Flying with the Angels: Divided loyalties and an impossible choice

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Description Lizzie Angel has an indomitable spirit and, being the eldest of five, she needs it. With the end of the the Second World War, Lizzie and her family expect the hard times to end, but during the harsh winter of , life seems harder than ever. With Lizzie's father hell bent on emigrating to Australia, Lizzie must decide between family loyalty and the love of her life, Miles Thomas. But Miles, damaged by his experiences during the war, seems unable to return Lizzie's love, and she begins to wonder whether they'll ever have a future together.

Victor has worked with some of the great names of entertainment and had a longstanding correspondence with Stan Laurel. In recent years he has worked as a producer for Jim Henson, and set up his own production company, whose first TV documentary won an Emmy Award. Rating details.

Book ratings by Goodreads. Goodreads is the world's largest site for readers with over 50 million reviews. We're featuring millions of their reader ratings on our book pages to help you find your new favourite book. Close X. Learn about new offers and get more deals by joining our newsletter. Before the Izards departed from New York, Alice had written her sister saying, The hour of parting will soon arrive; I dread it but the hope of seeing you all in a few years will enable me to bear it.

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But almost five years had gone by now without visiting her family, and she could not help thinking that if it were not for this dreadful war she would be making preparations to return to America. How differently it had turned out.

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She and her husband had sent their oldest son, Harry, to be with her mother, hoping he would be a comfort and an amusing companion. Her three little ones were well, she reported, and Mr. Izard, as she called her husband, joined in sending love and blessings to his mother-in-law and their dear boy. Alice had heard nothing about her Grand Papa, Cadwallader Colden, but hoped he was in good health and spirits. It was a relief to know that her younger sister Jenny and her husband, John Watts, Jr.

Since Alice was in the English countryside most of the time, she had seen little of the senior Watts, who had fled New York for England almost ten months ago, but Mr. Izard had seen him frequently and reported that he was well. The letter to her mother contains a hint of her feelings, where she says how much she feels even for this Country meaning England.

But no matter. Her marriage to a patriot had already divided her own family, regardless of how she felt, and the tug of family against country must have been agonizing. Her husband, Ralph Izard, was a rice and indigo planter from Charleston, South Carolina, whose grandfather, Robert Johnson, had been the popular governor of that colony for two years and, for the last five years of his life, the first royal governor. Ralph, Alice, and their children went to England in but they moved to the Continent in , probably because it was unpleasant living in what was by then enemy lands.

Congress then appointed Izard commissioner to Tuscany.

Divided Loyalties

Recalled in , he returned to America in , but Alice did not follow him home until Izard was a strong Federalist, a supporter of the Constitution, and ultimately United States senator from South Carolina from to He died in , but Alice lived on for another twenty-eight years. Like so many of her fellow New Yorkers and her other countrymen, Alice Izard may have been loyal to two countries, to both Britain and America, may in fact have had a double allegiance, unable to decide which was her true home.

No two people could have been more representative of their prominent position, or rank as they liked to call it, in New York society than her parents, Peter and Elizabeth Colden DeLancey. Theirs was a tightly knit group of staunch loyalists, active partisans of the crown, determined to resist the radical onslaught that threatened to split the colonies from the mother country, ending its membership in the British Empire. Her father was the second son of Etienne DeLancey, a Huguenot refugee who made a fortune in the Canada trade and had become one of the most influential and popular men in the province of New York by the time of his death in But we do not know what was in her heart.

We only know that she loved America—or New York, at least—and loved England as well.

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And perhaps she never had to confront the wrenching decision so many others had to face, which was to make the ultimate choice and gamble everything they owned—perhaps even their lives—on following the dictates of conscience. The people of New York City, along with hundreds of thousands of other Americans, moved away from almost universal acceptance of their relationship with Great Britain and in less than a generation found themselves up against the profound and deeply disturbing question of where their loyalties belonged.

Their story had its roots in the last of the French and Indian Wars that ravaged the frontiers of thirteen British colonies.

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Rounding Sandy Hook and heading for the harbor, they sailed through the Narrows between Staten Island and Brooklyn, up past the forested shores of New York Bay, and got their first, distant view of the settlement at the southern extremity of Manhattan Island. What they saw appeared to be no more than a village, surrounded by trees and open fields, but it was an experience few visitors forgot. It was the most splendid Town in North America, according to one traveler, and few could argue with that. The last of four great Pleistocene ice sheets that had blanketed Canada and the northeast deposited drifts of clay and sandy gravel up to one hundred feet deep across much of southern Manhattan.

Where the ice stopped, as the glacier began to melt and withdraw, a terminal moraine, or accumulation of glacial debris, was left behind at either side of the Narrows, extending in a sinuous ridge from Staten Island across western Long Island. Washed by two rivers and the ebb and flow of Atlantic tides, Manhattan had the magical, beckoning quality of all islands, but to most Dutch and its later occupants, the English, it was perceived less in spiritual than in physical terms.

In addition to a central location among the colonies that were strung out along the Atlantic coastline, it possessed unparalleled access to the interior by way of the Hudson River. More important, Manhattan was blessed with a world-class deepwater port, protected by the Narrows and New York Bay, and was on the way to becoming the most important trading center in North America.

