In London, Honoring the Living Remembrances of War

Have you ever seen a war monument walking? Here, you can find distinguished reminders of past conflicts strolling along the avenues of London’s West End or window-shopping on Oxford and Regent streets.

Their brilliant scarlet tunics and chests full of medals identify them as British army veterans, specifically residents of the Royal Hospital Chelsea. These grizzled career soldiers served their country in an array of conflicts from World War II to Kenya to the Falklands and Korea. Now they are living out their sunset years in a museum piece of a retirement home at the edge of the Thames River.

Britain has a special place in its heart for its old warriors. For more than 300 years it has billeted them in palatial style, in a cluster of stately Christopher Wren-designed buildings set on a manicured lawn and under stately oak trees in luxurious Chelsea. In this solitude and splendor, 380 veterans enjoy a pampered retirement: meals in an opulent dining hall, lawn billiards, spacious gardens and a pub offering $1.50 beer. Officials encourage visitors, though they discourage overt tourist promotion because, as one explained, “We are an old fellows’ home, not a human zoo.”

Buttonhole one of the courtly gents--or better still, steer him into a pub--and you’ll likely be treated to vivid accounts of the Normandy and Anzio invasions or the 1967 counterinsurgency at Aden. Their occasional braggadocio is to be expected from the old troopers. With time on their hands, most are eager to reminisce and to throw in an opinion or two on modern-day terrorism.

Intrigued by the sight of the redcoats amid Chelsea’s shoppers, I followed a couple to the Royal Hospital and was treated to a sliver of London that few tourists ever see. Behind the black iron gates lies a period piece of English architecture as majestic as Kensington Palace, another Wren masterpiece.

Though just three blocks from the trendy boutiques and bistros of King’s Road, the Royal Hospital is a world removed, a time capsule beckoning visitors to explore.

It lies next to another little-known treasure, the National Army Museum, a trove of British military memorabilia dating to the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. The collection of war relics, arms and armor from the Tudor era and Oliver Cromwell’s day (1649 to 1658) and dramatic battlefield models and paintings comprise a social history of how soldiers lived, worked and died across the centuries.

The two sites offer a tranquil afternoon’s respite from the fast tempo of the West End. And like many London museums now, both attractions are free.

“Hospital” is a misnomer for the elegant soldiers’ home, which is largely unchanged from 1682, when it was founded by King Charles II for “the succor and relief of veterans broken by war.” Today’s vets are less broken than they are lonely. Mostly widowers in their 70s, they have been drawn to Chelsea by the camaraderie and the perks (including the well-appointed social club, billiards room and library, bowling green and allotments garden, where the men can show off their green thumbs). In return for surrendering their army pensions upon entering, the “in-pensioners,” as they are known, are assured a lifetime of board and lodging, clothing and medical care, the latter provided by 60 medics, including three doctors.

Wandering through the archways and across the greenswards, I quickly began to appreciate the enthusiasm of the old soldiers for their digs. “Best hotel in the world,” one octogenarian veteran of the 1944 battle at Anzio told me as we chatted outside the Great Hall on a damp fall afternoon.

The sense of history and memories of distant battles hung heavy in the gathering twilight, and it was evident that the same calm and majesty that appeals to the old vets also captivates visitors. The trappings of the past greeted me at every turn as my companion led me into the cavernous hall, where rows of solid oak tables and chairs define the dining area and where portraits of Charles II, George II and John, Duke of Marlborough, adorn the walls along with inscriptions of campaigns dating to Waterloo (1815) and before.

In other rooms, Wren’s grand sense of scale and imposing form are just as evident and inspiring. In the chapel, a giant painting of the Resurrection, by Sebastiano Ricci, overhangs the apse, and the early instruments of prayer are enshrined, down to the alms dish, flagons, chalices and one of the original service books.

A mainstay of the week is the Sunday morning Communion and matins (visitors are welcome), which is preceded by a small parade of pensioners on the brilliant green turf of Figure Court. Bounded by brooding brick buildings on three sides, the court was Wren’s original set piece for the institution; looking south, across the oaks to the Thames, it is easy to see why this 66-acre property is among London’s most coveted real estate.

