 Ports of Call. On Blue Horizons far at the world's end, strange fascinating lions back in us, bid us revel in their exotic splendors, come with us as we head for Ports of Call. Separated from the continent of Europe by 27 miles of wind-tossed water, and from America by 3,000 miles of blue sea, the tiny island of England lies like a green carpet under the soft English sky. Sailing up the English Channel past the rocky point known as Lamb's End and the busy harbor of Plymouth, we anchor at the great docks of Southampton at the junction of two wide rivers. Four hours by fast express and we arrive in London, the greatest city in the world. It was near London on a sultry June day in 1213, that England's greatness was forever guaranteed. On a broad meadow in Surrey, the feudal barons of England are gathered outside the silk and pavilion of their hated King John. Distant thunder booms in flooding measures, lightning licks about the cloud's sharp edges. The air is charged with tension as the barons draw closer, speak in low tones. I think you, the King, will sign Oxford. I have heard it said that he means to press for still more time to consider. He must be deaf and blind. There are not more than half a dozen barons still loyal to him, and even their knights are opposed to John. It's true, but if he thinks he can... Does he think to impress us with this silken pavilion and trappings of state? Ah, he's not even a man much less a king. Majesty! The King! Ah, mark his insolence as he seats himself. Well, my lords, your King will hear what you have to say in defence of this charter which you propose we shall sign. If your Majesty pleases, Baron Robert Fitzwater has been chosen to represent the barons in this discussion. Let him present himself. There is little to discuss, Your Majesty. You have been sent a copy of the charter. It represents our demands. There are certain clauses to which we object. We are willing that certain clauses be subject to discussion, but certain others we will demand. What others? I will read the most important. No free man shall be imprisoned or exiled without judgement of his peers. All persons shall be free to come and go in times of peace except outlaws and prisoners. No justice, constable, sheriff or bailiff is to be appointed but such as knows the law and is willing to observe it. Justice is to be done in cases of wrongful dispossession and all illegal fines are to be remitted. Are these your demands? If your Majesty wishes to keep his throne, he would be wise to sign the charter. But those are the very clauses I will not sign. That your Majesty want war? Lords, it is beginning to rain. Let us postpone this. It is raining and I have not had time. Your Majesty had best sign. Oh, very well. Give me the pen. And so was signed the Magna Carta, foundation of English law. Over the tiny turbulent kingdom years came and went. The house of Plantagenet was succeeded by the house of York, then Lancaster, and finally Tudor, whose impatient siren Henry VIII defied the Church of Rome. Bitterness and strife followed his death, but Elizabeth gained the throne where for 45 years she played Catholic against Protestant and enemy against enemy to the glory of England. 1599, in Elizabeth's magnificent court, her favorite for five years has been young Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex. Just after Easter, she receives him in her private apartments. Well, Essex, is there some urgent matter of life and death that causes you to ride here in the rain this morning? It's always death to me when I'm away from you. I kiss your Majesty's lovely hand. What a flatterer you are, Essex. Madame, I... Oh, you know I am not displeased. Never was there a man like you. Even Walter Raleigh? Even Walter Raleigh. You are jealous of him. I am jealous of every man on whom your Majesty's eyes fall for so much as a moment. If I could have my heart's desire, it would be that I might take you in my arms, draw the curtains between us and the world forever. The last that I am a queen. I know. But yours is a glorious reign. You have made England mistress of the sea. There are some who say Sir Francis Drake accomplished that. Sir Francis was but the instrument of Spanish destruction in your Majesty's hand. And without your favor, there could have been no ships bringing the treasure from the West Indies to England. Again, you are thinking of Sir Walter Raleigh. What is it that I may do to prove how high I hold you in esteem? Esteem is a cold word, Your Majesty. Affection, men? It is still but lukewarm. I am not afraid to speak boldly. And though you may rebuke me, I adore you. Essex, what do you want of me? Let me sit here at your feet. I beg you to send me to Ireland to put down thy own rebellions. You, Essex! Your surprise itself speaks ill of me. You think I am but a dancing fool fit for nothing but to dress myself in delving and brocade, to idle my time away at the gaming tables and kiss ladies' hands and ballrooms. Essex, you forget yourself. My sword is but a shining ornament. Oh, Your