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Working at Home and NYU-London, Re-visiting the Wallace Collection, Coffee with a Friend and Departure for Suffolk

Oct29

Thursday, October 27, 2016

London and Suffolk

Waking up at 5.30 is now part of my routine–I probably am sleep-deprived but I do not feel it. Before sunrise, I have accomplished a great deal each morning: I catch up with email, write a daily blog post, review my To-Do List, making transport and hotel bookings for forthcoming travel…the list goes on.

But by 8.00 am, I was hungry and since I did not have too much by way of breakfast at home (I am once again in the process of cleaning out my fridge), I decided to go out for a walk in Ealing to find out if I could get a full English breakfast anywhere. After an hour of wandering, I found one place that did a Full English ‘halal’ breakfast (turkey sausages and no bacon!) Well, I wasn’t having any of it–so I went back home, toasted a croissant and a scone and ate it with spreads and coffee while feeling impatient with myself for having wasted an hour I could ill-afford.

Still, I quickly caught up on my list of work-related items for the day as I finalized the Author Questionnaire that had been sent to me by my publishers. It took much longer than I thought as I had a bit of research to do to fill in the answers. By 12 noon, I stopped to make myself a sandwich lunch, had a shower and got dressed. I also packed an overnight bag for myself as I would be meeting my friend Loulou in the evening for a ride into the country with her. As you can see, I had so much to do.

Detour at the Wallace Collection:

With time flying, my extensive proposed travel through the months of November and December in Europe and India, I am already looking at the end of my stint in London. Hence, I have a compelling need to finish seeing favorite works in the many museums that I have haunted through the years and which I have not yet seen.

Having finished a lot of my work at home and knowing that I needed to spend no more than an hour in my office, I took a detour and got off at Oxford Circus from where I walked along James Street to get to the Wallace Collection–for that was my goal today. I intended to take a look at my favorite works in what is a most unusual museum in the city. Just as Paris has its private homes or hotel particuliers that belonged to the aristocracy and were receptacles of their compulsive collecting of art works, so too the Wallace Collection represents the collecting zeal of four of the Marquesses of Hertford and Sir Richard Wallace, son of the fourth Marquess. It was gifted to the nation by Lady Wallace and represents one of the finest collections of 18th and 19th century decorative arts, Old Master paintings, sculpture and furniture as well as a first-rate Armory collection. What’s more, since it is housed in their own home, you get a peep into the world of the astronomically wealthy with its own brand of interior decoration that we do not usually see–for seriously, this is a palace.

I am always amazed by how grand it is–as I keep forgetting between visits what stupendous wealth the aristocracy amassed. The entrance stuns, the staircase that winds upwards is arresting. There is opulence and grandeur everywhere. Nothing was understated–remember this is the 18th century…that Baroque period when everything was Over The Top.  I climbed the stairs and feasted my eyes on the fabulous collection of paintings by Francois Boucher with their chubby cherubs and their skeins of fruit and flowers and their idealized women with buxom figures and generous hips. In the next room, there is a massive collection of paintings of French women by Greuze–loads of them. But a lovely one also in this gallery is a portrait of Miss Bowles by Joshua Reynolds which Marina Vaizey numbers among her One Hundred Masterpieces of World Art. In the next room is another one of Vaizey’s picks–The Swing by Fragonard. It is surprisingly small but filled with exquisite detail. My other favorites in this collection are The Laughing Cavalier by Franz Hals whose sardonic glance stops you in your tracks and Dance to the Music of Time by Nicholas Poussin.  There are rooms simply stuffed with Canalettos and Gaudi’s depictions of Venice and since most visitors focus solely on the paintings, you tend to miss the abundance of sculpture and the extravagant furniture in the style of Boule–ornate and heavily gilded. There is a lovely self-portrait by Rembrandt and right opposite it is one of his son Titus. There are paintings by Reubens and quite a few by one of my favorite Flemish painters, Pieter de Hooch.

You can see this collection hurriedly, but it really deserves an entire morning devoted to it. I did not have as much time as I would have liked but I was mesmerized by the painted Sevres porcelain, the amount of jewelry on display and the Italian ceramics. Each time I visit this place, I keep saying that I will return again and spend more time here–but somehow, it never happens. So I was more than happy that I had found the time to fit this visit in–towards the end of my stay here.

Off to NYU to Work:

At NYU, I printed out a great deal of material to review. I read it carefully and also printed out my air ticket to India as well as material for the lecture I will give at the University of Leeds in the north of England where I will be headed in a couple of days. I needed to review and prepare for that lecture too and I intended to do so in Suffolk.

Meeting Rahul for Coffee:

At about 4. 30 pm, I emailed Chriselle’s friend Rahul to find out if he was still going to keep our coffee meeting at 6 pm at Liverpool Street Station–two evenings of cancelled appointments might have been followed by a hat trick. I was taking no chances.  He was. I continued working till 5. 15pm, then took the Tube to our appointed spot (Wasabi right outside the station on Bishopsgate) and had a lovely reunion with him.

It was while we were sipping our lattes and catching up that I got a call from my friend Loulou. Since it was half-term holiday, all trains were running at off-peak rates–we did not need to wait till 7.00 pm to catch our train. She wondered if I could meet her earlier. When I told her that I was having coffee with Rahul, she joined us at Café Nero. Rahul had finished telling me about his global work clients in financial management and his coming trip to Bombay for Christmas–where we hope to meet again. He is a childhood friend of Chriselle and it was at his place that she had stayed in London before I joined her from Oxford. Rahul has proven to a thorough gentleman on more than one occasion and had given me a hand with my move from Holborn to Farringdon about eight years ago! We have stayed closely in touch through the years and it is always a pleasure to meet him when I am in London.

When Loulou joined us, we had a lovely natter, the three of us together, before I bid Rahul goodbye and we raced off for our train.

Off to Suffolk with Loulou:

The train crept and crawled all the way to Ipswich–there is always trouble of some sort or the other on the tracks, it seems. Still, we did not mind as we had so much catching up to do. The lights of the skyscrapers of Liverpool Street Station gave way to the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf and the well-lit buildings of Stratford and the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park–the Acelor Mittal is spectacular in its rosy red glow just meters from the train tracks. Once we left the city behind, however, there was pitch darkness outside as we headed into Suffolk.

Loulou had her car parked at Ipswich station from where we drove to her place, about 45 minutes away, through quiet villages and miles of vast and empty fields. Having lived here for thirty years, Loulou knows this region like the back of her hand–she was not daunted, therefore, by fallow deer that darted about in front of us or by narrow country lanes.

Entering her property at Stanny House Farm, we were greeted by a whole flock of black-faced baa-ing sheep as we made our way to her front porch! What a welcome! Soon my memories of this lovely place came rushing back to me as we entered the large country family-room-cum-kitchen whose brown wooden cabinets and spacious counter space reminded me so much of my home in Southport and made me feel a trifle homesick.

Loulou was starving and did not lose time in pulling out a most delicious Boeuf Bourginon that was made with amazing home made stock. It was wonderfully redolent of bacon and mushrooms and it made a very satisfying dinner indeed on a fairly cold night. As she caught up with her email, I caught up with mine (once I acquired wifi passwords) and soon I was making my way to bed for it was already 10.30 pm.

My room was a charming and sweetly-decorated space with a view, she promised, that was the best in the house–but I would have to wait to find out when sunlight returned to Suffolk. For the moment, I washed and undressed in my little bathroom right outside my room and went off to sleep.

It had been a day of much accomplishment and joyous reunions and I was all set to enjoy my time in the countryside as I fell asleep.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Caravaggio at the National Gallery and Indian Lunch in Southall

Oct27

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

London

Having gone to bed at 9. 30 pm, I suppose it wasn’t surprising that I awoke at 3. 30 am. However, I did force myself to get back to sleep and when I opened my eyes again, it was a little before 5.00am–which made it the most sleep I have had in months! Not a bad thing at all. I awoke refreshed, relaxed and ready to start what turned out to be a rather bizarre day.

So, as usual, I did a blog post, caught up with email, planned my list of things to do for the day and had my brekkie–two toasted croissants with spreads and coffee. All these carbs, by the way, are doing a number on my weighing scale. It will be Low Carbs/No Carbs for sure when I get back home. But for the moment, it is simply easier (and much cheaper) for me to load up on bread and pasta. I watched some inane TV while munching my breakfast and decided to dress and leave the house without a shower as I wanted to shampoo my hair in the evening. I was meeting Raquel at the National Gallery at 10.00 am–so at 9. 15am, I left my flat to get into the Tube.

Caravaggio at the National Gallery:

I do not, as a rule, pay to see exhibitions at the National Gallery–as I prefer to wait for them to simply come to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (which they almost invariably do). This one was an exception to my rule–as it was Caravaggio, who is simply my favorite artist of all time. I have tracked down his work in many parts of the world and spent a while in contemplation before each one of them. Thus, it was that I made plans to meet my friend Raquel at the National Gallery so that we could see it together. There was actually a line to get in at the Sainsbury Wing where you purchase tickets, but it moved quickly and in no time at all, we were presented with our tickets (15 pounds each) and an audio guide (another 2. 50 pounds). Armed with our tickets, we went downstairs to the basement for the show.

Unfortunately, I could not linger as long as I’d have liked to–first off, it was crowded and there were heads of varied size vying for space in front of me. Getting the audio guide was a good idea as it would have been impossible to inch up to the curatorial notes and to read them in the rather dim lighting of the place. Secondly, I had a luncheon appointment all the way in Southall which would take me at least an hour to get to. Hence, the consciousness of time…

The show is powerful, I will tell you that. However, do not expect to see an assembly of Caravaggio’s works from around the globe. There are no more than five of his works and two are on permanent exhibit at the National–Boy Bitten by Lizard and Supper at Emmaus. What I found really fabulous was John the Baptist which features the prophet in his youth (I do not think any other artist has presented him in this guise)–not just young but muscular (contrary to the emaciated ‘voice in the wilderness’ portrayal to which we are accustomed). And, of course, the big ‘discovery” of the exhibition is the mesmerizing ‘Taking of Christ’, painted in 1602 that was unearthed for the very first time a couple of years ago as a genuine Caravaggio. Jesuit priests in Dublin who own it, ate their meals in their refectory below its deeply moving presence. On discovery that it was a real Caravaggio, it was moved to the National Gallery of Ireland. At the National, it is justifiably the highlight of the show–not just because it portrays a Biblical moment with such vivid immediacy and ominous intent but because it contains–surprise, surprise!–a self-portrait of the artist, clearly discernible at extreme right, keeping company with Judas who has identified the Messiah with a kiss, but actually holding up a lantern to light up His face. Is  the artist implying that we are all complicit in the act of betrayal? Striking in this depiction is the dull gleam of silvered armor worn by the Roman guards and the calm expression on Christ’s face as he faces the inevitable.

