Archive | June 2009

Towers, Gallows, Churches, Markets–Another Fascinating Walk

Jun9

Tuesday, June 9, 2009
London

I am sorry to have to spend so much time analyzing the vagaries of my sleep patterns, but they never cease to amaze me. Throughout the winter, when most folks tend to sleep in, I was awaking at the crack of dawn–even before dawn had cracked, in most days, i.e. at 4 and 5 and 6 am! Now, when summer is almost upon us and light appears in the eastern night sky before 5am, I sleep curled up like a baby until 7 and 8 am!!! This is the weirdest thing and I have never in my life experienced anything like it. Much as I am delighted that I am finally sleeping long and well, I am also sorry to lose the several productive hours I had at my PC in bed long before the rest of the world stirred.

At any rate, I awoke at 7 today, read Potter for an hour, called my parents in Bombay and spent almost an hour on the phone catching up with them about so many things, then sat to blog about my day yesterday. This took me a good part of the morning and it was about 11. 30 when I got out of bed!!! Since it was too late for breakfast, I fixed myself a brunch (toasted parma ham and blue cheese sandwich with some good coffee) and got back to my PC right after that to call my cousin Blossom in Madras. That chat when on for ages, then emailing back and forth with Chriselle in the States (after a long chat with Llew in the morning–we’re all about her wedding plans right now) and I found that it was about 4 pm when I finished all the things I wanted to do–most of which involved scheduling my projects for the next few weeks.

With time running out and my return to the States becoming imminent with every passing day, I feel pressured into completing all the items on my To-Do List as well as making time for my library research and for drafting the lecture that I have been invited to give to the international graduate students at Oxford in the middle of July! So you can imagine that I am beginning to feel as if I should make every second count–as if I haven’t been doing that for the past one year already!

The end result is that I have almost given up the idea of doing the Homes and Gardens Tour that I had intended as I find that most of the places I want to visit are way out of the public transport tracks and would take me ages to reach if I used the National Express coach services. Instead, I have decided to try and see just a couple of the gardens that can be reached by local train lines from London (such as Sissinghurst and Wisley Royal Garden) and to see the estates and mansions that lie sprinkled along the Thames. When I am in Oxford, during the third week of this month, I shall find it easier to reach places in the Cotswolds and in Wiltshire and at that time, I can try to see Blenheim Palace, Kelmscott Manor and the Hidcote Manor Gardens. So major changes in plans for me mean that next week I ought to be able to spend a whole week at the British Library with documents that will aid my understanding of negotiations that were carried out between the officials of the departing British Raj and the representatives of the Anglo-Indian Association.

I am, in a way, relieved that I have modified my plans. Everyone thought I was idiotic to aim at so ambitious an itinerary and I can now see why. At any rate, with so many wonderful places to cover that are so much closer to London, it makes no sense to be spending long hours in coaches, stuck in traffic when I would rather be out on my two feet exploring the country. So with those alterations in my plans all set, I could take a shower, dress and go off to cover one more self-guided walk in my book–this one entitled “Wanderings and Wizards”.

Wanderings and Wizards Walk:
There was much more than wanderings and wizards on this walk which turned out to be a sampler of sorts for it offered everything that the city of London has been known legendarily to possess–marvelous Wren churches, spooky graveyards, teeny-tiny tucked-away gardens, dim alleyways, atmospheric pubs and even a gigantic Victorian market–Leadenhall, so-called because its roof was made of lead and glass in the 19th century.

So, let’s begin at the beginning: I started off at Tower Hill (took another old Routemaster 15 bus there–I will never tire of the thrill of riding in these relics from a past era) and arrived at the Tower Hill Underground Station from where I walked across Trinity Square Gardens to arrive at the Memorial to the members of the Merchant Marine Corps who gave up their lives for their country–and then to a far older monument–the Memorial to the many men and women who were beheaded from 1381 to 1747.

The Tower of London is right across the busy road and I could only imagine what the last minutes of these poor ill-fated individuals might have been like as they made the journey from their prison cells in the Tower to this spot. Beheadings and hangings were public spectacle in those awful days and people gathered in vast numbers to take in these gruesome scenes. It was in 1747 that the last person (80-year old Lord Lovatt) was beheaded–thank God for little mercies! The monument is a poignant reminder of the injustice that so many of them faced in their last few years (individuals such as Sir Thomas More, for instance, who died fighting for their beliefs, their faith and their ideals, as heroes not as cowards).

When one considers the circumstances in which they died, it is curious (and I do not see the humor) in a pub across the street that is named The Hung, Drawn and Quartered!–but this is British humor, I guess. This pub stands right opposite the Church of All Hallows By-The-Tower (where I attended a recent Sunday Eucharist service) from which Samuel Pepys, the famous diarist who recorded the details of the Great Fire of London of 1566, watched the city turn into a bonfire–a scene of great desolation. There is a bust to his memory in a small garden in Seething Lane opposite the church.

Just a few steps away is the churchyard of St. Olav’s with its eerie stone gate that has three skulls and crossbones adorning its pediment. Apparently, these were designed to keep body snatchers away for it was not unusual for thieves to dig up fresh bodies right after they had been buried–these were sold to hospitals that needed them for the instruction of their student doctors as part of anatomy lessons. Inside, I found St. Olav’s to be equally spooky and I took a quick tour of the place before dashing out again. Somehow, with all the ghostly tales that I am reading as part of these tours, I feel rather uneasy in spaces that have not another soul in sight. I do not want my own brush with any of London’s ghosts and spectres, if I can help it.

