8 minute read
A Jewel In Chelsea’s Crown
Ahead of a members’ visit to the Royal Hospital Chelsea, find out more about its history and meet some of the Chelsea Pensioners who live there.
Words by Timothy Barber Photography by Martin Burton
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THIS MUST BE what they mean by ‘military precision’. I’ve never seen so much clutter – or what for most civilians would fast become clutter – organised with such discipline and exactitude, as when standing in the little room that Dave Godwin now calls home. Dave, 70, spent 25 years in the Royal Military Police, and his quarters – or ‘berth’ – are stuffed to the gills with the pictures and ephemera of a Forces life: photographs of regiments and units, Union flags, medals, mementos, regimental wall shields, more flags, family souvenirs. Everything in its rightful place, everything absolutely spotless. On a rack by the door, I count 16 pairs of shoes, each of them polished to parade ground perfection, save for the running shoes in which Dave is currently training for his next half-marathon.
“I arrived on my first day at 11 o’clock, had my pictures up on the wall by 5 o’clock and I was in,” he says. A Liverpudlian who speaks at an absolute clip, he is never short of a punchline. “Once I found out beer was £2.20 a pint, I was settled in forever!”
Chelsea Pensioners David Godwin and Monica Parrott in one of the original berths. Today’s berths are somewhat bigger but sit behind the PELL- MELL & WOODCOTE 59 same wooden panelling.
That was in 2019: the day David Godwin, a former Company Sergeant Major who went on to forge a second career as a solicitor, became a Chelsea Pensioner – committing himself to life in the support and care of the historic institution for Army veterans, the Royal Hospital Chelsea. Since visiting 40 years previously, he’d hoped it would become his home one day. “I came here in 1979 when I was in the Military Police, and I thought: that would really suit me. Once I retired, I knew I’d be getting to that stage where one day I’ll need help,” he says. “I was ready.”
The Chelsea Pensioners, unmistakeable in their scarlet jackets, medals and black hats (peaked ‘shako’ style for normal days, tricorne for official occasions), hold a familiar and deeply cherished place within the fabric of British life. We see them marching out past the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday; on duty at the Chelsea Flower Show and elsewhere; or out and about in SW3 and beyond; and we perceive in them the best of ourselves, of our heritage and our values. In the public consciousness, they embody
A Chelsea Pensioner commits him or herself to life in the support and care of the historic institution for Army veterans, the Royal Hospital Chelsea.
ideals that can seem fleeting elsewhere: duty, valour, patriotism, experience and resolve, not to mention dignified remembrance. “When I’m wearing this,” Dave says, pointing to his scarlet jacket, “I’ve never had to ask for a seat on the bus, put it that way.”
But if our affection for the Chelsea Pensioners is strong in the abstract, then public knowledge of who and what they actually are, and what the mission of the Royal
David Godwin among the memorabilia, photographs, running trophies and medals that line his berth.
Above: Figure Court, the central quadrangle of Wren’s Royal Hospital with a gold statue of Charles II as a Roman emperor, by Grinling Gibbons
Below: Pensioners in Figure Court’s colonnade Hospital is, seems flimsier. Misconceptions include the idea that Pensioners are all male (women have been admitted since 2009); that they always wear their ‘scarlets’ (day-today dress is a less formal blue uniform, and, as in the army, civvies from 4.30pm); and rather more importantly, that becoming a Chelsea Pensioner is invariably the crowning glory of the longest and most decorated military careers.
In fact, anyone of pension age who was a soldier in the Army, no matter how short their service (including National Service and Territorial Army veterans) and able to live independently on arrival may apply, – so long as they are free of any financial obligation to support a spouse or family. It is not for officers, unless they served at least 12 years in the ranks first, nor for Navy or RAF veterans.
Current residents include veterans of conflicts ranging from World War Two to Iraq. The state retains their military pensions; but, in return, accommodation, food and medical care are all provided. And, of course, so is comradeship: often, becoming a Pensioner is not so much a reward as a rescue.