But this painting apart, the aim of this exhibition is to emphasize the huge influence that Caravaggio had on artists who followed for the next couple of centuries–he was indeed the Old Masters’ Master! From the Frenchman George de la Tour (whose depictions of genre scenes such as the telling of fortunes on the streets and the cheating at card tables are reminiscent of the larger-than-life portraits that fill Caravaggio’s canvasses) to the Father-Daughter team of Orazio and Artimisia Gentileschi whose paintings exude drama whether it is the Slaying of Goliath (Orazio) or the Abduction of Susanna (Artimisia). As I said, this is a powerful exhibition and you will be repeatedly struck by the play of light and darkness (chiaroscuro that Caravaggio perfected), the capturing of the impact of a single candle upon the faces of the subjects, the manner in which a stray ray of light from a lone window can illuminate raw expressions on the faces of commoners. Caravaggio mastered all the techniques: he knew how to portray people, the minutia of objects crowding a table (as in a still life) and expressions on animated and quiet faces while sparing no detail in providing a narrative. This exhibition was profoundly moving and will stay with me for a long time to come.

Outside at Trafalgar Square, there were children everywhere–I realized it is half term holiday which means that English children have the week off. Working parents take the week off with them and, as was obvious, many were having a staycation in the city!

Off to Southall:

Raquel and I had a quick post-mortem natter about the exhibition (which we both loved) before she went back into the gallery and I scooted off to Southall for my luncheon appointment.

I took the Bakerloo line from Charing Cross to Paddington and the Great Western Railway to Southall–it was the second stop after Paddington, the first being Ealing Broadway–so if I had gone to Southall from home, I would have been there in ten minutes! Who knew? Well anyway…From the station, I had to make my way to The Broadway where the restaurant called The Punjabee is located. I had looked it up on Google maps and it was at least a 20 minute walk from the station. So I hopped into a bus sailing down the street for a while and cut off about half of the walk. I did reach on time at 12. 45 pm and there they were–my old friends, the Anglo-Indians of the North London Anglo-Indian Association–Henry, Terry and Malcolm, with whom I had associated a few years ago when I was doing field research for my book.

It was at Henry’s invitation that I was joining the informal group of retired RAF chaps who meet once a month at this restaurant to shoot the breeze and tuck into some curry–which they adore. At Henry’s suggestion, I ordered the Lamb Curry (which turned out to be delicious if a bit too fiery for my palate) and the Aloo Gobhi (Potatoes with Cauliflower) which turned out to be too dry for me. Unlike everyone else at the table, I did not order rice–I had a naan instead. It was a very satisfying meal in an authentic Indian setting.  The restaurant was also full of families with children–the school holidays had brought them all swarming out “for a curry”. I am not sure when the British will realize and accept the fact that not all Indian food is curried!

Conversation was fun and non-stop around our table. Henry shared with me the lovely dinky album of his daughter Karen’s wedding. It was lovely! Terry told me about his challenges with ill health, Malcolm talked about his grand-kids. The years melted as we caught up. On the other end of the table, the other RAF chaps were playing their own catch-up games. What a wonderful idea–that they meet like this, in person, and do what email and the telephone fail to accomplish: provide the personal, human touch. I thought it was a great idea. Two of my hosts have been coming to this restaurant since 1989 and the monthly reunion has been going on for about five years. It works–so it continues. We talked about people who have passed away since the time I spoke to the community in the UK–too many, some too soon. We spoke about my book coming out and about them purchasing copies to send off to their family members and friends. Not long to wait now, my friends….not long at all.

Henry treated me to the meal–he did not allow me to pay. Ever the gallant Anglo-Indian gentleman is our Henry. All of them ordered food packets to take away–they love their Indian food too much, these Anglo-Indians, to not take a ton home with them, once a month. Into the freezer it goes and slowly is it savored before the next RAF Reunion fills up the freezer again. It is another idea that works!

Before we parted, they took me to Ambala, a Punjabi Sweet Mart where they took more Indian food home–dessert this time. In a few days it will be Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Lights and a time to stuff one’s face with highly sweetened milky delights. The place was crowded, the queue moved at snail’s pace. I decided to get into the festive Diwali spirit and ordered a few sweets myself–a selection of one each, just to taste. Unbelievably, it cost me just a little more than 2 pounds! I could not believe it…

Henry took me via the long route home as Southtall was simply jammed with traffic. You could be in one of the smaller towns in the Punjab–Amritsar or Patiala or Jullunder or Ambala–any one of the towns that links India’s Grand Trunk Road–it was that authentic. Curry Houses and sweet shops sat cheek by jowl with sari and salwar-khameez displays, gold jewelry that glittered enticingly, video parlors that carried Bollywood hits and Pakistani TV sitcoms, supermarkets filled with Indian vegetables and spices. What a place to be! Anyone nostalgic for their India Fix could find fulfillment in this enclave. But time brings slow, imperceptible change. And my friends informed me that with the infiltration of the Somalians into the area, the Punjabis are moving out. And on the edges of this Little India, I did see many black men hanging out and gossiping.

I got the train back to the City and since I had Indian food with me (I purchased 10 Lamb Samosas) and my sweets, and since I was passing right by Ealing Broadway, I hopped off and went home to leave my food behind. I had a chance to take a look at my email and then took a 20-minute nap as I had yet another appointment to keep in the city. But first, after I awoke, I had a really big job to do: I had to book my ticket for my Winter Break in Bombay.

Booking a Ticket for India:

I have to say that it was difficult to find a reasonably priced ticket to Bombay and back to London without having to deal with no less than a 15 hour layover in some Arab country. Even Jet Air flights had 15 hour layovers in Abu Dhabi as Ethihad takes their passengers over for part of the journey. I did not fancy spending any more time in the Middle East than I needed to–I could not wait to board the flight and step down on Indian soil. So, it was with much difficulty and with the forking out of a hundred pounds more (that I thought was fully worthwhile) that I found a Jet Air non-stop flight to Bombay and back to London on the dates I desired. It was a feat and I felt pleased to get this big job out of the way.

As soon as I put payment through on my credit card, I jumped up and raced out of the house. I was meeting Natalie, another Tweep that I follow, for the first time in London and I did not want to be late. Since she works near Whitehall and I thought I would be making my way there from my office at Bloomsbury, I told her to meet me at 6 pm at Foyle’s on Charing Cross Road. My daughter Chriselle’s London-based friend Rahul had taken her to Café Vergnano that he said was the best coffee shop in the city and I thought it would be great to check it out with Natalie.

A Disappointment with Natalie:

Well… having taken the Great Western Railway for the first time in the afternoon, I discovered that there was only one stop between Ealing Broadway and Paddington–I decided to try it out and voila, I was at Padding in under five minutes!!! I could not believe it. From there, I took the Bakerloo Line and made a change for one stop to get off at Leicester Square where I fought fighting tourist hordes all the way to Foyle’s–only to find that Natalie was not there! It seems she had sent me a text (which I did not get!) to inform me that she was struck in a meeting at work and needed to reschedule. Oh well…for the second night in a row, I have had plans changed on me at the last-minute. Let’s hope it will not happen tomorrow when I am to meet Rahul…

I also discovered via a text from Llew that my credit card payment for my air ticket had been declined for security reasons.  I was deeply annoyed as this is not the first time it has happened. Despite having informed my credit card company that I am traveling all over the world and will be using my card for large and small transactions, they keep stopping my payments. It is frustrating especially when purchasing air tickets as one does not know if one will get the same fare again–they disappear like magic from our screens, these fares. What’s even worse is that to sort the matter out, I need to make these overseas calls which I am not even able to do with the skinny phone plan I have in the UK! Llew had to make the call for me, get the payment through and, of course, I would need to return home to make the transaction again. I was just deeply dejected all around as I turned back.

Back Home for Dinner and Cold Feet:

I took the Tube home and by 7. 30, I was getting my dinner organized. I ate my leftover Indian meal from lunch time with Black Forest Trifle for dessert and watched the season finale of Cold Feet. I have to say that it all ended very lamely. Eddie and David actually duking it out physically on the dance floor was simply implausible and I think the writers have truly lost the plot. Suffice it to say that it will be a long wait before the next season steps around…but I am hardly going to hold my breath.

Again, it was by 10.00 pm, that I decided to go to bed but after checking Twitter and getting some important email responses done, it was about 11.00 pm when I turned out my light.

Tomorrow will be a very busy day–my last one in London before I leave for the country as I have been invited by my friend Loulou to spend the next couple of days with her in Suffolk on her sprawling real working farm of hundreds of acres. It should be fun and a lovely change of scene…but I have miles to go before I sleep–figuratively (and poetically speaking), I mean.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Working at NYU-London and Post Office Chores

Oct26

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

London

Morning Rush:

Awaking at 5. 30 am today, drafting a blog post, responding to email—this has become the order of the day for me. I also sent out an invitation to a few friends to Afternoon Tea at my place this coming Saturday. I would have liked to have them over for a meal but my little flat does not lend itself to such lavish entertaining. A Tea, I could do more easily. Hopefully, they will respond soon.

For some odd reason, I hurried today through breakfast (the last of my muesli with yogurt and coffee–should buy some more) and a shower and left my house at 9.10 am for my appointment at the National Gallery at 10.00 am when it opened to see the special exhibition entitled ‘Beyond Caravaggio’–as he is my favorite artist of all time. With me, in a separate bag, was my edited manuscript. After the exhibition, I intended to spend most of the day in my office double checking annotations and citations on my Works Cited page as I prepare my manuscript for final submission.

Disappointment at the National Gallery:

On the Central Tube to Oxford Circus–then a change to the Northern Line Tube to Charing Cross, I arrived at Trafalgar Square even before the Gallery opened. About thirty people were sitting desultorily on the ledge waiting for the museum to open. Five minutes later, I was inside and looking around for Raquel. No sign of her. I texted her–told her where I was seated–by the Main Info Desk.  No response. She was probably in the Tube. Waited another ten minutes. Sent another text. Hoped she was not in the Sainsbury Wing where we’d need to purchase tickets as this special exhibition was not free. At 10.20, when she hadn’t yet shown up, I called her! And guess what? She was home! Not because she forgot about our plans but because I wrote the wrong day on my calendar–it seems we are due to meet tomorrow! I had texted her this morning to say I would be there at 10.00–but she assumed I meant tomorrow. She did not realize I would go there today!

Really annoyed with myself (as I had so much work and felt I had completely wasted my time), I jumped into a 24 bus and rode it to Bloomsbury to my office.

Postal Chores:

I was in my office by 10. 45 and went straight to the Porter’s Lodge to start chores on my parcels. I intended to finish posting them off today. Wrapping each one carefully and writing out addresses, I finished all three and walked off with one of them to the Post Office on High Holborn near Drury Lane.  I wasn’t taking all three together as they were much too heavy.

