Saye are unique amongst all the stately homes of England, thanks to their peculiar origins. Both were gifts from a grateful government to generals-made-dukes who had won epoch-defining battles against the French. Both were intended to trumpet the glory of national supremacy in their art and architecture. Both are "paid" for with annual rent flags, given to the reigning monarch by the current dukes and hanging in places of honour at Windsor Castle. And both have become such potent monuments to their founding figures that they have a shrine-like quality.

Yet it's hard to imagine two houses more different from each other. Blenheim: vast and imposing, backdrop to scores of films and entertainment venue for more than 700,000 visitors a year. Stratfield Saye: homely and comfortable, only open a few weeks a year and little known beyond locals and people with a specialist interest.

Though familiar with ... and a past multiple visitor to ... both, I recently had the rare treat of touring them both within a week. The experience cries out for a compare and contrast exercise.

Blenheim is a baroque tour de force. Its no surprise that its architect, Vanbrugh, started out in stage set design. The massive scale, Versailles-like projecting wings and military encrustations on the rooftops all trumpet "an important person lives here!" That continues inside, where towering marble halls dwarf the individual. All the Louis XIV furniture makes the place look more like a museum than a house, while the painted walls of the dining room ... where the great and good stare down upon you from lofty balconies ... continue the theme of putting you in your place. I confess it's my least favourite of the major English country house interiors because it's so lacking in warmth and humanity.

You would need a towering ego to be comfortable living here; something clearly possessed by Sarah, the first Duchess. Records show that she was obviously the driving force behind the construction, pushing on for decades after her husband's death to make sure nobody forgot that he'd saved England, Western civilisation and the world.

The architecture and interiors at Stratfield Saye are equally marked by their founder, but the result is entirely different. This is a moderately-sized Regency house, as aristocratic seats go, with cozy interiors and scores of homey touches. It's easy to imagine moving right in. The original intent had been to build another palace on a Blenheim-like scale. (You can see drawings in the hall on the way to the dining room; they're actually rather hideous.) But Arthur Wellesley wasn't that fussed about making a big statement, and his retiring, estranged wife was never going to follow in Sarah Churchill's footsteps. The duke was instead far more concerned about comfort and convenience. He personally designed a central heating system, putting Stratfield Saye ahead of many other stately homes by more than a century. He designed en-suite toilets into his guest rooms, cleverly concealed in beautifully-crafted corner wardrobes. The customised lamps throughout ran brighter and cleaner than contemporary alternatives, fuelled by rapeseed oil grown on the estate. In his library, you can see the reading chair he designed to allow a variety of comfortable positions, with moveable arms to hold book, candle and drink. The practicality continues today: the family uses the first Duke's dispatch boxes as coffee tables. The pile of remote controls and current magazines on one leaves you in no doubt this is still very much a family home.

You find out all of these details because you're taken on a guided tour by family retainers. On a wet Easter Saturday, the three in my group were the only visitors at the time and thus enjoyed an entirely personalised wander and got to ask loads of questions. This kind of intimacy, I suspect, is because the Wellesleys don't need the tourist money the way the Spencer-Churchills do. The first duke of Wellington's practicality created a manageable, well-run estate that's now able to fund itself in a way Blenheim simply can't. Thus the conversion of the Oxfordshire palace into a tourist attraction of Disney-esque proportions. Someone has to pay to heat that mausoleum and maintain all that art.

That's not to say that Stratfield Saye doesn't house equally impressive treasures. The first duke might have been humble and practical, but he enjoyed a bit of triumphalism. The long gallery here has the best collection of French Boulle furniture in England outside of the Wallace Collection. China, fine art, furniture and sculpture all attract the eyes, though the best stuff is up at Apsley House (more on that here) and the most interesting stories come with the family portraits. At Blenheim, you'll see similar stuff on a much grander scale, but it's the famous tapestries that are unique.

It's obvious by now that as a house, and for its founding personality, I favour Stratfield Saye. But I'll give Blenheim a clear victory on the grounds. The Wellesleys' place sits in pretty but unexceptional Hampshire farmland, not much "improved" except for some trickery on the river Loddon to create the illusion of a lake, and some pleasant gardens. At Blenheim, the push for grandeur that made their house a cold mausoleum made their grounds one of the greatest landscapes in England. This is thanks to the genius of Capability Brown, the greatest gardener of the 18th century and perhaps of all time.

Brown swept away the formality of French and Dutch gardens to create visions of pastoral paradise. Hills undulate, water caresses, herds or sheep and deer add movement, carefully-chosen trees combine to clothe the landscape in different shapes and colours. Grand architectural statements punctuate the horizon at the end of long vistas. Ironically, it's all just as artificial as the parterres, espaliers and clipped box it replaced ... but it doesn't look it. Wandering through the park at Blenheim on a mild, sunny day is a soul-soothing preview of what heaven must surely look like.