Past St. Olav’s, the tour took me to very narrow alleys and unlit lanes that must have been the breeding ground for thieves in the not-too-distant past. They were reminiscent of the novels of Dickens and it was only when I was back on the main thoroughfares that I felt comfortable again. Office-goers were hurrying homeward though it was only 4. 45 and I soon realized that with the newspapers reporting a strike by Tube staff starting this evening, they were eager to get home before they found themselves stranded.

I pressed on, however, arriving at the splendid entrance to Leadenhall Market, a truly magnificent piece of Victorian architecture. It is a trifle reminiscent of Borough Market and Spitalfields but its fresh coat of paint makes it seem somehow much more striking. Whether this face lift is owed to its use by Hollywood producers of the Harry Potter films or not, I do not know, but the location was the setting for the scenes in Diagon Alley and there is actually a shop front in vivid blue that was the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron pub in the film. I enjoyed pottering (if you will forgive the pun!) around the market and its many shops that appeared like cubby-holes in the wall.

Right past this antiquated building is another that stands in peculiar contrast to it–the building that houses Lloyd’s, the British insurance firm. Only its building is like an industrial factory what with its steel facade, its glass elevators that ply along the exterior and its pipes that run the length and breadth of the structure. It reminded me very much of the building that houses the Centre Georges Pompidour in Paris, the location of the city’s collection of Modern Art. As anyone who has been reading this blog regularly knows, this form of Modernism is not my cup of tea at all and I was glad to leave the premises, though I rather marvelled at its design.

That was when I arrived at a series of churches, one after the other, that stood in small patches of green studded with ancient grave stones. There was the Church of St. Peter Upon Cornhill and then the Church of St. Michael. I have, by now, seen so many churches on these walks, that I have pretty much entered and perused all of the work of Christopher Wren that exhibits his attempts to rebuild the main houses of Christian worship in the center of the city after the Great Fire.

By the time I arrived at Bank Underground Station, commuters looked deeply harried and I could see why. Trains had already stopped running and I abandoned my intentions of getting to the National Theater to try to exchange some tickets that I am currently holding. Instead I did the sensible thing and hopped into the first 25 bus I saw that got me safely back home where I spent the rest of the evening writing this blog, fixing and eating my dinner (Chicken Kiev with soup and toast with chocolate mousse for dessert), making transport inquiries online for my intended trip to Highgate and Hampstead tomorrow and reading some more Potter before I retired for the day.

Two More Walks and ‘As You Like It’ at The Globe

Jun8

Monday, June 7, 2009
London

My day began with Harry Potter and then the transcribing of an interview with Coreen. Frustratingly, another interview that was scheduled for the morning with an Anglo-Indian was cancelled with no desire on the part of the lady to reschedule it. So, there it went! Another contact bites the dust! Still, I suppose I must be grateful for the many Anglo-Indians who have cooperated with me in my research, made the time for me and extended their legendary hospitality to me.

When I finished the transcribing and the proofreading, I decided to get out and finish two more self-guided walks from my Frommer’s Book. Perhaps it was for a reason that I had saved these for last–they are both based on the eastern side of the city and easily accessible by foot from where I live.

Ghosts of the Old City–Dick Wittington’s Influence:
This walk, though entitled “Ghosts of the Old City” took me to a number of Christopher Wren designed churches, each of which was filled with marvelous legends and folklore, not to mention ghosts! This walk began at the Church of St. Mary Le Bow whose bells are supposed to have rung out the ditty: “Turn again Wittington, Lord Mayor of London” to prevent the orphan Richard (Dick) Wittington from running away from his life of cruelty in London.

The legend of Whittington is all over this part of the city in the many churches with their lovely ornate Wren steeples. I stepped into this one right off Cheapside (so-called because a daily market was held on this street for the common man in the Middle Ages) into Bow Churchyard. Like all Anglican churches built by Wren, there is a quiet austerity about these interior spaces made more ornate by stained glass windows through which jewelled light streams on sunny days and the odd touches of gilding on plaster decorated ceilings. There is a crypt in this church (which is probably Roman) where a Healing Session was taking place when I visited briefly.

Out of Bow Churchyard, I stepped into Bow Lane in search of the Williamson’s Tavern and found it in a little alleyway. This building used to house London’s Lord Mayors (until Mansion House was built) and the pub that is on the ground floor proudly reveals this fact. I also discovered that this pub serves traditional English ales and is on The Ale Trail–a series of well-marked walks that allows the ale-lover to sample the ancient brew in rather quaint surroundings. If you order a pint of ale at any one of the pubs on these routes, you get a stamp on a card. Five stamps and you are entitled to an Ale Trail T-Shirt! Now had I known about this earlier, I might have tried to do this as well and perhaps there might still be time for me to do one of them–let’s see.