The nice man at the counter (Tamilian? Keralite?) who kept referring to me as ‘Lady’ (as in “Yes, Lady”, “Maybe Lady”) weighed it and told me that cheapest postage would cost me 13 pounds–that is one-third of what the Keralite woman had told me a few days ago! Well, I wasn’t going to question him. I paid with my credit card and left and resolved to return with the two other parcels before he left home for the day! If he was giving me a deal, I didn’t want to miss it!

At Work at my Office:

I was tempted to make a little detour into the shops on my way back–naughty me! I had so much work to do and could hardly afford such sauntering. Still, I supposed I could work extra hard and finish it all before I left for my dinner appointment at 6.00 pm with my friend Michelle at Euston’s Diwana Restaurant.

I bought myself a tempting packed of Chocolate Hazelnut Biscuits made by Borders as I felt hungry quite suddenly and opening the packet, there and there, on the road, I began munching and walked back to my office.

For the next two hours, I worked on three chapters. At 1. 30 pm, I left my office and went downstairs to the Faculty Lounge to eat my soup and sandwich lunch. After lunch, I set off for the Post Office again–with the other two parcels (for which I paid the same amount! yaayy!) Mission Accomplished! I will probably have one more Post Office run to do just before my final return to America.

Back at my office, I was hard at work for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening and at 5. 30, I had it all done. There was no hurry, you see, because at about 4.00 pm, I received a text from Michelle to cancel our dinner plans as she was unwell and wanted to go straight home. Such a shame! I was so looking forward to meeting her. Well, maybe it was just as well.

As my colleagues began to leave their offices to go back home, I went to the Copy Room and photocopied all the pages I needed for our driving trip in France. Now all I need to do is to book our B&Bs. Llew needs to rent us a car–and with that, we will be all sorted. Over this weekend, I intend to finish up those tasks. So, with my photocopying all done, I placed my papers back in my bag ready to undertake the last bits of editing at home on my Works Cited Page and I’d be that much closer to getting my manuscript ready for submission. It had been a day really well spent with my Post Office work done and a whole lot of editing accomplished. It was time to get home to relax.

Quiet Evening with TV and Dinner:

About 45 minutes later, in a very packed train, I got back home. It was a little after 7.00 pm, but I decided to have an early dinner–this meant skipping Tea, which was probably a good thing! I srtaed with a cup of soup and had Ravioli with a chilli cheese sauce and made a salad with lettuce, spinach and corn and I ate Black Forest Trifle for dessert. As I watched, I caught up with Cold Feet on ITV Player and at 9. 30pm, since my eyes were closing, I decided to make a very early night of it and go straight to sleep.

At 9. 30pm, I switched the light off and went straight to sleep.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Meetings at NYU-London and Dinner with Relatives in Kent

Oct25

Monday, October 24, 2016

London and Kent

A Hurried Morning:

Unlike most mornings, this one was a bit frenzied as I blogged, dealt with email, sent something to my office for printing, then sat to have a chat with my Dad in Bombay–which is always more time-consuming than I expect. After a quick breakfast (muesli with coffee), I showered and left my flat at 9.15 am for my 10.30 am meeting with Gary, Director at NYU-London. I was on the Tube and in my building at 10.00 am.

Chores and Meetings at NYU:

My first port of call was the Porter’s Lodge where I set myself the task of packing my parcels for mailing to the US. Breaking up one large parcel into three of no more than 2 kgs each took more effort and time than I expected as I stood over a weighing scale and carefully redistributed weight. With only one parcel ready at the end of half an hour, I left the rest of the task for tomorrow and went for my meeting.

At 10.30 am, I was meeting over a cup of tea thoughtfully provided by Gary, our Director, in his office. In a freewheeling conversation that covered the research I am currently doing in London and the contents of my coming book, half an hour passed. It is always a pleasure to meet Gary who is a very easy conversationalist and a very humorous man–take a look at all his funny legal books! Time flew swiftly and at 11.00 am, the two of us left for our next meeting.

On the second floor, we met at another one of our periodic GRI Fellows’ ‘Teas’. About six of us were present as we discussed our on-going work over tea, coffee and ginger biscuits. Gary was in attendance as well and provided a lot of very interesting information on Jeremy Bentham on whom one of the Fellows is working. I had no idea that he was Oxford’s youngest student ever having arrived there at the age of 12! I did not know either that by the age of 5, he was translating Latin texts!

When 12 noon struck, however, he excused himself and hurried away to his next meeting–which was exactly what I did as I had a busy afternoon ahead of me. I rushed up to my own office, printed out my Works Cited pages (for my book) for proofing, glanced at email and left.

Off to Kent with a Relative:

I returned to the Porter’s Lodge to pick up my coat and hat and to rearrange things in my bag as I accommodated my printouts.  Then, I rushed off to Tottenham Court Road station to take the Northern Line Tube southwards to Clapham South where I was scheduled to meet my relative Joel who was driving me to Kent where we had been invited to spend the evening with my cousin Cheryl who lives on the Isle of Sheppey. I was with Joel within the hour and we started our drive on the M2 motorway to the East. We were at Cheryl’s place at 3.00 pm where we had a lovely reunion at her home called Catalan and met her husband David and her niece Hailey who was visiting from Bombay.

A Lovely Evening with my Relatives:

Over the years, Llew and I have spent many happy times in Catalan when David has driven me around the island and over many interesting parts of Kent. Today all we did was sit and chat about the developments in the world from Brexit to the destruction of the Calais Jungle to the coming election in America. Cheryl was in and out as she busied herself with our meal. She provided us with coffee and a delicious home made fruit cake upon our arrival and with the table well laid out, she took charge of serving our meal as she has always been a brilliant chef.

It was when I went to pull my camera out of my bag to take a few family pictures that I realized I had left it behind in the Porter’s Lodge at NYU. A quick call to the Receptionist and my fears were confirmed–but I was also deeply relieved. It would be held for me until tomorrow.

When it came time for dinner, a bottle of white wine was opened and shared and we sat down to Cheryl’s lovely starter: a smoked fish quiche which was served with a lovely salad. The main course was Toad in a Hole–British for sausages in batter. It was very delicious indeed. To go with the dish, there were carrots and peas and roasted potatoes. It could not have been more English! And for dessert, Cheryl served a low-fat Cherry Cheesecake which was very tasty.

Replete with our meal, we were astonished to find that it was already 8.15! Where had the time gone? Within the next few minutes, we took a few pictures, said our goodbyes and left. Joel and I continued to chat on our way back to London. He dropped me off at Clapham South Tube station where I took the trains that got me back home to Ealing exactly at 11.00 pm.

Considering that I had spent most of the day seated, I was surprised at how tired I felt. Only a few minutes later, I got ready for bed and looked forward to a new day.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Exploring Eltham Palace and an Evening with Chelsea Friends

Oct24

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Eltham and London

Ever since I visited Charlton this past August, I had also been meaning to visit Eltham Palace–for the simple reason that while waiting for a bus at South Bromley station then, I had seen buses headed to Eltham. Somehow, I became sidetracked by all my other travels and sightseeing and Eltham was placed on the backburner. Recently, my attention was turned to it again, thanks to tweets from English Heritage. I could postpone a visit no longer. Eltham it would be…and soon.

I awoke at 5. 30 am, finished a blog post, caught up on email and other laptop-related activity, finished my itinerary for Italy and Sicily and had my breakfast–yogurt with muesli and coffee.  I wanted to leave my flat by 8. 45 am but by the time I showered and left, it was 9. 15. However, I did not worry too much as I knew that Eltham was closer than Bexleyheath on the train (having taken the same journey yesterday). It was my intention to get back to London by 3.00 pm, work on putting together my packages for mailing to the States until 5.00 and then get to Chelsea where I would be meeting my friends Michael and Cynthia. I would be accompanying Cynthia for Benediction at 7.00 at the Church of the Holy Trinity.

That was the plan…

Getting to Eltham:

I repeated my journey of the previous morning and found a 10.09 am train leaving Victoria for Eltham. Like yesterday, it crawled so painfully that I am convinced had I walked fast alongside the train tracks, I would probably have reached faster! Still, we were at Eltham at 11.00 am. Right outside the train station was the bus station and from there I jumped into a 314 bus for just two stops. It put me off at a junction from where, along Court Yard Road, the palace was about 8 minutes on foot.

It was a lovely day–the sun was out, the sky was blue and although there was a distinct nip in the air, I had dressed warmly (although I did miss my gloves). At the English Heritage Ticket counter, I bought a ticket for 13. 60 pounds (steep by normal standards) and I hoped it would be worthwhile.

I need not have worried…

Entering Eltham Palace:

The walk from the ticket office to the entrance of Eltham is one of the nicest aspects of the visit. Fall is a grand time to visit as the trees are golden. Fallen leaven crackle about you with every step. You get superb pictures of the palace from the stone bridge that is constructed over the wide moat which is filled with water and floating leaves. A few feet away, you are given a multi-media guide (it is audio and visual–very unusual and very good). And then a few feet later, surrounded by a grand architectural feast for the eye, your tour of the inside begins.

History of Eltham Palace:

Eltham Palace started its life and history as a country manor house built by Anthony Bek, Bishop of Durham in 1260. By 1300, he presented it to the King (Edward II)–at which time it became a royal household. In its heyday (1400 to 1600), it was a grand destination for statesmen, diplomats, poets (Erasmus visited) and dignitaries for whom jousting matches were organized as part of the entertainment–a jousting track is still intact outside the palace gates. The Great Hall, built in the 1400s, was the scene of boisterous banquets and much pageantry in the manner of Dining Halls at Oxford or Cambridge–there is a magnificent High Table at one end with a wonderfully carved wooden Tudor screen just behind it, complete with lions posts, stained glass crests and Tudor Rose emblems everywhere. The young Henry VIII grew up in this palace together with his siblings (at which time he met Erasmus–he was then nine and, apparently, already precocious!). But, by the reign of his daughter Elizabeth I, royalty favored nearby Greenwich Palace (as it is closer to the Thames and offered easier accessibility). Eltham fell into disuse and eventually into ruin. By the end of 1600s, it was passed on to one John Shaw who lamented its degeneration.

In the 1930s (the grand decade between the wars as is depicted in part of Downton Abbey), the property was purchased by Stephen Courthauld (brother of Samuel Courthauld who founded the Art Institute at Somerset House in London) and his wife, Virginia (known as Ginnie to her friends). He had made his fortune initially in silver mines and later in fabrics (rayon and silk). Wishing to create a country lifestyle for themselves, they bought the parcel of ten hectares with its Tudor ruin and decided to refurbish it and add a manor in which they would live and entertain friends. They hired Seely and Paget, a team of modern architects and bid them design a completely modern home. The duo created an exterior house completely in keeping with the Tudor lines of the existing Great Hall (which was all that remained of the Palace) but did an absolute number on the interior–they designed and created it in Art Deco style (which was only just catching on in England). The end result is an absolute confection of a home into which a fortune has been poured and in which the style and aesthetic of 1930’s Europe can be immediately discerned.