Majesty, you refused to permit me to go to Spain with Sir Francis Drake. Let me serve you now in this. I would put down the rebel tyrone in one swift stroke and add glory and even greater acclaim to Your Majesty's magnificent reign. So, you see me as a timid woman, holding you back from your man's life. Timid? Elizabeth timid? No. And if your feeling for me leads you to fear for my safety, I am a thousand times blessed. But Your Majesty knows that people are ill-pleased that the Irish rebels have not been put down. And if I should send you, the people's idol, they would... If I am the people's idol, it is only because they know my heart, my soul, my life are Your Majesty's and will be while I have breath to speak Your name and power to lift my sword. I cannot resist Your eloquence. I will instruct Cesar to have Your appointment drawn. Your Majesty, I am Your slave. God keep you safely. I will give you a token to wear. It shall be worn next my heart. I swear it. Take this ring and, Essex, if ever I should misjudge you, remember this. You have only to send me this ring and it will always bring forgiveness. Your Majesty, my love. Yes, Martin? Sir Francis Bacon, Your Majesty. Let him come in. Your Majesty. Come in, Bacon. I sent for you because you are a friend of Essex. There's little I would not do for Essex and nothing I would not do for Your Majesty. Well spoken. I am told that London is filled with gossip, Bacon. Gossip that Essex has lost half his men. Dead from disease, frittered away and unimportant scannishes. But he has made no real attempt to crush to Rome. Tell me, what is your opinion of the state of affairs in Ireland and of the manner in which Essex is proceeding? I am greatly honoured that Your Majesty should consider my advice worthy of her attention. What is your advice? Essex and I have been the closest friends since boyhood. As Your Majesty knows, Essex has greatly favoured me. My present position at court is due to his influence in my behalf. I know his nature as well as my own. And forgive me, Your Majesty. I have heard the present gossip that is being repeated in the court as well as in the street. You may speak freely. Your Majesty, if you were to continue him here at court as an ornament to yourself and to society, he would be in his right element. He is beloved by the people and well liked by foreign ambassadors. I have Your Majesty's permission to continue. Yes, yes, speak on. To put arms and power into his hands may be a temptation for him to prove unruly. Therefore, if you would send for him and satisfy him with honours here near you, if Your Majesty's affairs would permit it, I think it would be the best plan. Arms, power, temptation. Your frankness is very welcome, Sir Francis. You will speak of this to no one. Certainly not, Your Majesty. You have our permission to retire. Your Majesty. Perhaps I shall send for you again, Bacon. I am at Your Majesty's service. Good night. Good night, Martin. Yes, Your Majesty. I am going to my chamber. Send my women to me there. Yes, Your Majesty. Oh, I am weary. Why, Lucy, you here already? I thought Your Majesty might retire early tonight. Oh, you thought I seemed tired, ill. Oh, no, Your Majesty, never seems weary or ill. But since you had decided not to attend to Anthony's ball... There, there, it's all right. You're a sweet child, Lucy. Take off my wig and rub my head. Ah! Talk to me, child. Has Your Majesty heard of Will Shakespeare's new play at the Globe Theatre in praise of my Lord Essex? What's this? Oh, yes, Your Majesty. It is called Henry V, but everyone knows it's my Lord Essex who is meant by Will Shakespeare's words. What words? I know them well. We're now the general of our gracious empress, a good time he made from Ireland coming. Thing rebellion broken on his sword. How many would the peaceful city quit to welcome him? Huh? It would seem Will Shakespeare also wishes my Lord Essex well. But who does not? Except Sir Walter Randall. Enough of this for tonight. Call the others to prepare my bed. Your Majesty. In the morning will the time enough to consider what must be done. Is my wig ready, Lucy? Yes, Your Majesty, it is here. Hand me my mirror before you put it on. My hair is grey. Oh, Your Majesty. Don't try to take the mirror. How ugly I am. My face unpainted. My hair hanging in wisps about it. I beg Your Majesty. Lucy, will let me dress your hair. What's that? My Lord. Essex. Your Majesty, I have only this moment arrived from Ireland. I know my clothes are dirty and disordered from the long journey. My boots covered with mud. But I could not forbear one moment to see you. Lucy, go at once. Yes, Your Lord. Now, Essex, tell me what there is to be said about your conduct in Ireland. They say, Lucy, with an Essex of quality. Is it true he burst into her chamber and found her in a dressing gown unpainted and without Eve on her weave? I have heard it said. And now Essex is a prisoner at York House. But Essex, is it the height of injustice that you should be kept prisoner? Oh, what does it matter, Merrick? One