Why History? Part 3

When I was fifteen, I went to London for the first time. This was a huge moment for me. London had been the center of my universe since the day I began to learn about the Tudors (Elizabeth I in particular) and Shakespeare. It also had the pros of being the city of Charles Dicken’s A Christmas Carol, and James Barrie’s Peter Pan. Since this time, London has only grown more important in my life; I’ve found a thousand other books, movies, and historical figures that lived there who I have come to idolize. It features quite prominently in my thesis, to the point that I’ve looked up things in archives there. Not just London, but all of England has captured my heart—especially Bath and Oxford— as well as parts of Scotland and Wales. But when I was fifteen, London made an indelible impression.

Perhaps the most important moment in my historical education up to that point occurred in London. Before this moment, history had been a subject in school—one that I enjoyed, but nothing more. That, or it had been not history but historical fiction. Felicity Merriman wasn’t real, nor were the girls in the Dear America series. Even the movies I watched fictionalized reality—Evita, Elizabeth, etc. These people had been real and logically I knew this, but their lives were stories; they were portrayed by actors. In a way, history was nothing more than pretty costumes and an “A” on my report card.

So what happened?

Within the Tower of London, there is a tower called the Beauchamp tower, and here is where Robert Dudley, later Earl of Leicester, was kept imprisoned during part of the reign of Mary Tudor. While there, he carved his name into the stone of his room, as well as an oak tree. As I stood staring at the carved words “Robart Dudley” my dad said, “Just think, all that separates us from him is time. He stood right here, he touched this wall. If we could turn back time we would be standing right next to him.”

This concept floored me. It was as if I was just a little late to meet him. It was the same thing as missing someone by five minutes because you’re running a bit late. That person exists, you just missed them. Robert Dudley had existed, I just missed him. Suddenly, history came alive in a way that it never had before, even through listening to my dad talk about the Civil War battles or watching a movie. History existed personally. These people had all walked, and talked, and felt the sun just as I was doing (it was exceptionally good weather in London that trip). They had good days, bad days, cried, caught colds, laughed, danced, sang, felt embarrassed, felt exhilarated, felt scared, felt comforted, fell in love, fell out of love, slept, ate, drank, everything! They had friends, they had enemies, and they had their side of the story. And I didn’t see it happen to them because I was just a little too late.

Before I had been infatuated with history; now I was falling in love.