In this home, the childless Courthaulds lived and entertained and had a swinging time with their vast household of servants, two nephews called Peter and Paul Pierano that they adopted, a Great Dane named Caesar and a lemur (yes, a lemur, with a long black and white striped raccoon-like tail) called Mah-Jong (Jongy for short) that they bought from Harrods (which, incidentally, only closed its pet department in 2014!–who knew?) When the house was finished, they turned their attention to the extensive grounds and presto!–gardens materialized. They are a gem of horticultural design and even though I was visiting in the autumn, they were sensational.

Visiting Eltham Palace:

The audio guide makes it simplicity itself to appreciate multiple aspects of the house and garden. You enter at the spectacular Great Entrance but you do not linger long here–as you are directed to climb up the steps and enter the Venetian Room where you watch a lovely little film in which you are cast as a visitor to the house in the 1930s and invited to become part of the grand festivities.

As you roam from room to room on the top floor, you are introduced to the family members, their quirks, their passions, their preoccupations. Virginia was the stereotypical socialite of her time with a gay and friendly manner. Stephen was quiet, thoughtful and intellectually-inclined with a wealth of interests including mountaineering, photography (there is a dark room in the basement of the house)  and gardening. The Art Deco motif is carried out throughout the home through the handiwork of the Italian designer Peter Malacrida but Virginia had a huge role to play in selecting materials. For example, in the grand Dining Room, she insisted the chairs be upholstered in rose pink as that color best showed off women’s dinner gowns!

Upstairs, you roam through bedrooms with black and white wallpaper that depicts Kew Gardens complete with its pagoda (Stephen’s bedroom), wood veneer on round walls with a walk-in wardrobe (Virginia’s), a bathroom fully lined with semi-precious onyx that surrounds a bath tub whose backsplash features small gold mosaic tiles and a sculptural bust of Psyche (Virginia’s bathroom), a large cage for Jongy that was fully heated and had a ladder that allowed access to the house, Jack and Jill bedrooms for Peter and Paul who grew up in Eltham before they became students at Christ Church College, Cambridge with its adjoining bathroom (the only one in the house with a shower from which only cold water emanated–ouch!).

You then pass through the Minstrel’s Gallery to get a bird’s eye view of the Great Hall. This deck was added by the Courthaulds to enable musicians to find a perch for the grand balls they held in the Great Hall which had once played host to royalty. The great hammered ceiling is the third largest in the country and it has been beautifully refurbished.

Leaving this area, you make your way down the stairs and arrive at the Grand Entrance with its domed gazed ceiling and its wooden inlaid frescoes on the walls that depict favorite buildings from Venice, Florence and Stockholm. In this room, guests were served cocktails as they prepared for dinner in the adjoining dining room where, other than the rose chairs, the most striking features are the doors that depict animals and birds inspired by London’s Zoo. There is also a library on this floor with some items from Stephen’s lusterware collection and an Italian Room where there are wonderful Renaissance paintings, Florentine ceramics and wrought-iron screens. Turkish and Persian rugs are numerous all over the house and are scattered over the thickly carpeted floors. There is truly so much to see, so much to learn about, so much to marvel over.

Yet, at no point is the house over-the-top. All decoration is restrained and minimalism seems to reign every where. Decorative items (I recognized Lalique bookends and Daum vases and the library is filled with Turner water colors) are carefully picked and strategically placed. There are mod cons all over (such as phones and electric clocks on the wall–mod for their era!) and a lovely and very unusual Map Room (as the couple were intrepid travelers and often invited their friends to travel for weeks on end with them to varied parts of the world). The Map Room was used by their secretaries to map out routes for them! This room was recently discovered when some painting wore out. Careful conservation had unearthed an entire room whose walls were covered with maps.

Downstairs, in Downton Abbey mode, you are invited to peruse the kitchen and the servants living quarters and then you descend even deeper into the basement which served as a war-time bunker, a billiards room and a dark room. During World War II, a regiment of the army was stationed here and they made use of every room in the house including the Great Hall–for by that time, the Courthaulds had moved on to Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) where they ended up building another fancy home for themselves. Indeed, Eltham Palace has everything the rich and famous could desire, from heated tiled floors in the bathroom to an Orangery.

I thought I would take a couple of hours to see the entire property (as I did at Red House yesterday). As it turned out, I took more than two hours just to see the interiors. And with tantalizing glimpses of the gardens that were offered from every window, I simply had to tour the gardens as well. But I was hungry and needed to eat as well as to rest my feet.

I made my way to the café where I found a seat, pulled out my sandwiches and downed them with a hot chocolate that I ordered. About three quarters of an hour later, I realized I would need to abandon my plans to go to my office at NYU to carry out my errands–they would have to wait till tomorrow.

Instead, I began the Garden Tour which took me all around the massive butterfly-shaped house, past the Great Hall to offer distant views of the skyscrapers of London (for the city is only a few miles away as the crow flies) and on to the great lawns. In the summer, visitors sprawl all over them. On a chilly day, they walk briskly through the Linear Garden to view the lovely Rock Garden hewn out of limestone rocks to house Alpine specimens on the banks of the moat, the walled gardens with its perennial flower beds (filled with autumnal carnations, daisies and sedum), the Ridge from where you can access what was once a swimming pool (now covered up) and fruit orchards to arrive at a lovely Italianate sunken Rose Garden from where one has a lovely view of the side of the house with its sculpture of Perseus with the slain Medusa’s head at his feet. You can walk along the banks of the water in the moat before climbing up again and accessing the main level via a wooden bridge. Everything is beautifully laid out and well thought about and you could easily spend two more hours in the garden. I spent about an hour and at 2. 30 pm, I finally left the property, rather regretfully, for it is a simply splendid place in which to spend an entire day.

On the way back to the station, I passed by half-timbered houses dating from Tudor times–all beautifully preserved today. You could almost hear the thundering of hooves along the jousting track and see the scarlet robes of Cardinal Wolsey who was a frequent visitor to the premises. Even the names of the streets and the establishments along the way hint at royal antecedents–Court Yard, for one.

Eltham Palace was a revelation to me in every sense of the word. When living in Paris, I got to know the Jacomart-Andre Museum and the Nissim Comondo Museum–and they are two buildings that I tell visitors to Paris not to miss (together with Saint Chapelle). Now, I will suggest that all visitors make it a point to see Red House and Eltham Palace as these are truly hidden gems of the city that very few tourists see–most visitors were local English Heritage members (as far as I could see).

On the Train Back to the City:

I had told my Chelsea friends that I would be with them at 5.00pm. With an hour to kill, I took the train back to Victoria, jumped into a Tube train to Sloane Square and hopped into a bus that took me down the King’s Road. I went to Oxfam, my favorite thrift store from where I got a absolute steal: a thick strand of Majorica pearls (17 mm each, no less) with a lovely sterling silver clasp and a safety chain at the back. I have wanted to buy Majorica pearls forever but was always daunted by the prices in the duty free shop. These are neither real nor cultured–they are very good quality simulated pearls and if looked after well, they could last a lifetime and be passed along as a very valuable heirloom. Here, for less than the price of a pair of ear-rings with just single drop pearls, I got a whole hefty necklace–I simply could not believe it! Needless to say, I bought them and then wandered into Waitrose where I got myself a much-needed caffe latte and then took the bus to Sloane Street.

An Evening with Friends:

I spent the evening with Michael and Cynthia and then accompanied Cynthia to Benediction as planned. It was a beautiful service with a superb choir in attendance in a church filled with the decoration of the Pre-Raphaelites. Evensong was followed by Benediction. I left the church when the service ended at 7.00 pm, said goodbye to Cynthia and made my way back to the Tube station. I was home a little after 8.00 pm.

Facetime with Llew and Dinner:

The caffe latte affected my sleep pattern (as caffeine always does) so that I was filled with nervous energy as I Facetimed with Llew about all sorts of things for almost an hour. I then set about putting my dinner together (ravioli in cheese sauce which I jazzed up with chilli sauce) and a salad of lettuce and spinach with a simply balsamic vinaigrette. I had Black Forest Trifle for dessert and was still wide awake at 11.00. I finished Ian McEwan’s On Chesil Beach after savoring every syllable and felt heartbroken, once again, by the tragic ending. It was about 12. 30 pm when I finally switched my light off and attempted to go to sleep.

Tomorrow will bring another week which looks packed to capacity for me as I take on meetings at NYU and meet my publisher’s deadline for the submission of my book’s manuscript.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Visiting Red House, Home of William Morris and Mass at Ealing Abbey

Oct23

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Bexleyheath, Kent and London

A visit to Red House, famed home of William Morris in Bexleyheath, Kent, was long overdue. Why do I feel such an obsession with Morris and his Mates? Could it be their obsession with Medieval times and the past in general based on their prodigious love for history that I share? Could it be their association with Exeter College, Oxford? Could it be that I simply love the style they, as the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, made their own? I remain puzzled. What I do know is that I have always been intrigued by the group and since homes and museums related to Morris outweigh those relating to the others, I have, over the years, visited Kelmscott Manor in Oxfordshire and, more recently, the William Morris Gallery in Walthamstow in London. The more I learn about Morris, the more fascinated I become by his life and work. So, with colder days closing in on us, I decided that it was now or never. I had to visit The Red House (as it is known) before it got too cold to enjoy outdoor excursions. For, as in the case of most museum-houses, the gardens are an integral part of the house and must be visited in tandem with them.

I awoke at 6.00 am, did a blog post, looked at fares online for my December  travels to India, consulted the Transport for London and National Trust website for my trip to Red House, ate my breakfast (2 toasted croissants with a variety of spreads and coffee), made myself a sandwich for lunch and left my flat at 8.45 am for the journey to Kent. I took the Central Line Tube to Oxford Street and changed to the Victoria Line to get to Victoria as experience has taught me that the District Line which goes directly from Ealing to Victoria creeps and crawls its way there and takes forever–whereas trains on the Central Line simply fly.

I arrived at Victoria at 9. 15, stood in line to buy a ticket and was informed that my Oyster Card would be the cheapest way to get there. There was a train leaving in 5 minutes, so off I went on it to Bexleyheath. It also crept and crawled its way through Eastern London and into Kent, but eventually we arrived there. TFL website had informed me about the B12 bus just outside the station (which would save me a walk of an additional 15 minutes–and was free with my Travelcard)–so I caught it, and then, at the bus stop, when I asked a kindly gentleman for directions, he happened to live right besides the house and got into companionable chatter with me as we walked there together. It took me exactly an hour and 45 minutes from door to door to get there by public transport. Not bad at all as the journey was very pleasant throughout.

