The leadership rookie

  Note: this is a spoiler of Episode 4, Season 4 of the Crown. Thus, it is necessarily based on true facts. “He was right, actually…, who would have known…” This reflection drums in my head as my husband, the Duke of Edinburg, leaves the room with this sarcastically smile that I hate since the day I met him over 30 years ago. Who would have said that what Miss Thatcher told me two weeks ago would result into this humiliation…? I could barely believe her words when she said that her son was her favourite offspring. I immediately thought that was immoral. I love all my children the same! But then, when sharing my concern with the Duke, he did not only tell me Anne was his favourite, but he stated that I had one as any parent does! This thought brought a mix of curiosity, anger and concern. So, I decided to check in with the four of them to try to understand if I had indeed a favourite one. I first met Edward at Buckingham Palace. It had been a while. His explanations abou...

As his wife was tying the knot of the tie, Enric Marco (Barcelona, 1921) was fully focused in the conversation that was about to take place with Javier Cercas, a respected Spanish writer. He was mentally reviewing his plan of attack. Only the beautiful aroma of Dani and the raindrops tapping on the window could distract him from probably the last opportunity of his life. Cercas had contacted him several months ago as he wanted to write a book about his life. Enric was at that time, 2013, already in his early 90s and still immersed in a long-term depression. He had been so close to the glory of the heroes to suddenly fall to the solitude of the cursed… Back in May 2005, Marco was in Mauthausen for the celebration of the 60th anniversary of the camp liberation. He had been selected to speak during the event on behalf of the few Spanish camp survivors still alive. However, just two days before the speech, a newspaper published an article signed by a historian stating that Enric Marco ha...

“Was it 1957 or 1958 when we met?” – Roy asked “I think it was 1957 but I am not sure any longer” – Siegfried responded Today he was turning 59, but Roy felt that he was 46 as the day he met Siegfried in that old rusty cruise ship in Bremen, his life experienced a second beginning. And what a life… As the make-up artist was working on hiding his wrinkles, he stared at the spotlight mirror and his mind quickly winded back to his humble professional origins in Germany. First pfennigs (German pennies/cents) and penuries in post-war Europe, then some French and Swiss francs and finally glamour, success and piles of notes first in Monaco and then in the US. Tigers were his second love. They had given him glory and recognition. In return he had offered them optimal living conditions, protection from their threatened habitats and invested in numerous conservationist projects. He smiled with pride. The show would be starting shortly. Over 1500 people, some of them travelling from ove...

Muzafer woke up that Monday morning quite early. It was silent and dark outside that modest Oklahoma City hotel bedroom in that warm July of 1954. Carol, his love and his main companion in this adventure, was still in deep dreams whilst he was mentally reviewing his past years in Turkey and the US. Today was a big day. The culmination of many failures and some success. He hoped the experiment that was about to start in Robbers Cave State Park (OK) would catapult him into an eminence in the world of social psychology. He did not know yet, but he was setting the foundation of the Realistic Conflict Theory (RCT). It had not been an easy ride for him, Dr. Sherif. His first two experiences in the US at Harvard and Columbia had been quite successful earning him a PhD, a great reputation and a safe haven in Ankara University back home. Since then, his life had become utterly complicated. First the political situation in Europe made him flee to the US and then, in the US, the scrutiny of...

It is a cold May 1916 day in Elephant Island. A flock of penguins is observing with awe and interest a group of beings struggling to stand together against the fury of the wind. The birds have never seen those large bipeds in that latitude (61° S). Ernest Shackleton is looking at the same 27-people group. He knows them inside out. He recruited them for the now-failed expedition that was supposed to cross the Antarctica. He has shared with them seventeen long months of a strenuous survival journey. Ten months trapped inside the Endurance in the frozen waters of Weddell Sea followed by six months living on a floe and finally one week on three tiny boats trying to reach solid ground. Today is therefore a day of immense joy for those individuals. However, Shackleton, known as ‘the boss’, is aware that victory resides still far away, and the flame of hope is cold and almost invisible. Nobody is going to rescue them from this remote, ice-covered mountainous island. He has resolv...

Shizo san quickly recognized the orange taste in his mouth, it was a strange orange salty taste though. He was exhausted and could not well remember where he was. His eyelids weighted like two stones but managed to open them enough to realize he was in a room. There were two blonde-haired gentlemen staring at him. He quickly closed his eyes to try to understand the where and the why. Shizo Kanakuri, born in Tamana (Japan) in 1891, was one of the two Japanese athletes in the 1912 Olympics in Stockholm. The first ever Japanese expedition to the sports festival. He was a marathon runner and an incredible 1911 mark in the Japan trials had catapulted him into the big Swedish event. The trip from Japan to the Nordic country had taken 17 days, first by boat to Russia and then by rail through the Tran Siberian route to the final destination. These had been two difficult weeks of training, first running laps around the boat and second running on the Russian rail stations every time the...

Emperor Constantine was still in bed in his Blachernae palace of that April 13rd 6961 AM (April 23rd 1452 in the Gregorian calendar). His mind was going in circles trying to find ways to survive  the Ottoman siege that was threatening the city for over two weeks. Constantinoble was the last bastion of the Roman Empire, just a tiny territory of what had been the biggest power humankind had seen to date. His hope to receive support from Rome and Venetia was vanishing. T he miraculous Theodosian walls - over a thousand years old - were holding well to Sultan Mehmed’s new weaponry. But the scarcity of resources, both in terms of army and food, would require a magic solution. He did not want to be known as the Emperor who lost Constantinoble. Suddenly, in the midst of these thoughts, the sound of somebody knocking on his bedroom door resonated throughout the big chamber as yet another Ottoman bomb. That was unusual. He was the emperor. Who was to bother an emperor with such insi...