A Haul of Roman Coins and Pottery:
It was while I was getting out of this pub and heading towards another one called Ye Olde Watling Pub that stands on the crossroads where the old Londinium Roman Road intersected those going off to Canterbury and Winchester, that I spied another church. This one was not mentioned in my walk (I wonder why???) but my eye was attracted to a notice outside the church that said: “New stock of Roman coins on sale. Inquire within”. I entered the Guild Church of St Mary and was stunned. You have to see the fan-vaulted plasterwork ceiling to believe it. I mean, it is gorgeous!!! And yet, this church was not on my walk! How is such a thing possible? I spent a long while inspecting the interior and taking pictures and then ran into the Verger who took me into the sacristy to show me the haul of Roman coins.

Now I have to say that, in my ignorance, I thought he would produce some museum-shop style reproductions. But, get this, he had a haul of real, genuine Roman coins that have been found in digs all over the London area. It turns out that the Vicar of this Church, one Rev. John Mothersole, has been a dedicated antiquarian since the age of seven. He spends his free time traveling to sites associated with the ancient world and brings back genuine souvenirs of his visits that he is able to gain access to, thanks to his clerical collar!

Well, not only did I find each Roman coin (which he has collected from the many people who have found them in the basements of their London houses or wherever there is a dig of some sort going on in the city) but he categorizes them, gives you detailed provenance of each of them, dates them, etc. and sells then to raise funds for the church. I saw a beauty–a silver coin from the reign of Antonious Pius (first to second century AD) that I wanted to buy right away because I was so excited that I was actually holding a genuine Roman coin that had been working currency in the ancient world!!! However, the Verger did not take credit cards and I did not have enough cash on me, so I will have to return to pick it up.

When he saw how interested I was in the coins, the Verger took me to his safe and showed me fragments of pottery from archaeological sites that his Vicar had collected and labelled and which he was willing to sell me for any donation I wished to give. I parted with a few sous and ended up with two fragments–one from the Bhir Mound in Taxila (the ancient Indo-Gangetic university town), now in Pakistan and another large fragment from the handle of a Roman amphora from Monte Tess…. in Italy! Can you imagine how excited I was? Now, I know for a fact that these things have no monetary value at all–but for me, history buff that I am, this is a part of the ancient world that is actually in my possession–a tangible reminder of the glorious past that I can hold in my hand and marvel at. That was all I cared about as I safely bundled my goodies in my bag and left the church. Just see where happenstance led me???

Well, the walk continued then to the Temple of Mithras, an underground Roman Temple which has been recreated at ground level and is nothing more inspiring right now than a heap of cemented brick. The actual marble statues of Mithras (that were part of this haul) I have seen in the Guildhall Gallery and in the Museum of London. The Church of St. James Garlickhythe, my next stop, was closed though it is located in a very picturesque square, so on I pressed towards College Hill to the church of St. Michael Paternoster Royal (mind you, these are all Wren churches) where there is a stained glass window depicting Dick Wittington and his cat! Wittington did indeed become Lord Mayor of London four times and donated large amounts of the money he made to this church. Just a short walk uphill, you come across a blue plaque that announces the actual site of his mansion, now long gone.

The London Stone:
The last really interesting item to discover on this walk is the London Stone. This is now ensconced in an ornate wrought-iron grilled receptacle near 111 Cannon Street. While no one knows exactly what this is, it is conjectured that it was placed at the very heart of the old city of London during the Middle Ages though it is also possible that it was a Roman Milestone used to measure all distances from Londinium to other parts of the Roman empire in the province of Britannia. Not a single soul stopped to look at it (probably because no one really knows anything about its existence), but to me this was a remarkable find.

Meeting a Fellow-Blogger:
Then, I went out on foot towards Liverpool Street Station where I’d made plans to meet a regular reader of my blog. He chanced upon it a few weeks ago and has been giving me wonderful suggestions on places to see in the city. Murali is a mathematician in a bank who shares my passion for poetry, travel, London, theater, history, art, old houses, etc. and it was decided that we should put faces to each other’s writings as I have been frequently browsing through his blog and gaining valuable information from it.

He bought me a peppermint tea and settled down with a hot chocolate himself as we talked about our backgrounds and the circumstances that brought us, both Indian-born, to London. After a good hour during which we got to know each other better, he left me with some more suggestions for things to see and do in this city, before we said goodbye.

I had a couple of hours before I would make my way to the Globe Theater to see Shakespeare’s As You Like It, so I decided to do a second walk as its origin at the Museum of London was not too far at all from where I was.

Remnants of Rome:
This walk entitled “Remnants of Rome” has been done by me in little dribs and drabs over the past few weeks (without my really meaning to do this). It started at the London Wall near the Museum of London and took me into a little Herb Garden attached to the Worshipful Company of Barbers (can you even believe there is such a thing???!!-only in England, kids, only in England). From there, I could see the tall steeple of St. Giles Cripplegate Church where the poet Milton is buried. But it was closed and all I could do was admire it from the outside.

Reading about the London Wall taught me that the Romans had built a wall to surround the city of Londinium (in the same way that they did in York–which still stands quite superbly enclosing the old city). While much of it was destroyed by the Middle Ages, successive kings did fortify it so that the walls of the city of London stood until it was no longer necessary to use it as a form of defence. The various parts of the city today whose names end in ‘Gate’, as in Aldergate, Bishopsgate, Ludgate, Cripplegate (probably because crippled people congregated outside this gate begging for alms) etc. were actually gates into the city through the old walls!!! At any rate, I shall try to visit this church sometime in the future. Its antiquity is doubly curious since it stands today right in the midst of the huge township-like community that has developed around the Barbican including St. Giles Terrace, a number of very modern apartment buildings built around artificial lakes and fountains whose balconies spill over with colorful geraniums. Dotted around the area are old gardens, all of which are still so beautifully maintained.

