August 06, 2009

Fort Who?


“Who’s Henry?” Sam asked, when we told him we’d be spending the day touring his fort. Good question. And just the sort of thing we intended to find out on day one of our family vacation. Indeed, I figured it would be a rather dry couple of hours reading stuff and such of that nature from a series of historical plaques while Sam trailed along behind us imagining himself in charge of the place. I had no idea that Fort Henry would be such fun.

It was a gorgeous day for ambling around the highest point in Kingston, overlooking the Saint Lawrence where it joins the Great Lakes system—the view including Wolf Island, a large wind farm (not there in Henry’s day) and, in the offing, the United States of America. Hence the fort. With the headwaters of our shipping lanes to the left, the opening of the new Rideau Canal to the right, and the Royal Navy dockyards to the rear, the British had their worries. Plus, there was that spot of trouble with seven American warships during the War of 1812. Now, watching kite fliers in the park, university students on the football field and dozens of boaters on the lake all enjoying the summer sun, it’s hard to imagine a life lived in political tension and military readiness in this quaint pastoral scene of green fields and sparkling waters.

Not so hard for Sam, however. He was commissioned into service right then and there and trained as a guard, taught to march diligently, execute crisp turns, shoulder a rifle and charge down the advanced battery to fire on the enemy. The coat was a little big and he couldn’t actually see over the fortifications, but he performed his duties with gusto. It was really cute, mostly cuz he’s so small and has no intention of entering real military service. The more he heard on the (as it turns out) private tour with an enthusiastic member of the Fort Henry Guard, the more he appreciated the trials and tribulations of nineteenth-century life in general and fort life in particular. In the end, I think he was happy to hear that the soldiers stationed here never saw any real action, that there were moms and kids on site. And a goat named David.

We spent a funny half a hour in the Victorian school room, the young schoolmistress chastizing us all for tardiness and sloveliness (“loose hair means loose morals!” she said of my windblown mess) and quizzing us on the map of the British Empire, royalty, spelling and pronunciation (lieutenant), and popular sayings. When Jeremy couldn’t recall the maxim of the day, he had to draw his own “dunce stocks” and stand with his nose and fingers pressed against the chalkboard until someone in the class got it right. Sam loved it!

Then we climbed the ramparts to watch the Garrison Parade—a musical performance and marching demonstration followed by an artillery firing (blank charge, quite loud). Among the last people to leave the fort, we headed downtown to a restaurant patio where we enjoyed a delish dinner together, with lots of convo about “soldier times,” as Sam calls it. In this pic, you can see his little pewter guard standing at attention next to the Rob Roy (click photo to enlarge). Then we headed back up the highway to Ottawa, already looking forward to the part two of the vacation—Granby Zoo!
Who’s Henry? Oh, yeah. Uhhh, the guide told us…but I forget. But he had a point in Kingston named after him. And on that point there was a fort. And in that fort we had some fun. And the green grass grew all around, all around. And the green grass grew all around.

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