Oh, Give Me A Home...

I have now departed Washington, and made my way northwards to the City of Brotherly Love, Philadelphia. I've been in the archives here for the best part of a week now, but as I imagine you are far more interested in my viewing the original copy of the Declaration of Independence than you are in my uncovering stories of a riot in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, in 1794. So this missive will focus on my last two days in Washington.

Before I spent my last day at the Library of Congress, I decided that I had to go and pay homage to the public vaults of the National Archives - home to the original copies of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, in addition to one of four original copies of the Magna Carta of 1297 (one thing I learnt from my visit was that each King signed a copy of the Magna Carta at the start of his reign so as to show the limits of his power). In truth, these displays weren't particularly illuminating - nor were they illuminated. Such is the condition of the documents that they are badly faded, and so they are placed in an airtight box for preservation. These boxes have only two footcandles worth of illumination - that is, the same amount of light you would get from a two candles a foot away. To put this in context, the brightest days outdoors can be as bright as 12,000.

The other problem with viewing the documents was that there was something of an assembly line feel to it. Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of visitors to the Archives have one aim - and this leads to there being a bit of pressure to move through the exhibit quicker than I would have liked (though I resisted). One consolation for this was finding out what Americans don't know about their history. The family in front of me actually made some perceptive comments and showed genuine interest in the whole exhibit (that is to say, they didn't rush through and took their time over the explanatory display before the sacred documents), yet were amazed that only 12 states had signatories to the Constitution.

Historical sidenote - Rhode Island were the delinquents, mistrusting the motives of those behind the convention. Recognising that the Articles of Confederation demanded unanimous consent for it to be amended, they felt that by staying at home they would protect their own interest - not counting on the delegates at Philadelphia coming up with an ingenious, if illegal, method of securing ratification for their document (that is to say, calling for the Constitution to be ratified by popular conventions in 2/3rds of the states, thus laying a claim to it being sanctioned by the people themselves). It may not be common knowledge, but you would have thought that an education system that prides itself on instilling a knowledge of US history would get details like these right.

As another sidenote, one of the frustrating things about the US attitude to public history is that everything is portrayed as if it was solely about liberty, and divinely ordained for greatness. The story is actually all the more remarkable and brilliant for the fact that it was born out of all kinds of disagreements and different motives. Although there is much to commend about the veneration for history over here, it always disappoints me that some of the complexities get ironed out.

That said, the trip to the National Archives was worth far more than what I paid for it (it was free). Before getting to the vault, I had perused an exhibition on the early years of the 20th Century Presidents, including video clips of the Presidents reminiscing on their early years, and even some schooltime essays, including one by JFK where the first page was written in French.

The real highlight, though, was the permanent exhibition on the materials stored in the National Archives, based loosely around the provisions of the Constitution. Well-thought out displays included clips of light-hearted Presidential press conferences, interactive exhibits that allowed you to 'take part' in Congressional debates and votes, recruitment videos throughout the 20th Century and documents showing negotiations regarding the fixing of state and national boundaries. This was very much an example of how history should be presented.

Later in the evening I caught up with Todd, a friend of mine from the Masters course, now working in Washington in the field of environmental law. I'd last seen Todd as we disembarked from a punt the day after we finished our exam, and it's strange to think that our next meeting proved to be barely six blocks from the White House. We spent an enjoyable early evening discussing all kinds of topics from the fate of our classmates through the outlook for the 2008 election to the eccentricities of Oxbridge tuition. After that I took an early night in preparation for my journey to Mount Vernon.

Any long journey - or at least any journey outside of city limits - by public transport takes some preparation in America, but I couldn't have asked for a more efficient journey. I stepped out of the metro to be greeted with the sight of my bus pulling up, and even better, the journey was free. It may only have been a bus journey from Washington, but I may as well have been entering a different world. The side of the road was, as is customary anywhere in America, littered with adverts. These adverts, however, were for churches of any and every description - Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Methodist, Baptist, Unitarian - though I didn't see any for Scientology! More than that, though, the churches themselves were striking in their architecture, and in the prime spots of real estate. They clearly had set out to provide a visible presence of God on earth.

Mount Vernon was the home estate of George Washington, though there were large periods of his life when he never set eyes on the place, most notably the eight years of the Revolutionary War (his only return home was to plan the battle of Yorktown). The estate was his own, bequeathed to him by his half brother, but he was able to expand the holdings and the chief dwelling-house through marrying the wealthiest widow in Virginia, Martha Custis. The estate is stunningly beautiful, though I had turned up on one of the best (and hottest) days of the year. The entrance to the estate was constructed with an eye-catching symmetry; the house itself was built with a view of the Potomac. Had I found myself in the vicinity of the wharf at the right time, I'd have indulged myself with a boat trip on the river itself.

For all that Washington was an undoubtedly wealthy man, however, the house is nothing like those of minor English figures. While spacious enough to accommodate four guest bedrooms, the appearance of the house is more that of a wealthy golf clubhouse than the splendour of a Chatsworth or a Blenheim. The grounds, however, have a more natural charm. They've been set up deliberately to give an idea of the various enterprises that Washington engaged it - so you have a farm, complete with displays of Washington's own crop rotation, a flower garden with all manner of exotic flora, and a forest trail with boards lamenting the demise of native American animals. The veneration of Washington does go to excess, however. Pretty much any item is cited as evidence of Washington's visionary nature or splendid intellect. This goes so far as to one board outside a 18th century privy house declaring that "Washington understood the importance of proper sanitation". So if anyone ever tells you Washington didn't know shit, you can set them straight!

Perhaps I find this more surprising because Washington was by no means one of the great brains of the Revolution. A master military strategist, granted, but the minds belonged to Franklin, Jefferson, Madison, Hamilton, and possibly Adams. Nevertheless, he provided the embodiment of the nation in a way that none of the brains could ever have managed. Indeed, it was his support that led to many of the more ambitious plans of the Founding Fathers ultimately being accepted.

I'd have spent more time exploring the grounds, but the day was blisteringly hot. Instead, I admired the view of the Potomac from Washington's verandah, saw the bed in which he died, and wished I had a study the size of his. The study was also notable for his 'fan chair', which had a device so that pressing pedals on the floor operated a fan above his head. The house was clearly designed to show off his opulence; in addition to the four guest bedrooms, most of the decoration in the public rooms was in garishly bright colours. The custom of the time was to have private dwelling quarters for the family, but a number of waiting rooms and bedrooms with which to entertain guests - and the bright paint was only affordable to those with quite some moolah.

I finished my tour with a trip around a museum that provided a narrative of Washington's life, touching all aspects of life from his religion, to his relationship with Martha, to some rather overblown descriptions of his Presidency - or perhaps that is just my Jeffersonian sentiment bristling at the injustice of seeing Federalist policies so highly venerated! Nevertheless, for all the hagiography that couldn't help but seep through, it was a thorough and broadly fair depiction of his life, and the trip out was thoroughly worthwhile. For the most part, it showed how well the Americans can display their history.