Visiting Red House:

Red House is run by the National Trust who acquired it in 2003. It was the home in which William Morris lived from 1860 till 1865 (intriguingly, the exact years that the Civil War was being fought in America! It does put things in perspective!) It is a grand, rambling home made entirely of red bricks (hence the name) and was designed by Phillip Webb (the least known of the Pre-Raphaelites) and a lifelong friend of Morris who instructed him to design a house entirely “Medieval in spirit”. Webb complied magnificently. It was built at a cost of 4000 pounds–a huge amount of money for a middle class man to have spent, in those days–and, interestingly, until today, it has never sold for more than that amount! Why? Well, because it is not a grand house, nor even a very usable one and is not in a fashionable town. Indeed, it is really in the midst of nowhere–which explains why no one with real money ever actually wants to live there! Still, for all those downsides, it is beautifully preserved for us, Pre-Raphaelite devotees, and so, there I was at a little before 11.00 am even before the Trust staff had arrived to take their posts. I bought a ticket for 7.20 pounds and was joined by two gentlemen to take the tour given by Jack, who was one of the best tour guides I have ever had. His knowledge was prodigious, his passion for his subject was obvious and his delivery of the material he knew was flawless. Would that all tour guides were this good!

So Who was William Morris?

To appreciate the nuances of this home, you need to know a bit about William Morris. He was born in the mid-19th century in Essex into a middle-class family. His father who owned copper mines in Devon, died when he was 13 leaving behind 9 children (Morris was the eldest) and an inheritance of shares in the mines (to which Morris would become entitled when he turned 21). His mother moved the family to the house at Walthamstow (a matter of downsizing!) when he was 13 and he lived his crucial teenage years in this home.

At 18, he left home for Exeter College, Oxford, where his tutor was Dante Gabriel Rossetti and he made friends with one Ned Jones who became the celebrated artist Edward Burne-Jones. The three of them gravitated to each other through their love of history and the past. And the reason for this obsession with the past? Well, they were not happy at the way the Industrial Revolution was changing traditional English lifestyles and divorcing people from Nature–which they adored. Hence, in searching through the past, they realized that the Middle Ages were the time when civilization lived as far away from technology as was possible and was closest to Nature. They began to study that era and became obsessed with knights and knighthood mainly through the works of Thomas Malory known as Morte d’Arthur. For the rest of their lives, their work would reflect their affinity with the spirit of the Middle Ages. They joined the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in Oxford. During their time at Oxford, they often went to France to seek out medieval castles and manors and brought this element into their work. They intended to remain locked in a communal artistic spirit for the rest of their lives as collaborators.  This intention remained a reality until the arrival of Jane Burden on the scene.

Jane Burden was a working class woman who lived in Oxford. Rossetti spotted her, one day, at a play in Oxford and was struck my her face. She had features that seemed perfect for the medieval spirit he wished to evoke in his paintings. He requested her father (significant coins must have changed hands) to permit her to pose for him. Her father agreed and Jane entered the fray. Morris was introduced to her and fell completely and madly in love with her. When Rossetti went off on a trip, Morris seized the opportunity to propose to her. She accepted–not because she was also in love with him but because she saw it as the only way that she could enter the middle class. A year later, Morris turned 21, came into his inheritance and the couple were married in Oxford. Webb, whom Morris had just met, was asked to design the couple a house. They chose two acres in Kent to do so–it was all farmland then surrounded by a few oast houses. Morris did not pay too much for the land and, in no time, construction began. Morris was a nightmare of a boss and Webb tolerated his micromanagement of the project only because they were close friends. Even today, some vast rooms in the house appear to have the dimensions of medieval castles.

Morris and Jane lived in Red house for 5 years and had their two daughters there–Jenny and May. The home was always filled with friends and their families as the Morrises were generous hosts and loved to find their rooms filled. At weekends, at a time when there were no trains to Bexleyheath, friends came from London on a train to nearby Abbotswood from where their hosts would send a horse-drawn cart for them to get to Red House.

Together, the friends set to decorating the house–the men worked on such things as the furniture and the painting, the women worked on the embroidery (Jane was a fine embroiderer and much of her work survives). Burne-Jones married Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal who was an artist in her own right. Their idea was to join the Morrises to live at Red House for which a separate wing was to be constructed (Webb was to work on its design too). Sadly, Lizzie’s son died in childbirth, she became addicted to laudanum as she tried to fight depression and died of an overdose. She is buried in Highgate Cemetery. The plans, therefore, for the Rossettis to join the Morrises at Red House never materialized. Instead, the Morrises decided to leave Red House and move to the countryside nearer Oxford. They bought Kelmscott Manor and set about making it their own. More time was spent paintings and embroidering in an attempt to re-create the spirit of Red House in their new home.

Unfortunately, by this time, the Morris marriage had turned sour and Rossetti seemed to take it upon himself to be responsible for Jane’s happiness. He got involved romantically with her–a matter that shattered the Morris-Rossetti friendship. They came to an understanding that Rossetti and Jane would live in Kelmscott Manor with all their children while Morris went off to Iceland to work. When he recovered from his loss, he returned to England to found Morris & Co. which became his life’s contribution to the world of art and creativity as well as Kelmscott Press which led to the publication of the work of their circle of friends–works in which they all collaborated as poets, writers, artists, illustrators and publishers. Kelmscott Manor is also a popular destination for lovers of Morris and his ilk and I have visited it, a few years ago, with much delight.

Exploring Red House:

Jack, our tour guide, was the one who provided all the above information–swiftly but comprehensively, he gave us a very good idea of how and why the house came to be built in this part of the country. We were based in the garden while he spoke–this gave us a good view of the well (the only source of water in Morris’ day) with its beautiful wooden canopy (also designed by Webb). The gardens were built in untidy beds–as untidy as one finds Nature to be. There are loads of herbs and lots of fruit trees (especially apples). Morris always lived by the adage: Have nothing in your home that you do not believe to be either beautiful or useful. In these days when we are all trying madly to control our clutter, it is a very good adage to live by.

Jack then led us to the main door (medieval in spirit also with its Gothic style arch and heavy iron latches) and into the entrance hall–usually dark, narrow, dingy spaces in the Victorian Age. Morris wasn’t having any of it. He ensured that Webb provided him with a vast space, a fireplace (so that guests would feel warmed immediately) and a place to sit and stash one’s gloves, hats, scarf, etc. (there is a storage cabinet-cum-bench specifically designed for this purpose.

As we traversed the rooms, we were introduced to more strange and unusual pieces of large furniture designed by Morris who soon discovered that his talents lay more with design than with art. Although he did paint, he increasingly left most of his painting projects to his friends while he focused on such things as stained glass windows and furniture, wall paper, textile designs and the like. The paintings that still survive in the house (such as on the hall ceiling and in the dining room) were done in collaboration with his friends. In fact, in the hall, Morris made sure the scaffolding was still kept in place when construction ended in order to reach it.  No Michaelangeloesque lying on their backs while they completed it!

In other rooms, there are whole Marriage Scenes in which the friends feature–Jane’s unusual lips make her easily discernible in almost every such painting. There are roses too, and tulips, and although some walls and pieces of furniture were painted over by subsequent owners of the house, conservation efforts by the Trust are slowly but surely bringing these panels to light. One of them, in what was the Morris master bedroom, was only very recently unearthed, and it has proven to be a significant art treasure as the hands of almost all of these friends and their wives is evident in it–including a portrait of Rachel by Siddal.

The guest bedrooms are smaller but no less interesting. Some parts of the house are not open to visitors and while Jack made mention of a kitchen staff and servants, we were not given access to it. We saw some ceramic tiles to which Morris turned his hand but they were failures as he had yet to master the technique involved in painting and firing to get permanent glazes.

Finally, the tour ended in a small museum which contains many of the personal possessions of Webb–the possessions of the others are scattered among the other museums and houses that are dedicated to their work. There is Webb’s portmanteau, his artist’s palette and set of water colors, his snuff boxes, etc, (including one that belonged to Morris and that was presented to him by Jane after Morris died).

As an afterthought, Jack did let us know that May Morris, his younger daughter, tried hard to keep the house from falling out of the family, but eventually it was bought by someone not related to the group. It was Tim Hollandby and his wife, who owned it for over 50 years, who were most conscious of preserving the Morris heritage inside, They did their best to preserve the original decoration of the house, but as time went by, they did carefully board up the ceiling in one room and painted it white. The Trust has been slowly working to unearth these hidden treasures–thankfully, they did not paint over them.

I found the entire tour fascinating. Not only did a learn a lot more about William Morris than I had known, but to walk in the rooms that they once did, to be introduced to the carousing and celebration that was part and parcel of this home in happier times, was deeply moving. I am so glad I did finally get to see lovely Red House.

I spent some time in the shop and ate my sandwich in the café with a hot chocolate because reversing my journey and getting back to London and my home by 2. 45 pm.

Spending the Evening at Home:

I had a cup of tea and a snack upon my return and then set to work to book tickets through hotels.com for my travels in Sicily next month. At the end of two hours, I had them all done (Thank Heavens!) and also Facetimed with Llew for a while. Then, because I will be out early tomorrow morning to see Eltham Palace (which is so easily accessible on the same train line), I decided to find out what time the Saturday evening Mass would be at Ealing Abbey. When I discovered that it was at 6.00am, I got dressed hastily and made my way to the church.

Mass at Ealing Abbey:

Less than 10 minutes walk from my home, Ealing Abbey was crowded with Catholic parishioners when I arrived there. It was a lovely Mass, mostly in English with some sung bits in Latin. It was over in less than an hour as I found my way home in time for dinner. I had part of the lasagne from Carluccio’s that I had frozen with a salad made with lettuce, corn and peas, blue cheese and nuts in a yogurt dressing I created with mustard, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper and, get this, lemon curd! It was amazingly good! As I ate, I watched Rosemary and Thyme and when I felt simply too tired to go on, I ate some chocolate ice-cream, Face timed again with Llew and went straight to bed.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

A Day of Little Accomplishment

Oct22

Then I remembered Greg and Nancy–my friends here in Ealing. Nancy is from Sicily. Hopefully, she can help. I texted Greg who came back instantly and told me he’d be happy to help. I passed on phone numbers of the places I have identified as suitable for a single female traveler. I have yet to know what the outcome will be…the suspense is disconcerting as I am the kind of person who likes to have everything sorted well in advance of departure.

Next week will be cra

Friday, October 21, 2016

London

Morning Frenzy:

Time is fleeing. I am now starting to feel those familiar tremors of panic which indicate that I must start getting organized–to leave. Next week will be my last full one here in London. The following week, I leave for Leeds to give an invited lecture at the University there and a few days later, I leave for Italy where I will also give a lecture.