day I am in the Queen's paver and the next I am cast out of the court and disgrace. There is this to consider. James of Scotland would like to rule England also. Merrick, you're not suggesting... Why not? It would not be the first time in this country a sovereign has been deposed. If you would throw your great popularity into the scale for James, much might be accomplished. I ask to depose Elizabeth. Why should you be loyal to her? After all you've done for England. She's ordered you into custody without compunction. Let me take a letter to James assuring him of your devotion. Oh, very well. Elizabeth is determined to destroy me. England holds nothing else from me now. Months go by. Francis Bacon warns Elizabeth the people will rise in anger if Essex is severely punished. At last she is set free. But only a few weeks later... Essex, the Queen is being told of your activities on behalf of James. What? I heard it from one of the Queen's ladies in waiting. She is not yet convinced, but you are in danger. Leave London at once. Go to Wales. There you can raise the standard of revolt. Men will flock to join you. Why should I run away? If the Queen wants my life... Who is there? The Lord Keeper, the Earl of Worcester and William Nollus and the Lord Chief Justice. You were under arrest in the Queen's name, Lord Essex. Take him to the tower. Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex. You have been found guilty of high treason against the person and the crown of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. You are sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered on Lugget Hill on the morning of February 25th. And may God have mercy on your soul. Has your Majesty had me brought here from the tower to gloat over me? No, to tell you of the chain in your sentence. Your Majesty? Yes. You are not to be hanged on Lugget Hill. But like other important prisoners of state, you will be the headed in the courtyard of the tower. Well, have you nothing to say to me? What is left to say? Why did you not send me the ring I gave you? I told you it would always bring forgiveness. I was brought to trial that justice might be done. Not to beg forgiveness like a lover whining at his mistress feet. Oh, you'll try my patience. But bet I can understand. It is not too late. Give me the ring, admit you wronged me. No. If I crawl from mercy now, if I beg forgiveness and it is granted, it will only mean that in a week, a month, or a year, this miserable past will be played out again. In the end, I shall die. So let it be soon. Oh, why must it be thus? Our love was destined to bring us nothing but misery and suffering. When I am gone, it will be over. By six, give me the ring. No! Last time I shall ask. Do you still wear it next to heart? Yes. Then give it to me. Say you were wrong. I have not much time to prepare my soul for death. I beg your majesty will send me back to the tower. Go then. I shall never see your face again. So closes one of the most colorful chapters in the story of England. Three years later, still grieving over the death of Essex, Elizabeth died. With her died the Tudor dynasty and the light-hearted stewards diced and drank and fiddled away England's wealth on the painted beauties of the court. Rebellion swept the land. Grim Cromwell ruled for nine brief years. With the death of the frivolous Charles II, the steward line ended. From Hanover in Germany, where summoned to England's throne, George I, and George III, who lost the American colonies in 1776. In 1805, the gallant Lord Nelson pits England's navy against the combined navies of France and Spain at the Battle of Trafalgar, and Lord Nelson dies to win it. Napoleon scourges Europe for 20 years. In 1814, Lord Wellington defeats him at Waterloo. Peace brings a new renaissance to England's life. A new generation of poets is born. Shelly, Keats and the tragic Lord Byron. June 20th, 1837. It is five o'clock in the morning. In her bedroom in a quiet London house, a young girl is asleep. Who's there? It's the Archbishop, my child, and the Lord Chamberlain. Please open the door. The gentleman, I'm not dressed. I can't see anyone now. We have most important news for you. Please permit us to come in. Can't it wait till I have vision and dressed? No child. Oh, my dressing gown. Here it is. I must put on my stockings and slippers. Oh, my hair's so untidy. Are you really ready to let us in, Victoria? Just a moment, gentlemen. There. Now you may come in. Uncle Leopold and my governess will be very angry with me for receiving you in my dressing gown at this hour. What news can you have that is of such great importance? The news that your uncle, William Fourth, died at three o'clock this morning. You are Queen of England, your Majesty. Queen of England? I? You have long known you would one day rule. Oh, yes, I was told I would be queen. But that's quite different from having the Lord Chamberlain of England kneeling at my feet. What will my governess say? You no longer have a governess, your Majesty. From this moment, you will