A Tribute to Hemminge and Condell:
This walk continued towards the Guildhall which I have covered on other trails, so I decided to skip it this time and take a rest in a small garden on Aldermanbury Square where I made another charming discovery! This was not in my book either, so it was another one of those happy spots to which only serendipity led me. I found myself in a small garden with a bronze bust of Shakespeare in the center. Now I was going to see As You Like It later in the evening, so I wanted to find out what Shakespeare was doing in the middle of London’s Financial District.

Well, it turned out to be a monument to John Hemminge and Henry Condell, two of Shakespeare’s earliest editors. It was they, Shakespeare’s friends and fellow-actors in the theatrical world, who after his death in 1616 decided to put together a volume of all his plays–his Collected Works as it were, to be made available to the public. Now you must realize that none of these plays were in any one place. They were scattered all over, in Shakespeare’s own handwriting, with theater notes made on them, any amount of corrections and changes made to the script as Shakespeare or his collaborators thought suitable. Hemminge and Condell painstakingly brought all Shakespeare’s Tragedies, Comedies and Histories together in one volume–what we call the First Folio of 1623 (the Second Folio came out in 1632) and were it not for their labors, the works of the world’s greatest playwright might well have been lost (since play writing was not considered a respectable profession or a high art form and these working manuscripts were usually destroyed right after a play had finished its run).

Can you imagine a greater catastrophe than that!!!??? I had, of course, studied all this during my undergraduate years from the late Dr. Mehroo Jussawala, a Shakespeare scholar par excellence at the University of Bombay so many years ago. But to actually see a monument that acknowledges their efforts was deeply moving to me and as I sat there and gazed upon the bust of Shakespeare, I felt a tear well up in my eye.

And then when I considered how unassuming and modest about their achievements Hemminge and Condell had been, I was even more moved. For this is what they write in their Preface:

“We have but collected them, and done an office to the dead,–without ambition either of self-profit or fame; only to keep the memory of so worthy a Friend and Fellow alive as was our Shakespeare”.

Awwww!

Yet, despite their huge contribution to the History of Dramatic Art, nowhere have I ever seen them publicly acknowledged in this form. It was not until 1896 that someone called Charles Clement Walker of Lilleshall Old Hall, Shropshire, thought it fitting to reward their endeavors by creating and funding this monument that he placed in their memory in a part of the old City that they might have frequented. Bees buzzed around a great big patch of yellow flowers and another great big patch of lamb’s ears that grew tall and stately and were full of purple flower heads as I contemplated the long journey of the Bard from the Globe Theater to the hearts and minds of people around the world.

Off to the Globe Theater:
So it seemed only appropriate that my next port of call was Sam Wannamaker’s new Globe Theater on the opposite bank of the Thames which I crossed by strolling over Southwark Bridge. I pulled my suede jacket a bit more warmly around me and wondered if I had done the right thing going directly to the play without stopping at home to pick up a warmer coat. Still, I imagined it wouldn’t be too bad.

It was the opening night of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, a play which I know really well from having studied it as a student of Eng. Lit. years ago. I have also seen it in performance on at least two occasions and both times I remember that the character of Celia had been far more memorable than Rosalind.

Anyway, I was meeting my NYU colleague Matt who teaches Drama at NYU-London and is also the Theater Critic for the International Herald Tribune. He had invited me to use his free press pass on press night, an occasion that included a lovely buffet with a bar and an opportunity to pick up freebies–like a programme and a free cushion! Matt arrived at 6. 45 pm as we had planned and we spent a lovely evening together filling up on quiches and pork pies and sandwiches at the buffet and sipping elderflower juice (which I have developed a great fondness for here in London) and white wine for him.

As for the play, gosh, it was good! We loved every second of this charming production to which all of the characters lent their histrionic expertise. This Rosalind was far better than Celia, I have to say, and by far the two most interesting characters were Touchstone the Fool and Jacques who in their supporting roles provided refreshing comedic nuances. We also loved Peter Gayle who plays Amiens and lent his very pleasing voice indeed to the songs that are so intrinsic to this play. I told Matt that years ago, during my life in India, I had served as Theater Critic for The Free Press Journal–I had done this for almost ten years and had seen every significant dramatic production (both international and indigenous) that had ever come to Bombay. This explains why Chriselle gravitated towards a career in Acting–it was because she had accompanied me for years on end as a child, from one play production to the next, as I took notes and then churned out my reviews.

At the interval, we were downstairs nibbling again (on some really outstanding olives) and socializing and then we were back in the ‘galleries” (and how very grateful I was for my seat for I felt really sorry for the poor groundling sods standing in the pit!).

Darkness had fallen when I returned to Wobbly Bridge to cross it and walk home. Matt who lives in beautiful Hampstead was envious of the fact that I could just walk back. He turned towards London Bridge and left. Though I had expected a chilly night, it really wasn’t bad at all. The lights illuminated the many striking buildings, their reflections dipping into the river and in less than ten minutes after I passed by St. Paul’s Cathedral, I was home.