I have not yet managed to sort out accommodation for Sicily where I will spend a few days before flying to Venice. Every time I call the B&B in Catania, they tell me to speak in Italian–which I cannot.Then I remembered my friends Greg and Nancy who can interpret for me. They promised to do so…hopefully, my accommodation needs in Sicily will soon be sorted.

Next week, I will be in a frenzy as I have many excursions planned in the afternoons although I do intend to spend the mornings working in my office at NYU. I also have to try to look ahead to further travels in December–to India, no less. I have been promising myself that I will look at airfares soon..but although the entry is on my To-Do List, it has been languishing there.

After my breakfast (one croissant and a bit of muesli with coffee), the realtor called with a very young couple looking to rent a flat. They stayed for about 10 minutes and left.I took a shower, I called my Dad and had a chat with him and then I got down to work.

Spending the Morning at Home Proofreading:

I began working at 9.00 and by 1. 30 pm, I had accomplished half of the work I wanted to do–carrying out editorial changes in my chapters as I get them ready for final submission. There was one more disturbance as yet another photographer stepped in to take pictures of my flat. Fortunately, they do not stay long and their arrival gives me a break from work.

I had three major items that I wanted to accomplish today–go to the Post Office at Holborn to mail off my US election absentee ballot form, getting the parcel containing my printed memorabilia and British DVDs mailed off to my home in Southport and finishing off the editing of my chapters on my computer. Hence, there was no time to lose. If I wanted to get the mailing done, I needed to move on. I made myself a toasted tongue sandwich which I ate with a cup of coffee and I got dressed to leave. By 2. 30 pm, I was in my office. I finished up some photocopying and then I went downstairs to retrieve the parcel I had packed and kept ready for the post office.

Shock and Disappointment at the Post Office:

Well, after I trekked with a heavy parcel for about 12 minutes from my office in Bloomsbury to the post office at Holborn, I received the shock of my life. It would cost me…get this…using the cheapest mail service (surface mail), as my Brit colleagues would say, 80 quid to send out my parcel to America.  I bounced in horror! No way I was paying that much. The Keralite Indian woman at the counter suggested other ways I could mail it cheaper: divide the parcel into smaller ones of no more than 2 kgs each. If I did that, I would end up saving about 20 quid! OK, that seemed like a plan. So I walked back to my office with a parcel weighing, by the way, five and a half kilos, and resolved to work on redistributing the weight on Monday.  You see what I mean when I say that panic is setting in? Well, at least I managed to mail off my US ballot form. Now let’s hope Mr. Trump will respect the outcome of the election and not drag the Supreme Court in to decide who gets to be the next American President!

Back at Home to Work:

I made one swift detour before I reached home at Morrison’s where I bought myself some goodies and got home for an urgent cup of tea. It was a delight to bump into my friend Cecil in the supermarket. In this country, where I am a stranger to everyone, I do not ever see anyone I know on the streets–unlike my little village in Southport where everybody knows my name!

The kettle whistled a few minutes after I got home and I sat down to a cuppa and a scone with cream and jam–yes, I had been craving one of those for ages. I also had a pistachio biscuit as I felt ravenous. My exertions to the Post Office and back had undoubtedly whetted my appetite. Still, I could not linger long. I still had the rest of my manuscript to edit on my screen.

And that was what I did for the next two hours–after Face timing with Llew. It was about 8. 45 pm when I finished and I was tired and hungry again! But I had managed to tick off one more item from my List of Three for the day. Tomorrow and over the rest of the weekend. I can goof off without feeling guilty.

Dinner was ravioli with bottled cheese sauce (which I do not like), peas and corn and a cup of chicken and vegetable soup which I ate while watching Rosemary and Thyme. I felt fairly disappointed by the tenor of my day and the fact that the excursion to the post office was such a waste of time–well, OK, not quite. I now know how to package my stuff most economically and although this means more work ahead of me, I shall try to tackle it in as calm and organized a fashion as possible.  All is not completely lost yet…

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

 

Meeting at NYU-London, Visit to British Museum and A Fright in Holland Park

Oct21

Thursday, October 20, 2016

London

Morning Mass at Ealing Abbey:

Ever since my former neighbor and friend Barbara fished out her I-pad during her visit to my flat on Sunday, and informed me that the Catholic Ealing Abbey is in my vicinity, I have been meaning to go there for daily Mass. Well, this morning was unusual. I awoke at 2.00 am and simply could not go back to sleep. It made sense to switch on my I-phone (which I charge overnight by my bedside) when I discovered that the third US Presidential debate was on. I tuned in immediately and listened to Trump and Clinton duke it out. A few Whatsapp messages were exchanged with Llew who was also watching in America before I tried to go back to sleep at about 4.00 am. But sleep simply eluded me. Giving up, I pulled my laptop close to me (also charging overnight on my double bed of which only one side is ever used!) and began to type a blog post. When I noticed that it was 6. 15 am, I decided, on impulse, to try to get to Mass. I would leave at 6.50 am for the 7.00 am Mass–hopefully, it would not be too dark or too daunting at that time.

And that was precisely what I did. I washed, dressed and left my flat on schedule. It was still dark enough that all vehicles on the street had their headlights on. However, there were already several people finding their way to the Tube station to get to work and there was a lot of traffic on the streets. I felt very safe indeed as I walked briskly to Church and found myself there in less than 10 minutes.

Ealing Abbey is a local parish church that is run by the Benedictine monks.  It is, therefore, also a working monastery. It is beautiful, both inside and out. You climb a high series of steps and enter a large  church that is impressive in its size. But apart from its painted timbered wooded beams on the ceiling, there is no ornamentation of any kind in this church. It is stark in its simplicity–probably in keeping with the monastic laws of avoiding any kind of ostentation. The altar is way up at a distance–again stark off-white stone steps lead to it. Candles are the only extraneous items on the altar. At one corner, I spotted a statue of Our Lady–but that was it.

In a few minutes, the service began and the monks trooped in–wearing black robes with heavy rope sashes at waist.  They took their places way up at the altar, sitting, as it were, in the choir stalls–although there really weren’t any. Mass was short and very quick–parts of it were sung and in Latin. It was a most unusual daily Mass–called a Coventual Mass, there were, in fact, several nuns seated in the front pews–of which I recognized a couple of Indian ones. Overall, it was very interesting and I was thrilled with myself for going to Mass at a church that is very easily accessible.

It was much brighter when I walked back home less than half an hour later and there were far more people on the street as life returned to Ealing and a new day dawned.

Back Home for Brekkie and Some More Work:

Back home, I toasted two croissants for breakfast and ate them with peanut butter and Nutella with coffee.  As I ate, I watched BBC Breakfast, then began the proofing of one more chapter with the idea of finishing it up before I arrived at my office (I have a good half hour commute on the Tube which allows me to get much reading done as I travel). Today, I had to leave my flat by 10.00am (which I did) as I had an 11.00 am meeting at NYU. I dressed (warmly) as the day promised to be chilly with periods of sunshine–and off I went.

Meeting and Working at NYU-London:

Students at NYU are excited about their mid-term break which starts in the first week of November–how is it possibly mid-term already??? I am still getting adjusted to my new routine…still, it will be nice to work in a building that will be devoid of students for a while.

My meeting with Kate and Philippa began promptly at 11.00 am. We met to discuss the Talking Points Lecture I will give and as we brainstormed, we discussed time, venue, format, participants, etc. I would send them a title and a blurb and a picture for the poster and they would take charge of publicity. We will hold it after the break and hope to attract a good audience of students and faculty members.

Once the meeting was done, I returned to my office and continued working on my chapter with the idea of finishing the proofing. All I was left to do then was the Conclusion to the book and I printed it out with the idea of proofing it in a very special place–the Kyoto Garden which is part of Holland Park in Kensington and which is one of my favorite parts of London. Frequent has been the occasion when I have sat in the garden and graded student essays to the sounds of cascading water from the nearby fountain and in the company of vivid peacocks that strut their stuff fearlessly amidst spring-time azaleas and rhododendrons. I was keen to see the garden in the autumn as I guessed that the Japanese maples would be fiery and would make some great photo ops. So that was my plan of action for the afternoon.

But first, lunch. I went downstairs to the kitchen to fix myself some soup and sat in the Faculty Lounge to eat my sandwich. It is always a pleasure to eat here as I invariably meet some of my London colleagues and get to know new ones. This time round, I met Julia and Eela and got to know Kate. Everyone is talking about the US election here and amidst an intellectual, liberal community, I suppose it is not surprising that no one wants Trump to win.

Back in my office, I continued culling through my printed memorabilia and having edited it all quite ruthlessly, Mark, the porter, found me a box in the store room downstairs and some tape. I packed up my brochures with the videos I have been buying from the thrift stores. With my box all packed for surface mailing to the US, I now have to get to the post office tomorrow to send it off. I took my box down and placed it in the store room and was pleased with myself for having completed a major chore. That task done, I left the building and since it was only about 2.15 pm, I decided to get one more museum ‘done’–and since I had not yet been to the British Museum although I had passed by it on numerous occasions, I resolved to go there and take a look at some new galleries that I have never covered before–although, from force of habit, I will also take a look at the Elgin Marbles!

Perusing Galleries at the British Museum:

I entered the British Museum from its back entrance on Montague Street near SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies). This is far from impressive, of course, but it takes you very quickly into the Main Court. From the many posters splashed around, I realized that there was a Maggi Hambling special exhibition entitled ‘Touch–Drawings on Paper’. Now I have always found Hambling fascinating although I do not know much about her work or life. What I do know is that she is a Suffolk-based artist and is personally known to my Suffolk-based friends Paul and Loulou (which whom I shall be spending a weekend very soon). They have been huge patrons of her work and when I lived in their Farringdon loft, a few years ago, a self-portrait by Maggi Hambling hung directly above my bed. So Maggie was really the last person I saw every night! For this reason, I was curious to see her work and I made my way up to the fourth floor to Gallery No. 90.

Every single work on display was deeply moving. A Modernist with a decidedly strong and very assured hand, Hambling’s portraits of her family members and dear friends are touchingly personal and strangely intimate. Images of her mother in her coffin, of her father on his death bed, of her art tutors while they lay ill, of ‘Sebastian’ whom she describes as the person she met in 1984 and began living with in 1987, of  her friend, the TV personality and actor Stephen Fry who actually fell asleep as she sketched him, plus her pen and ink word of flowing water, the sea, and fire and ice ones inspired by Japanese calligraphy to which she became introduced in the British Museum, are all simply spell binding. I was so very glad I made the impulsive decision to go and peruse her work for it left me knowing much more about this artist than I had ever known before. Also, interestingly, there is a huge Michelangelo Cartoon of the Virgin Mary with Christ and St. Anne and John the Baptist that, because of its size, has a permanent home here amidst changing contemporary art exhibits.

