Cambridge

July 4, 2011

Independence Day in a land which seems to forgive its past misunderstandings. At the students’ advice, we celebrated the day by going to the American Cemetery, where our World War II dead lie in ranks and files of white crosses and stars of David under the pure Cambridgeshire sky. It was a deeply moving event. I am aware of how much a current of rage there is in my sorrow, as if, if one had stood there in sufficient rage–say the fury of the Covering Cherub– one might have saved some, or many, or all. If you come seeking one of your own family, the officer in charge will take sand from Omaha Beach and outline the letters of his name. John found Joseph P Kennedy Jr.

Bought John shoes and watched women in Lion’s Yard have their feet serviced by cleaner fish. Lucy Cavendish provided us a lovely picnic dinner for Independence Day, and now the students will disperse into the pubs to try to make the most of the holiday.

My nephews have adopted six orphaned kittens. The image of them and their big lug friends holding kittens to their bosoms and caring tenderly for them is almost too sweet to endure.