Osterley Park and House–Another Adam Masterpiece!

Jun7

Sunday, June 7, 2009
Osterley Park, London

The Silence of English Rain:
It was only because I was awoken today by a series of thunderclaps that I realized how quiet really is English rain! I mean for all these months that I have lived in London and for all the dreary, drizzling, dull and dripping days I’ve dealt with, never have I ever woken to the sound of rain–unlike the din that the downpours make in Bombay or the drumming of the drops that come down in sheets outside my Connecticut windows. English rain is silent rain. You see it, you feel it, you taste it, you smell in—but you never never hear it! This fact came home to me this morning when I actually heard the thunder and realized how odd the sound felt and how long it had been since my ears had picked up those deafening decibels.

I turned over in bed, reached for Potter, read about fifty pages, then promptly turned over and fell asleep again–awaking this time about 8. 30. This left me just enough time for a fragrant shower but not time enough to linger over coffee. I fixed myself a breakfast to go (toast with raspberry jam), dressed in layers and a trifle too warmly (as we’ve had a few nippy days and I did not want to feel chilly on the Thames’ tow paths) and was off. I caught a bus from Charterhouse Street, then connected to the 8 on High Holborn, then to the 9 that got me to Hammersmith and then the 419 that took me to Richmond. See? I am becoming quite a pro at this bus route thing!

My friend John was awaiting my arrival at Richmond Station and, at my request, we checked out some of the thrift shops in the area (inspired by Mary Portas who has lent her expertise to a recent feature in Time Out in London magazine on the city’s best thrift shops). It seems the ones in the towns and villages along the Thames (Richmond, Barnes, Twickenham, Putney) are particularly good and since I was in the neighborhood–what the heck! It was worth a dekko, I thought.

Well, I was not disappointed. John knew them all. From Richmond to St. Margaret’s, the little village in which he has a very cute flat, he accompanied me like a trooper. And my sleuthing was not in vain. By the end of my foraging, I emerged with a virtually new pair of Prada shoes and two English bone china mugs that commemorated the wedding of Prince Charles with Camilla–in their original boxes! Needless to say, I got these enviable items at bargain prices but then we were too laden with my purchases and the drizzle continued intermittently.

We decided to abandon our plans to walk at leisure along the Thames; but instead crossed Richmond Bridge (I saw a lovely interpretation of it in Trevor Chamberlaine’s oil painting at the Guildhall Art Gallery recently) and took a bus to Osterley. Our aim was to tour the National Trust-run property that was designed by Robert Adam called Osterley Park and House.

Visiting Osterley Park and House:
Once we alighted from the bus, we had about a ten minute walk to the gate of the property, after which we had to walk another ten minutes to get to the entrance of the house. Once past the gate, the visitor soaks in the wide expansive property on both sides of the driveway–property in which cattle grazed placidly or chewed the cud for the weather kept changing every ten minutes and by the time we reached Adam’s imposing Neo-Classical portico, past the beautiful artificial lake, every raindrop had dried and the sun shone warmly upon us.

We released our coats and brollies and jackets to the safe keeping of the staff at the front door and launched on our discovery of the premises. The best thing we could have asked for was the audio wand that comes free with admission (normally 8. 50 pounds though it was free for me as I am a National Trust member) for this proved to be extraordinarily useful as we flitted from room to room.

But, first things first. Modern-day visitors (i.e. We) do not enter the house by Adam’s intended main door. We use a far more modest side entrance. Why this is so is beyond my comprehension. If the Trust wishes visitors to achieve as exact an idea as possible of what it might have been like to be invited as a guest of the family in the 18th century, they ought to have permitted us the holistic experience! Nevertheless, the entrance was impressive as we were carried up a wide staircase and on to the first floor landing from where we saw a superb ceiling medallion done by none other than Peter Paul Reubens in the early 1700s. Now the original was removed for safe keeping in the early 20th century (during World War II), rolled up and placed in a warehouse on the Channel Island of Jersey–which promptly caught fire so that Reuben’s original work was destroyed. What adorns the ceiling of Osterley House today is a reproduction but it carries none of the subtlety of Reubens’ coloring (as anyone who has seen the ceiling of the Banqueting House at Whitehall would tell immediately).

Be that as it may, the audio wand told us the story of the inhabitants of this house at this stage in the tour. The house was built by James Child in the 18th century to a design by Robert Adam who was recognized as the greatest architect of his era specializing in the creation of the English country estate. Child had inherited his fortune from his ancestors who were Directors of the East India Company and had made their money a century previously trading in tea, cotton, silks, spices and, yes–it must be said–slaves! In 1763, he married a woman named Sarah who gave him one child, a daughter named Sarah Anne. The family lived for at least 30 years in Osterley Park at the time when most of the interior decoration was undertaken by Adam.

The tour wound us through the exquisite taste and grandeur of Adam’s aesthetic. If you have seen Syon House (or any one of the other stately homes for which he is responsible–see my blog on my visit to Syon House written last October), you will see a uniformity in his designs–his use, for instance, of symmetrically formal arrangements inspired by classical motifs in the Palladian style–such as urns and pilasters, columns and Greek key designs on moldings, the lavish use of white plaster of Paris embellishments contrasted against the matt backdrop of what has come to be called Wedgwood blue, green, teal and puce (because it was in the same era that Josiah Wedgwood was imitating the classicism of plaster of Paris interior decoration on his ‘Jasperware’ pottery in his factory in Stoke-on-Trent in the Midlands).

