A few years ago, I’m in London for Guy Windsor‘s wedding, and he’s booked a handling session at the Wallace Collection, a place I used to drool over when I was a kid and marooned in Edinburgh with only the armor in Ewart Oakshott books to look at.
We’re a bit early so decide to cram in some extra squee-time.
“Oh look,” I say. “They have three galleries of Indian and Asian Arms and Armour. How come we never seem to look at them?”
I step into the first gallery, glimpse exotic punch daggers and gauntlet swords and–
—I can see down the length of the building; room after glorious room full of the weapons of the world, and then, framed in a doorway, a Gothic knight on his armored horse sword raised and all that steel has a kind of magnetism and my feet respond to the pull–
–and suddenly I’m staring up at the knight with a stupid smile on my face and there’s more European armor in the next room and some swords and…. Oh wow I forgot! An early bascinet...
One day I swear I will look at all those lovely Asian weapons.