I meet Monica Parrott, a sergeant in the Women’s Royal Army Corps in the 1960s, who thereafter spent 30 years as a psychiatric nurse. After running a small residential care home of her own, economic problems left her facing hardship. “I ended up losing my home. But I went to a do for army veterans, and saw two women there wearing their scarlets. And I thought, I wonder if they’d have me?” she says. “It was my salvation. A lot of people have got divorced or bereaved, they haven’t much money, and they’re wondering, is this it? Is this my life? But as a Chelsea Pensioner, this is where happiness begins again.”
The Royal Hospital, occupying 66 acres of prime riverside real estate, was founded in 1682 by Charles II. Overlooking the central quad known as Figure Court (with an incongruous golden statue of Charles, reimagined by Grinling Gibbons as a Roman Emperor), a huge Latin inscription lays out its mission: In Subsidium Et Levamen Emeritorum Senior Belloque Fractorum – ‘For the succour and relief of those broken by age and war’.
The Hospital (in the old sense of the word, meaning charitable accommodation) was to be a symbol of royal generosity and compassion, but was so huge an
undertaking that it took a decade to raise the funds and to build. Today it costs approximately £20 million a year to run; half of this is met by MOD funding and the rest comes from fundraising and commercial activity (such as the RHS Chelsea Flower Show, the Masterpiece art fair and other events), and investment returns.
The Hospital is the work of Sir Christopher Wren, and among the architect’s greatest masterpieces. The long corridors (or ‘wards’) that Wren designed were lined with individual berths, just six feet square, each containing a bed and a box for belongings. Today’s berths are slightly more generous, with ensuite bathrooms and a little more space. But they sit behind the same woodpanelled divides, which bear the original pegs from which hang the famous scarlet coats. The broad ‘Long Ward’ hallways are flooded with light from Wren’s enormous windows. His sensitivity as an architect is evident: the steps leading to the upper wards are wide and shallow, worn from 330 years of weary old legs pacing them.
Able-bodied Pensioners are encouraged to help to run the place: as guides, administrators, museum staff, gardeners. There’s a thriving lawn bowls society, a band, a Mess-style bar, activities and functions; though, in their twilight years, many Pensioners prefer to take things quietly and slowly. Eventually, the Margaret Thatcher Infirmary, a modern hospital wing built in 2009, is the expected ‘final posting’ of a Pensioner, where end-of-life care is provided. On that subject, there seems to be a stoic acceptance in keeping with the forthright military attitude; as is the banter that flies thick and fast among Pensioners as they walk around the grounds, or stand
Top: The Great Hall, where Pensioners have their meals. The Duke of Wellington lay in state here and the names of battles fought by generations of Pensioners line the walls.
Above: The Wren Chapel, featuring a mural of The Resurrection by Sebastiano Ricci
waiting for lunch in the magnificent dining hall where Wellington once lay in state, or pass each other on mobility scooters provided by the Earl of Cadogan. “It’s like the M6 round here sometimes,” says Dave as Colin Thackery, the singing Chelsea Pensioner who won Britain’s Got Talent in 2019, motors past.
Almost everything about the Royal Hospital Chelsea is military in style, from the uniforms to the fact that the Pensioners are organised into companies overseen by ‘Captains of Invalids’ and an over-all Regimental Sergeant Major (a retired officer). Really, this is simply tradition: there are no ranks, and no orders. All are equal. But for Pensioners like Dave and Monica, it is a culture that they understand, and that fits them; as it did the tens of thousands of Chelsea Pensioners who have preceded them over three centuries.
“Nobody has any authority over me here, but we have a military ethos,” says Dave. “We like it, and that’s why we come.”
The exceptional care delivered at the Royal Hospital Chelsea is made possible by the generosity of its many friends and supporters. The Hospital is raising funds for a much-needed upgrade to its Infirmary; for more information visit www.chelsea-pensioners.co.uk/donate