Apart from this, Adam’s most striking signature feature, there are paintings galore in the house, executed directly on ceilings or as panels on the walls of each room or as framed canvasses then used to decorate them. Collections of fine European and English porcelain, marquetry work on furniture. impressive sideboards and other occasional seating pieces (a Robert Adam-designed bed is the most stunning centerpiece in the master bedroom) and other accoutrements make up the bulk of the house. Special mention must be made of the Tapestry Room whose walls are lined by Tapestries whose four center medallions are woven interpretations of a series of paintings by Francois Boucher called The Seasons. This work is so finely executed that were the visitor not informed that it was tapestry on the wall, he would well have believed he was looking at paintings. These tapestries were made in France by the famous Gobelin factory and they must be among the most valuable things in the place. Downstairs, visitors walked through enormous kitchens in which prodigious amounts of food were cooked and conveyed by a stealthy series of staircases and concealed doors for the gastronomic pleasure of the family and their privileged guests. Overall, not too bad an ancestral pile at all!

The audio guides were superb in pointing attention to each of the features of the rooms as well as providing a wealth of historical, artistic and architectural information to further enhance enjoyment of the visual feast. What came home to me on this visit was that the Neo-Classical architect needed to combine the genius of three varied disciplines in the execution of his work: as builder, engineer and artist. Indeed, all these elements combined to make this one of the most enjoyable tours of a country estate that I have ever taken. Though Osterley lacks the ostentation of, say, Vanbrugh’s Castle Howard near York, it is a magnificent building and one that I was very glad John accompanied me in visiting.

Tea in the Stables:
Our visit had rendered us ravenous and we were glad that sustenance awaited not too far away–in the picturesque Tea Rooms that extended out into the Tea Garden–a brick-walled enclosed garden with wrought iron furniture and green canvas umbrellas. We settled down to cups of steaming Darjeeling and a cheese scone and how welcome was that treat! Truly, if it was the East (China and India) that bestowed the habit of tea-drinking upon the English, it was they who gave to the rest of the world that charming meal called Tea-time. I often wish it were not the issue of the tea tax that had led to the loss of the thirteen North American colonies. It was probably out of defiance that the American colonists rejected the delightful customs of tea-time–which explains why we do not pause for tea at 4 o clock in America while the people of every former British colony everywhere else in the world do!!! Or maybe Anna, the Duchess of Bedford, who is credited with having started the delightful custom of tea-drinking by surreptitiously calling for the drink with a snack in her boudoir had not yet initiated her habit by the time the colonists dumped that shipload of tea in Boston Harbor!

A quick look at a film in the former stables and a browse around the shop and it was already 5 pm and the park was closing down for the day. John and I walked past the lovely lake, took some pictures together to commemorate our visit and then were walking along the rural pastures that had made agriculture such a lucrative pursuit for the 18th century aristocracy–it was not for nothing that they were called the landed gentry! If you could only see the endless acres stretching all the way to the horizon that surround this house! It wasn’t long before we said our goodbyes, parted at the bus-stop and went our separate ways.

I have begun to master the routes to Charterhouse Street and in an hour and a half, I was home. I had almost an hour-long conversation with Llew on the phone before I stopped to eat my dinner (a rather light one of chicken noodle soup and toast with chocolate praline ice-cream for dessert) as that scone still stood me in good stead.

It was soon time to write this blog, get ready for bed and go to sleep, my appetite entirely whetted for the feast of country estates and gardens that await me on my proposed tour.

Seeing Samantha Bond in Stoppard’s Arcadia and Liberty of London

Jun6

Saturday, June 6, 2009
London

In keeping with my resolution to always get substantial work done before I goof off, I awoke at 7. 30 am, read some Potter, proofread my blog, caught up with my email, then stopped for a spot of breakfast–make that a whole cup of coffee and some toast with preserves. I am trying to finish up all the odds and ends of food stuff left over from my pantry supplies as I do not want to take any of it back to the States. And time is flying…

Then, it was back to the drawing board for me as I began transcribing an interview I did with Gerry in Wembley. This neighborhood is quiet, quieter than Holborn, if that is at all possible. While Holborn did carry the occasional screech of tyres up to my third floor window even on weekend mornings, I do not hear a squeal here at all–the better to get my work done.

It was while I was hammering away at my PC that the email came–offering me free tickets to see Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia. This is a play I had toyed with the idea of seeing for a while–not only do I think Stoppard is quite the most brilliant living playwright in England (I speak here with knowledge of The Real Thing, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and, of course, his unforgettable Oscar Award-winning screenplay for Shakespeare in Love)–but the play stars Samantha Bond whose performance in Distant Shores I had loved when I saw her play the very feisty wife of a physician (played by Peter Davison) on a PBS channel in the States. So, when the offer of free tickets fell into my lap, I grabbed it. A few calls on my cell phone and I found company–my buddy Rosemary agreed to drop all her scheduled cleaning chores to go with me (I didn’t have to do too much arm-twisting!) and we decided to meet at the Duke of York Theater at 2. 15 pm. This gave me enough time to have a relaxed shower, get back to my transcription, dress, and leave the house at 1. 15 pm to pick up tickets outside Covent Garden at 1. 45 pm.