Half an hour outside Oxford, Blenheim is open most of the year, and offers a full day out with a variety of attractions. There's a variety of admission prices; many people skip the house and pay the lesser fee to enjoy the grounds. It's also the venue for a regular stream of events. Stratfield Saye is tucked in between Basingstoke and Reading, open at Easter and for about a month every summer; check their web site for details. There's not much to do beyond the house tour, so you'll only need a couple of hours. The estate farm shop nearby, however, is well worth a visit and is open year round.

Sorority day out celebrates women, re-kindles appreciation for forgotten connections

From 1982 to 1986, my sorority was one of the most important things in my life. Chi Omega was where I lived, who my best friends were, and the identity that made me more than just another Northwestern student. Then I graduated ... and its influence disappeared as quickly as it had come.

My dearest university friends remained my "sisters". We regularly re-united in Chicago. But as time passed it was the bonds of our shared history, more than a couple of greek letters, that held us together. I ventured to a Chi O event once while living in Texas, where a group of terrifyingly beautiful, exquisitely-coiffed Stepford Wives with languorous Southern drawls made me suspect that my bond with my "sisters" had more to to with Northwestern than our sorority. I hadn't thought about the organisation for years. Then I got an invitation to Chi Omega's first-ever European annual gathering at Blenheim Palace. There'd be a private tour, a lecture, and a chance to meet up with a marquess. Why not, I thought, give it another try?

I'm so glad I did. It was a life-affirming day to celebrate female achievement, and it turns out that Blenheim is the perfect English venue in which to do so.

I knew that the dukes of Marlborough held one of the few hereditary peerages able to pass down the female line if there's no male heir. I appreciated that this, and the monumental palace the dukes call home, was heavily due to the dynamic Sarah, the first Duchess. I'd always loved the story of Consuelo Vanderbilt, the 9th Duchess whose American fortune saved the place ... and set a pattern for American heiresses bringing new blood and financial salvation to some of Britain's oldest families. But a spellbinding lecture from one of Blenheim's staff historians showed that this was just the tip of a formidable female iceberg.

The first duke wouldn't have gotten his foot on the career ladder if it hadn't been for his sister Arabella. Eldest child of impoverished nobles, she knew that becoming a rich-man's mistress was a solid route to money and connections. Deciding to go big or go home, she snagged the Duke of York (who was also heir to Charles II's throne). John and Sarah's daughter Henrietta ... who became duchess in her own right ... shocked society by leaving her well-meaning husband for the writer William Congreve, and further scandalised the world by insisting on a lavish memorial for him in Westminster Abbey when he died. A previous Lady Diana Spencer (the Spencers of Althorp and Spencer-Churchill's of Blenheim are two branches of the same family) dealt with a horrible marriage and financial difficulties by becoming a proficient portraitist who deserves to be better known.

The seventh Duchess ran a social welfare network across the family estates (most of Oxfordshire) that would put many modern health and social services departments to shame. Finally there was the tragic story of early plastic surgery gone wrong in Consuelo's successor. Duchess Gladys wanted to perfect her already-legendary beauty by smoothing out a bump in her nose. She had some wax injected there to plump things up. The result was perfection, until one particularly hot summer when the wax melted, leaving brown rivulets and lumps permanently scaring her face. The trauma drove the poor girl mad.  (Botox fans, take note.)

Later in the day, we moved on to our very own Chi Omega connection to the English aristocracy. From 1930 to 1958, the sorority was the engine behind a National Achievement Award for women, designed to redress the balance of male-dominated schemes like the Pulitzers and the Nobels. Stella Isaacs, the first Marchioness of Reading, was one of just two non-Americans to be given the honour. In a remarkable life that included holding traditionally male jobs, travelling extensively, taking diplomatic posts and making famous friends like Eleanor Roosevelt, her biggest lasting contribution was the establishment of the British organisation now known as the Royal Voluntary Service. (You can read more about her here; she really deserves to be better known.)

The current (fourth) marquess of Reading is her step-grandson. It sounds a distant and tenuous connection, but because she was a second wife much younger than her husband, Lord Reading not only remembers her ... but served in the house of Lords with her very early in his own career. He regaled us with family memories and inspired us with stories of her sense of political leadership as service. A philosophy, be bemoaned, that's too rare in the current world. Few could disagree.

After a day at the palace we retired to the home of one of the sisters who lived nearby, taking time to

get to know each other. It was a diverse group. There were 20-somethings up to a woman celebrating 50 years since she'd initiated. Mostly American expats, but one Brit who'd gone to Missouri's William Woods College on a golf scholarship. We were articulate, successful and represented a wide range of professions from lawyers to military officers to a Church of England priest. I suspect that, if the founders of that award could have dropped in, they'd be content that their efforts had triggered the sort of female parity of achievement they were aiming for.

It's ironic. At 17, the main reason I joined a sorority was for the social life. Which, at 17, actually meant: to meet boys. Picking the connection back up more than 30 years later, I realise it's really about meeting, encouraging and celebrating successful women. As a university student, I suppose I took that for granted. These days, after a career in male-dominated industries, looking up to male-dominated boards, I'm far more aware of just how important that is.

Coming in my next entry, more on Blenheim Palace itself, and its alter ego Stratfield Saye.