The ghost of Charles II was never distant as I ambled across the grounds, from his stark bronze statue at the center of Figure Court to the regal memorabilia in the hospital’s small but abundant museum.

What really brought my visit alive was chatting with the old soldiers, who were easy to find as they lounged on the courtyard benches or as I wandered along the winding walks. If you’re fortunate, as I was, to befriend a trooper, he may lead you upstairs to peek at the living quarters, known as the Long Wards.

On four floors, the men are berthed in rows of wainscoted cubicles, 9-foot-square rooms with minimal furniture and TVs. The digs may seem cramped, but there is a cozy charm, and the berths are far more spacious, the vets will tell you, than their army billets.

Since the 1680s, the in-pensioners have been organized along military lines, with six companies each headed by a retired officer, the “Captain of Invalids.”

Aside from the occasional parade, the pensioners’ obligations are minimal, and they are free to leave the grounds as long as they don the scarlet coats and ceremonial tricorn hats. The Marlborough-era dress draws attention, a decided plus in the pubs, where patrons spring for drinks.

Relishing such attention and interaction, most of the veterans will happily regale and assist visitors. “Tourists are good for us; it’s important to bring outsiders in,” says Derek Parker, a retired World War II artillery gunner who is 72 and who works part time as a museum attendant. “I feel privileged to be here. There are not many people who get to retire like this.”

Next door, the National Army Museum provides a panorama of British military history from the last 500 years. Artifacts and memorabilia, dioramas and interactive displays, and paintings and lifelike models capture the chronology of warfare from Agincourt to the Falklands.

Military buffs will have a field day, but so will anyone with an appreciation for history and the grand days of the empire.

Spread over four floors, the exhibits are far more than a collection of muskets and machine guns, although the range of weaponry runs from flintlocks to Kalashnikov assault rifles. Instead, museum officials have tried to show off some of Britain’s most remarkable military episodes from an ordinary soldier’s perspective, explaining how he was clothed, fed and disciplined and how he viewed the lifestyle and responsibilities. This has been done with meticulous research, including rummaging battlefields, most recently in Bosnia, for shell casings, canteens and other relics.

Visitors interact with displays and gripping dioramas of war and view scale-model battlefield scenes. There is a Cromwell-era helmet to try on, and a Tudor cannonball to lift, and a computer exhibit to test your military skills.

There are life-size figures of an Agincourt archer, a Burgundian hand gunner, a Royalist cavalryman and many others, and finely embroidered 18th century grenadier hats.

The original uniforms date back to a 1740s redcoat and, adding a chilling touch of reality, often are accompanied by the names of the rank-and-file soldiers who wore them. Strolling the gentle ramps from floor to floor, visitors can see a giant model of the battlefield at Waterloo (where the Duke of Wellington, with the aid of German, Belgian and Dutch troops, routed Napoleon) with more than 60,000 miniature soldiers.

Along the way there is a stunning exhibit of two centuries of British army swords and fascinating artifacts, like the skeleton of one of Napoleon’s horses, a lamp used by Florence Nightingale, and the saw and gloves used to amputate the Earl of Uxbridge’s leg during the battle of Waterloo. (He remarked later that the saw was a bit dull.) A gallery brimming with oils and busts of key commanders and sieges and a collection of 30 Victoria Crosses, Britain’s highest combat honor, round out the collection. The exhibits’ scope and professionalism help ensure broad appeal, particularly to Americans who fought with British units.

The American Revolution gets relatively short shrift in the exhibit because of the few artifacts available to the British from that war, a museum official said, and, more important, less interest by his countrymen in documenting it.

After all, he noted, “We lost.”

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The Royal Hospital Chelsea is open 10 a.m.-noon and 2-4 p.m. Monday-Saturday and at 11 a.m. for church services and 2- 4 p.m. on Sunday. For information, 011-44-20-7881-5209.

The National Army Museum is open 10 a.m.-5:30 p.m. daily. Admission free. For information, 011-44-20-7730-0717.

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Dick Woodbury is a retired correspondent for Time and Life magazines. He lives in Denver.