I have yet to figure out which bus stops are closest to my new roost, which routes they serve and how to make connections–but I am sure all that will be sorted soon. What I did find when I set out was that the entire Smithfield Market area was barricaded. Apparently, there were to be some major bicycle races there in the evening. I did find an odd Number 11 stop by (all buses were re-routed) and hopped off at Covent Garden and, against all my expectations, made it there on time to pick up the tickets.

London is just crawling with tourists right now and the attractions are buzzing with buskers. It is difficult to cut through the crowds and though, at most times, I do enjoy the travel energy associated with these folks (God knows I have enough of it myself!), I have to say it was annoying this afternoon.

However, I did pick up the tickets and a hearty ham and mustard sandwich from M&S Simply Food which I munched en route to the Theater on St. Martin’s Lane which kept the hunger pangs at bay.

Rosemary was waiting for me in the lobby. It wasn’t long before we found our seats and chinwagged until the curtain went up. She had bought a program while awaiting my arrival and I was glad she did. Not only did it have an extraordinary amount of information on the actors, but it was full of notes about the history of landscaping in England as the play is themed around the changing fashions in English garden design from the classical to the naturalism of Lancelot (Capability) Brown to the Picturesque style that followed. Hannah, in the play, speaks of Brown who was influenced by Claude Lorraine (French landscape painter) who was, in turn, influenced by Virgil (Italian medieval poet). She says:

“English landscape was invented by gardeners imitating foreign painters who were evoking classical authors. The whole thing was brought home in the luggage from the Grand Tour”.

These have to be among the most striking lines in the play and a perfect example of Stoppard’s erudition–and this is only one example. . Of course, those of us who have kept up with the trends beyond the 19th century know that in the 20th, English garden design continued to evolve with Gertrude Jekyll and Edwin Lutyens collaborating to create the concept of Garden Rooms–a venture in which they were joined by the redoubtable Vita Sackville-West who presented us with her famous White Garden at Sissinghurst.

I know I digress when I say that perhaps it was fitting that I should see this play the very weekend I am beginning to make plans for a week-long tour of the Grand Country Estates and Gardens of England. This is another one of the items on my List of Things To-Do before leaving England and since June is possibly the best month to visit English gardens, I can think of no reason to waste any more time. Besides, my friend Loulou in whose fabulous loft I am currently staying, was just telling me only a few days ago that she has to get her garden ready for a local garden club that is about to visit her estate garden in Suffolk. For she is a dedicated gardener and if her home (whose en suite spare room I am currently occupying while she spends most of her week in Suffolk) is anything to go by, her garden must be ethereal! I can’t wait to take her up on her offer to visit her there and see it for myself. By comparison, I am sure that my Connecticut garden, a tour of which is on my website, must seem like a blooming traffic island!

So there was I familiarising myself with the vocabulary of English landscape design from ‘hermitages’ and ‘hahas’ to ‘gazebos’ and ‘wilderness’ as much as I grappled with the more esoteric aspects of the script that derive from mathematics about which, I have to admit, an abiding ignorance–one of the characters deals with chaos theory and utilizes it to help figure out the grouse population on the estate. Infused into this rather abundant pastiche of allusions are those from literature–from Lord Byron (who is central to the plot) and Lady Caroline Lamb, to Mrs. Radcliff and Robert Southey–so that the creative arts constantly intersect the sciences. Newton is thrown in for good measure as are Euclid and Fermat and Carnot. Stoppard is nothing if not intellectual, so go prepared for a cerebral roller coaster ride in the theater.

After you have stopped gasping at the verbal and conceptual pyrotechnics of this play, you will have a chance to be swept away by the engaging performances especially of Bernard Nightingale (played very energetically by Neil Pearson whom we have all seen in the Bridget Jones films among other things) and Bond herself (who brings to this role the same mixture of sensuality and physicality I had grown to love in Distant Shores). The set design lends itself perfectly to the juxtaposition of two different eras (the early Romantic Age and our own early 21st) and the comings and goings of historic and more contemporary characters who waltz around each other literally and figuratively on the stage. Prepare to be enchanted.

Inside Liberty of London:
When the play was over, we went our separate ways. Having equipped myself with a map and bus guide, I found my way to Liberty of London which is on Great Marlborough Street just off Regent Street but closer to the Oxford Circus (not the Piccadilly) end. And what a building it turned out to be! Just charming! I mean, I had seen pictures of this store and was prepared for a Tudor building. But how cleverly the space inside has been employed. It is simply stunning. I have yet to read up a bit about the history of the building. Is it a genuine Tudor building? Or a Victorian masquerade made in imitation of the Tudor idiom? God knows…and I will find out, I know, soon enough from the garrulous Web. But for the moment, I have to say I was delighted I stepped in.

It really is a London institution and I cannot for the life of me explain why I haven’t been in here before! Why is it that I have always visited Harrods? Why is Selfridges always on my list of stores to sample? Well, better late than never—so I guess I can say Been There, Done That to Liberty to London and tick another item off my List. Needless to say, everything was screamingly pricey, but then what did I expect if not sticker-shock? And this is perhaps the very first store in which I have ever browsed where every possible precaution has been taken against those endowed with sticky fingers. I mean as if the CCTV thing (such a fixture in London) were inadequate, there are locks and long telephone coil-like extensions attached to all the big label items! Watch out Winona!