command not only your own actions, but your loyal subjects, both in England and beyond the seas. God, don't. I may rule my people wisely. Two years later, a German prince, Albert of Saxe-Coburgotha, arrives in England determined to win the hand of the lovely young Queen Victoria. On a beautiful English autumn day, Victoria and Albert are strolling in the palace garden. Your Majesty is very thoughtful today. I'm thinking of something I said to Lord Melbourne, the Prime Minister, before you came to England. Something about me? Yes, Albert. To judge from your melancholy face, it must have been something most unpleasant. It was. Now I regret it. Then if you regret it, do I hope you have changed your mind? Oh, I didn't mean to say... that is, I... Yes, I will say it. I have changed my mind. I like you very much indeed. Victoria. I like you so much, in fact, that I have decided to...to marry... To marry me? Perhaps if you had made the proposal to me instead of the Prime Minister and my Uncle Leopold, I might have consented before. It was only because I fear to displease you by declaring my affection. Dare I hope you may learn to love me? My governess always told me it was not seemingly for a young girl to talk of love. But I'm sure that is not wrong for me to tell you that you may hope. Victoria. With Victoria's marriage to Albert, began the prosperous years of her reign, by four years the longest in English history. Brilliant successes came to her armies, and on the sea her navy became supreme. The 19th century sees England's colonies expand beyond her wildest dreams. Victoria becomes Empress of India. But Albert's death has changed her into a bitter, grieving woman, living in her memories in the golden past. Her life spins out. 50, 60, 70 years. Late one June day in the year 1894, she stands in St. George's Chapel at Windsor. Edward, Albert, Christian, George, Andrew, Patrick, David. I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. My first great grandson, the future king of England, Little David. The longest of England's royal lives came to a close in 1901. Edward VII, already middle-aged, ruled only nine years. George V ascends the throne amid the first mutterings of the storm that four years later sweeps all the nations of the earth into red disaster. 1914, England's first hundred thousand pour out their lives on Belgian soil. But amid the agony of no man's land, the sons of England lift their voices in exultant defiance of death. There is but one task for all, for each one life to give. Who stands if freedom falls? Who dies if England lives? 1915, Ypres, Liège, Amontier. I have a rendezvous with death at midnight in some flaming town when spring trips north again this year, and I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous. 1916, the Somme, they're done. If I should die, think only this of me, that there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England. 1917, Ymiridj, Pashendal. Take up our quarrel with the foe. To you from falling hands we throw the torch. Be yours to hold it high. If he break faith with us who died, we shall not sleep. Though poppies grow in Flanders field. 1918, Ara, Massime Ridge, Amiens. Peace. Home to England from France, from Mesopotamia, from Turkey, though the soldiers and sailors of England, a handful of the gallant men who held their lives so cheap that England's mean. Back from France goes Edward, Prince of Wales, who take up the task of preparing himself to rule. In January 1936, the summons comes. George V is buried at Windsor. Three months later, Edward VIII sits before a radio microphone in St. James's Palace, whose courtyard once echoed to the dancing hoofs of the horses and medieval kings. It now falls upon me to succeed my father to carry on his work. I'm better known to most of you as the Prince of Wales, the man who, during the war and since, has had the opportunity of getting to know the people of nearly every country of the world under all conditions and circumstances. And although I now speak to you as the King, I am still that same man who had that experience, and whose constant effort it will be to continue to promote the well-being of his fellow men. May the future bring peace and understanding throughout the world, prosperity and happiness to business people, and may we be worthy of the heritage which is ours. And now our steamer awaits us in the bustling harbor of Liverpool, where high over St. George's Hall shines a bronze replica of one of the extinct birds known as livers that gave the city its name. This modern industrial city with its great schools of medicine, engineering and law, contrasts strangely with the green fields and thatched cottages of the countryside to which we have just come. But the soft wind blows from the hedges and mingles with the salt of the sea to say that all this is the gallant heart of England. We're homeward bound once more from another journey to Port sub-call. We invite you to join us again next weekend this time as we journey to another of the world's fascinating Port sub-call.