From the fourth floor, I made my way to the Ground Floor to the Main Court which always takes my breath away in its architectural grandeur. My aim was to see the Waddesdon Bequest that was gifted to the Museum by the Rothschild Estate–part of the riches to be found in Waddesdon Manor which was the Rothschild grand mansion in the Oxfordshire countryside (now run by the National Trust). As I had not gone to see it (too long and too expensive an outing even from Oxford), I was keen to see the items in the British Museum.

And my gosh, were they spectacular! Small but exquisite, each item in Gallery 2a that comprises this collection is worth lengthy scrutiny. There is everything you can imagine a wealthy man would want to spend his money on if he has an eye for beauty and an understanding of craftsmanship. So here is what struck me: gold pitchers, ewers, platters; carved agate bowls and servers; Italian ceramic vases; rock crystal cups, jars, bowls and footed vessels; intricately carved boxwood boxes; a bejeweled reliquary containing a Thorn from Christ’s Crown of Thorns; gold pendants encrusted with jewels superbly worked; beautifully carved wooden statues (of St. Catherine and St. George); carved amber beer tankards and boxes. The collection pertains to the Renaissance in Europe and there is not a single item that is not worthy of careful attention. It is worth going to the Museum only to see this collection. How could I have missed it previously?

Finally, I did not wish to leave the Museum without asking for, seeking and finding the Ichthyosaurus that the amateur fossil-collector Mary Anning had found. Ever since I read the novel Remarkable Creatures by Tracy Chevalier and had visited Mary Anning’s House (how the Museum) in Lyme Regis in Dorset this past August, I have been keen to get to the British Museum to see the items she found that so enthralled the world of paleonthology at the end of the 19th century, including stalwarts like Darwin who praised her work and gave her credit. Well, I asked at the Main Information Desk and while one assistant had no idea what I was talking about, I must admire the other assistant who knew immediately where it was and where to send me. Inside Gallery 1–an extensive room containing mainly the collection of Hans Sloane (without whom the British Museum would probably never have been created)–I asked another assistant and she directed me to the exact showcase which contains some of the most significant of the fossils found in the British Isles. And there it was–the icythyosaurus fossil in its own special section with Mary Anning’s name very clearly detailing her precious find!

So with three major ‘finds’ under my own belt, I left the Museum–and no, I did not get to the Elgin Marbles but I will soon–and since it was still only about 3.30, I decided to get ahead to the Kyoto Garden. I jumped into a 390 bus, got off at Oxford Circus, took another bus that sailed along Regent Street, got off at Piccadilly Circus where I took the 9 all the way down Kensington High Street. I have to say that although the journey took me much longer than I had hoped, I had a chance to pass through Green Park and Kensington Garden and to take in the look of trees wearing their striking autumnal foliage–mostly yellows with some reds. It is a pretty time to be outdoors and I looked forward to my foray into Holland Park.

Before I entered through the Earl’s Court entrance, however, I nipped into Waitrose to buy myself some red onion marmalade (by Stokes), some fruit scones (by Genesis) and some wonderful artisan French butter from Brittany studded with sea salt crystals as I expected it to be similar to the Bordier butter that I used to enjoy when I lived in Paris. It was my intention to sit in the Kyoto Garden, proofread a chapter and munch on my scone!

As if….

Arrival in Kyoto Garden in Holland Park:

It is a long hike to get to the heart of Holland Park from the Earl’s Court entrance on Kensington High Street–but it is a way I know well. Evening was closing in and most people were on their way home, their kids in push chairs (strolleys) and their dogs in tow. I always love the brick arches that lead to the Italianate Garden with its lilting modern fountain and its neat flower beds (now displaying late season purple salvia and hydrangeas that have turned a vivid maroon). This part of the garden never fails to remind me of Lionel and Jean in As Times Goes By as it was here that they had first met in the TV series, as a very young couple just on the brink of life before the war separated them.

I crossed this garden and made my way, with very certain steps to the Kyoto Garden in the back as I know this area well–having spent many an idle hour here. It was at this point that I was followed by a very aggressive peacock for peacocks roam freely in this part of the park. I felt the first flutters of trepidation but walked briskly away–only to find myself being followed very determinedly by the peacock!

Not wishing to seem like a woos, I walked quickly on and arrived at the Kyoto Garden. I absolutely LOVE this place! As expected, the dwarf maples had turned scarlet and the plum and pear trees had yellowed leaves. I clicked a few pictures and found that the peacock was still stalking me. As I walked around the lovely curving pond, I was struck by the number of squirrels that had also congregated here. Everywhere there were parents and their children (several Asians) taking pictures and introducing their kids to the animal and bird life that swarmed around freely.

I found an empty spot on a bench overlooking the pond besides a lady who was eating a salad from out of a Tupperware box.  I smiled, extracted the chapter I wanted to read from my bag and, at the same time, tried to pull out a scone. I meant to eat it with my butter as a tea time snack. And that was when I noticed the peacock closing in on me–simply staring at me while not a foot away. My flutters of trepidation turned to real fear and I squealed. The lady told me not to worry as it would do me no harm. But I kept imagining it moving suddenly and pecking me. I could not be reassured.

Half a minute later, I noticed a particularly needy squirrel arrive and sit at my feet. I jumped. It could possibly smell my food and was curious. But the lady besides me was eating too. Why were the peacock and the squirrel taking no interest in her? The squirrel came closer. I tried to shoo it away but it got on its hind legs and held its fore legs together and stared at me as if begging wordlessly! I was really afraid by this time and squealed louder. I realized then that it would be best to move my grocery bag up on to the bench. I put my chapter away as I was really terrified by this point. The peacock had moved away but the squirrel was getting bolder by the minute. He climbed on to a post, a foot away from me and looked poised to take a flying leap into my lap. No amount of shooing it away seemed to work. Two minutes later, just when I thought I had gotten rid of him, I found that he had climbed to the back of my bench and was inches away from my ear. The lady next to me said, “Be Careful. He is right behind you”. She was clearly nonplussed about his interest in me.

That was it. I screamed. I panicked big time. I simply had to get out of there. Gathering my bags and my things around me, I dropped my chapter and my pen and had the lady retrieve it for me as I was so frightened by this point that I could barely move. When she handed them back to me, I could hardly stutter a thank you as I fled. I have never encountered anything so bizarre in my life and I can tell you that it scared the Bejesus out of me. As I walked towards Bayswater Road to get to Shepherd’s Bush Market, my heart was racing. However, I did find another quiet bench in a far less crowded part of the park (with no squirrels or any other creatures around) and there I ate my scone with no disturbance whatsoever.

Back Home on the Tube:

I found Shepherd’s Bush Tube station after a ten minutes walk but I clearly was too unhinged to think correctly. I took a train heading to the wrong destination and realized after two stops that I was on the wrong one. Annoyed with myself at the waste of time and energy, I got off, retraced my stops in another train and then hopped into the right one that dropped me off at Ealing.

Once home, I took a shower and got dinner organized: Crostini with my red onion marmalade and blue cheese, king prawn masala with bread, a salad with lettuce, almonds and blue cheese. I watched New Tricks as I ate and tried to ease into the night after what had been a truly crazy evening.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Yet Another Working Morning at NYU-London and a Visit to the Museum of London Docklands

Oct20

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

London

A Rather Unusual Morning:

I awoke as usual–about 6.00 am. and did some blogging in bed. I caught up on email and then got a text from the realtor to say that the photographer would be arriving at 9.00 to photograph my flat for the rental market. Well, there was no time to lose. I jumped out of bed, washed, prepared some breakfast for myself–muesli with honey yogurt and coffee–and waited for the bell to ring–which it did at exactly 9.00. Aaron, the photographer, arrived and while be busied himself with his tripod and camera, I ate my breakfast  and sat down to work–to proofread one of my chapters. He was gone by 9. 35 and I got ready to leave–I decided to shower in the evening as I need to shampoo my hair and did not want to get out with my hair wet. It wasn’t long before I was at the Tube station getting my Oystercard registered in case of loss (which meant another happy encounter with the Anglo-Indian clerk Clayton) and was on the train heading to NYU.

A Busy Morning in my Office:

I have no idea where time flew except that I was hard at work by 11.00 and worked till 3.00 pm with just a short break for my soup and sandwich lunch which I ate in the Faculty Lounge–where I met another colleague, Phillip Woods, who gave me his card. Since he teaches Multi-cultural Britain, we had a lot to chat about. Then I was back at my desk, culling through the memorabilia I have accumulated and cutting it down to size. I also received an invitation to give a talk to the students and faculty during one of their Lunch Time Talking Points session–we have zeroed in on November 8–which means that the first week of November is going to be crazy busy for me with invited lectures. Still, I’m not complaining. This was the whole point of being in London as a Research Fellow and discussing my newest research and my forthcoming book.

Off to the Museum of London Docklands:

All of this week, I have been trying to go to museums in London that I have not covered so far. It began with Dr. Johnson’s House, continued with the Guildhall and today, I decided to go to the Museum of London Docklands. It is a hike to get to its location on the DLR (Docklands Light Railway) which probably explains why I have never ventured there before. It took me about 45 minutes to get there from Bloomsbury on the Tube–but arrive there I did. It is always a thrill to reach this curve of the Thames: the lovely glass and concrete skyscrapers of Canary Wharf always excite me and the newness of the whole area is a sharp contrast to the age and history of the rest of the city.

Exploring the Museum of London Docklands:

If you have never been to this museum, don’t saunter there…run! It is fantastic. I simply cannot believe that I have never seen it before. And it is free to boot! Built on the river Thames, in one of the original and old buildings that make up West India Quay (which is also the name of the DLR station from where you can walk a few meters to it), built in 1800, you will be absolutely enthralled from the moment you step into its doors. I had thought I would be done in about an hour and I could not have been more mistaken. There is SO much to see. If you stop to read all curatorial notes and watch every film, you could easily spend a day there and not get bored.

You start on the top (third) floor and work your way down. Upstairs, you get a brief history of the place. Three buildings–all identical–were built from 1800 till 1807 to handle the new maritime trade that developed when Britain acquired an empire. Ships plied across the globe bringing and taking goods from the colonies to Britain and to other countries that were key manufacturers–such as China which dominated the tea trade. Measuring scales, wheelbarrows, carts, hooks and other implements used to facilitate the movement of goods in baskets (tobacco), sacks (sugar) and wooden crates (all other items) are numerous. So many relics of this era are on display together with information about how the weighing, stamping, documenting, etc. was done for the British were compulsive record-keepers. Customs and Excise then stepped in and information pertaining to that whole process is explained.