Except for a handful of native hangers-on, most of the people regarded as savages were long gone, off on the frontier somewhere along with the bears, wolves, cougars, and other wild creatures that had once made their home on what the Indians called Manahata. The settlement had grown beyond the original Dutch wall erected to keep out the Indians and beyond the later palisaded barricade built across the island in by panicky residents as protection against possible invasion by the French, yet it was still a small provincial town, a community in which virtually everything was within easy walking distance, and where just about everybody was a neighbor.

Built by the Dutch about , it had borne nine different names since that time and in the s was in a state of advancing decrepitude. Behind this bulwark of a hundred ancient naval guns mounted on small wheels, the skyline bristled with church spires and the cupola and flag of City Hall. Houses clustered along and behind the waterfront, and beyond them were low-lying hills and woods.

But the city proper was only a mile long and no more than half that in width, which was a godsend to everyone involved in trade. In a day when nearly all business was conducted on foot or by horse-drawn vehicles, a visitor remarked that the Cartage in Town from one part to another does not at a Medium exceed one-quarter of a mile. Letters, news, and official documents traveled only as rapidly as a man on foot or horseback or in a ship could carry them.

This was a world in which it took at least six weeks or more to get a letter from home in the British Isles, carried by a sailing vessel struggling against the westerly winds and subject to all the vagaries of weather, shipwreck, war, and piracy. Stockings, linens, shirts, kerchiefs, dresses, woolens, shoes—every item of clothing, it seemed, came from Britain, and New Yorkers were accustomed to delays of four or five months between the placing of an order and its arrival. A trip to Philadelphia, in good weather, with a good horse and solid footing on the roads, took at least forty-eight hours.

A journey upriver to Albany—normally a three-day trip by schooner—might take twice that long if winds and tides were uncooperative. Throughout the colonies, similar conditions existed, with the result that New Yorkers often knew more about goings-on in London than in the Carolinas or even Pennsylvania. Newspapers carried little but foreign news, largely because most colonials had almost no interest in what was happening in other colonies, and this self-imposed isolation was at the very root of the problems America faced during the seemingly incessant warfare along its vast frontier.

In theory, mail from England was put aboard a packet in Falmouth on the second Saturday of the month, but with the uncertainties of weather or possible damage to the ships one could only guess when it might be delivered. So the moment the packet boat was sighted sailing up the bay, word flew around town and people ran to the wharf to be on hand when the vessel docked, bringing official dispatches, letters, and the latest London papers.

When the Philadelphian Benjamin Franklin took over the slow, undependable colonial postal service in , one of his innovations was to have newspapers print the names of persons who had mail waiting for them.

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Then he initiated the penny post, which provided that letters not called for on the day the post arrived were sent to the addressee the next day by the postman for an extra fee. Letters which had been advertised in newspapers and remained unclaimed for three months were forwarded to the Dead Letter Office in Philadelphia. But as welcome as these improvements were, long-distance mail, especially, remained uncertain at best. The premise that the distance between two points divided by the rate of travel indicates the time it takes to get there governed relations between England and America, and it was significant in more ways than might come to mind.

One imponderable, of course, was the impossibility of predicting what the rate of travel across the ocean might be. New York society, led by the mercantile aristocracy, was patterned on and imitative of that in London, which meant that court gossip about the foibles and follies and fashions of the highly placed were extremely important to provincials, who were prone to social insecurity.

The faster they received word of what was de rigueur the more secure they felt. Shopping seasons for English goods were a boom time and a boon for every kind of hostelry and eatery in the city. Crowds from near and far flocked to New York to see the large fleet of English ships sail into the harbor, as they did every April and October, and their arrival was followed by a shopping frenzy that might last for weeks.

The ships made the round trip in about six months, taking half of that time for loading and unloading, and so it was that the very latest in garments—apparel from head to toe—along with books, pictures, furniture, and just about everything else was the main topic of conversation in those two months of the year. On their arms, their companions were beautifully gowned in satin or silk hoopskirts, wearing shoes with impossibly high heels and tight bodices that covered stays cut high in the back and low in the front.

And woe to the poor soul who had not yet heard from the staymakers who made regular trips from London and was unaware that waistlines had gone down this season. At some balls the ladies were expected to stand in line according to their purported rank, but this practice led to what Ann Watts described to her cousin Ann DeLancey as a monstrous Fight, after which it was decided that there shall be no Lady or Gentleman invited to dance that will not be willing to draw for a place, and that will be the only way to make things easy.

You will readily allow, she wrote, that our sex can appear truly amiable in no light but the domestic, and only in that manner can she find room to display every virtue. The social whirl included regular evenings at the theater, musicales as well as more formal concerts, entertainments given by the governor at his house in the fort—often celebrating some event like a royal birthday—as well as parties given by British officers at the garrison.

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And moneyed New Yorkers had the same enthusiasm for sports as the English gentlemen they admired—everything from bowls to cockfighting, fowling, sailing, fishing, horse-racing, and foxhunting on Long Island, and they welcomed one governor who arrived at his post with nine gouff clubs, one iron ditto, and seven dozen balls. The long winters were enlivened with shooting, skating, and sleighing parties just beyond town.

They purchased fine clocks, silver, wall hangings, and figured wallpaper from England. They ate off Lowestoft, Wedgwood, and Canton china.

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They drank fine Madeira, claret, burgundy, and champagne. They were served by a butler and maids, and driven by a coachman—all of them Negro slaves. These people were gregarious and convivial, meeting and gossiping in coffeehouses, inns, and private homes. Astonishingly, they met every night, and a visitor noted that only good topers were accepted for membership.

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