There is simply loads of information on how shipping companies grew, labor was used at the docks (including information on the lascars who came from the Eastern colonies), the development of this entire area as habitation expanded around St. Katherine’s Dock, Wapping, Limehouse, The Isle of Dogs, and all the way up to Greenwich. There is also a wealth of information about crime that developed through gangs of thieves that stole from the warehouses and the horrible punishments meted out to them: from hanging to being left to rot in iron cages (giberts?) as examples to other prospective thieves. There was also information about gangs that went about getting young men drunk then grabbing then and throwing them on ships where they became used as forced labor. If they rebelled on board, they were whipped with ‘cats’ (cat ‘o nine tails).

There is a whole section about the growth of sugarcane in the West Indies, the development of the sugar industry and the use of slaves. Indeed the section on slavery in Britain was most enlightening and it amazing to discover that London was the second largest ‘port’ after Liverpool that ‘processed’ slaves–from arrival to sale to dispatch.  It was deeply heartbreaking and I was appropriately disquieted by this entire section that had on display such things as slave shackles, chains, etc.

On the second floor, one goes into the 19th century. The best part of this floor, in my opinion, is Sailor Town–a reproduction of the kind of segments of the city that grew around the shipping trade. This area is similar to the reproduction of Victorian England that we see in the Museum of London and which makes it one of my favorite parts of this Museum in The City. You walk through extremely dimly lit streets that are lined with smoke-darkened bricks and enter shops or peer into them: there is an interesting Exotic Animals shop (with snakes and parrots and even a camel inside!). There is a Bar (at which dock workers and sailors lost most of their salary as soon as they received it), a general store, etc. If ever one wanted an idea of what it was like living in the proximity of the huge trade that drove the empire, here it is.

This floor also has tons of information on World War II and the manner in which the Docklands were targeted by Nazi bombers for destruction. If you blew up the docks, you blew up the very lifeline of the British economy–Hitler knew it and his military went after this area during the blitzkrieg in horrific ways. There is wonderful footage from those days available on a large screen and it left me spellbound. Similarly, there are loads of pictures, articles, letters, etc. from that era from ordinary people working in the docks who carried gas masks to work and needed to use them at short notice.

It is hard to believe that the Docklands area thrived all the way up to the 1960s. In the 1970s, however, maritime trade changed as ‘container’ shipping took over the world requiring deeper harbors and greater dock space. London’s trade moved to Southend-On-Sea at the mouth of the Thames estuary where trade flourishes today. Canary Wharf was created and the journalistic, banking and financial industries moved there and the area fell into a new use. Declining warehouses were converted into the expensive yuppie waterfront housing of today and one building of the three West India Quay buildings was (thankfully) converted into a museum so that the significance of this part of the city and the primary role in played in its economic development will never be forgotten.

By this time, the Museum was near to closing time and I had to get going. I have to reiterate–this museum was a huge surprise to me and I would gladly go back and take another look at it (if time ever permitted).

On the DLR back home, I changed to the Central Line at Bank and was home before 7.00 pm when I had a shower and shampoo and then sat down to dinner: ravioli in a creamy bottled tomato sauce with flaked fish, lettuce salad with corn and peas in a balsamic vinaigrette and chocolate ice-cream for dessert. I watched a bit of TV as I munched and then called it a day at about 10.00 pm.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Another Working Morning at NYU-London, Visit to the Guildhall and Tea with a Colleague

Oct19

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

London

Once again, I awoke early (by 6.00 am) and contemplated going for Morning Mass to the Benedictine Abbey which is not far from where I live–but the morning was wet and drizzly and dark and I do believe it might be a better idea to do a ‘rekky’ of the area first–find out exactly where the church is–before I go looking for it while it is still dark. Yes, autumn is here and the days have closed in: sunrise is later and sunset comes faster now–so I try to fit in as much as I can during daylight hours.

Hence, what I did accomplish, apart from writing a blog post and catching up with email, was the proofreading of one more chapter of my book (as I have an urgent end-October date for submission of the manuscript). I finished most of it before I stopped to have breakfast (fresh toasted croissants with peanut butter and Nutella with coffee) and had a shower. It is great to be able to watch BBC’s Breakfast show while munching. I left my house at 10.00 am on schedule and was at NYU by 10. 35am.

Hard at Work in my Office:

I spent the next three and half hours hard at work as I printed out and proofread my chapters (I manage two per day), read and responded to work email as it came in after the USA woke up and began the editing of the vast amount of sightseeing memorabilia that I collect at every venue I visit. Since I wish to mail all this printed material back to the USA, I am trying to cull through it so that only the ones I actually will use in my Travel scrapbooks will  make it to America. I am doing it in batches as I intend to go off to the post office at the end of this week and mail some of it off right now. No doubt I shall accumulate a lot more material at the weeks go by–but I shall mail those off later.

My British colleague Valerie Wells popped in to give me an article she found on an Anglo-Indian woman who is compiling a book on Anglo-Indian recipes from her great grandmother who spent time in India. It was lovely to visit with her for a few minutes and to know that some of my British colleagues are aware of the topic of my research.

Off to the Guildhall:

It was a lovely sunny (if a bit nippy) afternoon and I had intended to spend it at one of my favorite parts of London that I have not yet visited–foolishly… as I should have gone there in the summer: the Kyoto Gardens at Holland Park. But then I received an email from my colleague Emma at NYU-London wondering if I could meet her for tea that evening at 5.00 pm at Gail’s on Bedford Square. I was keen to do so and re-arranged my plans for the afternoon.

Hence, I decided to go someplace closer (that would allow me to meet her on schedule) and went on impulse to the Guildhall instead. You might remember that when I had visited the Guildhall Art Gallery in August, I was unable to enter the Guildhall itself as it was under major renovation. I was told to return to see it in September, but since I was traveling for most of September, I went today instead. I took the Central Line Tube from Tottenham Court Road to Bank and walked for five minutes to the Guildhall where I arrived at about 2. 30 pm.

Visiting the Guildhall:

London’s Guildhall is a secular Medieval building that dates from 1411–it is built on top of a series of medieval crypts. It gets its name from the various medieval guilds that ran the city and has been the seat of government of The City of London since the Middle Ages presided over by a Lord Mayor–one of the most famous is Dick Wittington of story-book fame. The outside of the building resembles a Gothic Cathedral with its towering spire and its elaborate tracery on stained glass windows. It stands in a beautiful square flanked by the modern Guildhall Art Gallery built in the 1960s and the medieval church of St. Lawrence Jewry–so-called because it stands in part of The City that was once inhabited mainly by Jews–and where I have often attended lunch-time classical music concerts.

There is security to go through before you enter the Guildhall. While it is open to visitors today for free, there is only really one large room to see–a sort of Medieval Hall that looks a bit like the Dining Halls at the medieval universities of Oxford or Cambridge. There are massive stained glass windows at both ends of the hall in the classic Gothic arched shape. There are also huge sculptures along the sides–you will easily recognize Winston Church in forbidding black bronze and that of Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Trafalgar, in white marble. Alongside him is a sculpture honoring Nelson and his famed victory at Waterloo. And flanking him, on the other side, is a sculpture to William Pitt with one to his son on the opposite side. These huge monuments are wonderful testaments to Victorian sculpting expertise and are worth seeing.

However, the most famous of the sculptures in the Guildhall belong to Mog and Magog who stand high up on the balcony and look down at the frequent official proceedings. They are medieval knights dressed in the garb of Roman soldiers. They strike wonderful figures in stone and fresh gold paint. Indeed the very structure and shape of the Guildhall reminds you of knights and you can easily imagine a time when they came right off horseback to participate in Round Table-like meetings in this wonderful space.

This space was also the spot of various important trials through the ages. Some of the cases that were heard here and some of the people that were condemned to death were poor Lady Jane Grey (rightful heir to the British throne who was killed on false charges so that she and her line could not succeed to the throne), Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey( yes, the Elizabethan poet), Archbishop Cranmer (from the era of Henry VIII), Henry Garnett who was one of the co-conspirators of the Gunpowder Plot (although, for some reason, Guy Fawkes is much better known) and a bunch of Roman Catholics who preferred to hang on to their own religion. So. history and great sculptural art coalesce in this space and I was happy to peruse it.

Victorians De-Coded at the Guildhall Art Gallery:

My friend Barbara had suggested we see the exhibition entitled ‘Victorians Decoded’ at the Guildhall Art Gallery and since I was so close and had a bit of time on my hands, I popped in there. The exhibition is at the basement level of the Gallery (which I have visited frequently over the years). It is based on a connection between forms of telecommunication in the Victorian Age and the paintings in the Guildhall’s collection. The most famous and beloved of them is Lord Leighton’s Music Lesson which most visitors photograph because it is a classical Victorian work of art that captures so beautifully the intimacy of instruction between a mother and daughter. The background (an elaborate Turkish villa) with its architectural details and the grandeur of the clothing they wear, make this a stunning work of art in terms of its marvelous use of color. There were other major works, of course, but I have to say that oftentimes I could not see the connection between the concept of ‘signals’ and the works on display.

I also used the occasion of my visit to browse through a few of the paintings in the permanent collection upstairs before I left the Gallery for my next appointment. I love this part of London with its financial air about it and the purposeful looks on the faces of almost everyone on the streets as they go to and fro from their high-powered offices to the streets below. I am sorry that since I will not be in London that day, I will miss the Lord Mayor’s Procession that takes place once a year (this year on November 12) when the Lord Mayor goes forth in a grand golden coach drawn by handsome horses and preceded by his Guardsmen from Mansion House (his home and office) down Cheapside!

 

Tea with a Colleague:

I took the No. 8 bus terminating at Holborn and got off at Bloomsbury where, for just a few minutes, I popped into the Cartoon Museum to see if it was worth visiting. There is a 7 pound entry fee–so I might just keep it for later! It has a very nice shop, however, and I am amazed that people still find it–being that it is tucked away in a corner between Coptic and Museum Streets on Little Russel Street in front of the British Museum–a very witty location. For the grand British Museum in on Great Russel Street!

I was meeting my colleague Emma who teaches at NYU-London and who had an hour-long break between classes. She suggested we meet at Gail’s Tea Room where she arrived a little after I got there. We shared a pot of peppermint tea and caught up on her publications. She has just had a novel published (Owl Song at Dawn) and has a second book on Literary Female Friendships coming out early next year. Hence, she is hard at work meeting various deadlines. It is inspiring to be in the company of other women who are also working on books and, like myself,  are juggling research and writing schedules as we work towards deadlines.

 

Back Home for Dinner:

Emma had to leave for her class at 6.00 pm and I left soon after. I took the Tube from Tottemham Court Road and got home at 6. 45 but was surprised by a visit from the local realtor who brought two young men in to see my flat which goes on the rental market after my departure.

When they were gone, I got ready for dinner–I had a chicken and gravy pie that I bought from Sainsbury and I ate it with a lettuce and corn salad and a bowl of chocolate ice-cream for dessert while I watched TV.

I had a fairly early night and was in bed by 10.30 am when I fell asleep almost immediately.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…