Nor did I walk out empty handed. Indeed I was presented with some pretty nice samples–Dr. Perricone’s skin care products for face and eye area–the deep penetrating night creams, said to work wonders in two weeks. I’ve seen the good doctor peddle his wares on the box in the States but never have I seen his range in a department store. Well, try them I will. Hopefully something lovely will come out of my gallivanting into Liberty!

I had half a mind to undertake one of my walking tours in the St. Paul’s Cathedral area but then it had turned nippy and I wasn’t adequately dressed (nor did I have the right walking shoes on) for a gad about the graveyards of the East End. I decided to get home instead and finish transcribing my interview as I have another full day ahead of me tomorrow (a Thames-side visit to Osterley House and Park), so I figured I’d better conserve my stamina for the hike that lies ahead.

The area around Smithfield Market had been transformed. Crowds had gathered to cheer the cyclists on and provided me with the opportunity to take a few pictures as the competitors warmed up. I do not believe that this sports meet has a name yet, but the commentator kept raving about the fact that it is becoming more popular each year and poised to take its place soon as one of the capital’s most exciting events. Well, if that ever happens, I will be able to say that I caught the races while the event was still in its infancy. For I did stand around and take it all in and then I continued to stay abreast of what was going on as the commentary floated up to my loft home while I ate my dinner.

Yes, indeed, back home, I ate an early dinner (chicken noodle soup out of a packet and pasta with Chocolate mousse out of a pot) and I returned to my room to continue my transcription. When it was all done, I stopped to brush and floss my teeth, get ready for bed and write this blog.

I’d say it was rather a productive Saturday, wouldn’t you?

June 8, 2009:
PS: Did have a chance to read up a bit about the history of Liberty of London and this is what I have found out (Courtesy of The English Home magazine):
Liberty of London was founded by Arthur Lasenby Liberty in 1875. “The creation of a recognisable look for the shop was always a conscious aim of its founder and his most shrewd move was the building of a Tudor shop, which was completed in 1924. This addition meant that the building itself became the shop’s trademark and a symbol of its founding values”.

I would also agree with writer Harriet Paige who says, in the same magazine, that:
” And it is perhaps the buildings themselves–Liberty’s timber-frame structure, Fortnum and Mason’s eccentric time-piece and Harrod’s Edwardian frontage–that has ensured Britain’s great department stores have become true London landmarks”.

I mean, I think this is absolutely true. Other than Macy’s which does have an iconic building all its own on an individual block at 34th Street and Sixth Avenue, none of the New York department stores stand out in any way in terms of their buildings. Each one looks exactly like the other–there is no character, no individuality, indeed no imagination whatsoever that has gone into their making. This is what, I suppose, has always made England so enthralling to me and the States…well, so blah!

Dallying in Dulwich! And Transcribing Another Interview

Jun5

Friday, June 5, 2009
Dulwich, London

It seems that either I stay up half the night with sleeplessness or I awake at 8. 15 (now this has to be the latest I have ever awoken here!) and panic. Because I had plans to meet my friend Janie at East Dulwich Station at 9. 30, I tore out of bed, washed, got dressed (no, I did not shower–no time!), threw two slices of bread into the toaster (to eat on the bus) and was out the door like greased lightning!!!!

The 63 took its time trundling along Farringdon Road, but I made the connection to the 176 heading towards Penge really quickly on Blackfriars Bridge and I was at the appointed place at the appointed hour–by some inexplicable miracle! And Janie was not there! It was then that I realized (quelle horreur!) that I had left my cell phone at home!!! I am now beginning to realize that I can get out of the house without my bus pass but NOT without my cell phone.

So, of course, all I could do was twiddle my thumbs and wait…and wait…and wait. Just when I was beginning to despair, I stepped inside and asked the ticket clerk if there was another entrance to the station. Nah. So there I was freezing slowly (because it was a really chilly day which felt like a normal summer’s day in England instead of the scorchers we’ve recently had). At a few minutes before 10 am, I began to consider alternatives. I could take a bus and get to the Dulwich Picture Gallery which was our aim and meet her there. Hopefully, she would still stick with our original plans and not go back home to Clapham (she was driving).

Well, just when my options began to become more concrete, along came Janie! Hallelujah!!! Many relieved hugs and kisses later (she was waiting at the wrong station–North Dulwich instead of East Dulwich!), we were off. Janie suggested she give me a little driving tour of Dulwich Village first. I requested a stop on the street on which Kamala Markandaya used to live. She is the late Indo-British author on whom my doctoral dissertation was based (which subsequently led to the publication of my first book, a scholarly criticism of her novels).

A quick check into Janie’s A to Z revealed that we were not too far away from her place at all and then within five minutes, there we were, in a street filled with lovely Victorian terraced homes with their plaster embellishments running all along the porches and the window frames. I stepped out, took a couple of pictures and then we were back again in the car, heading off to the Village.

My friend Janie is a lover of all things Georgian but mainly their architecture and she is also an authority on it–so it is always a joy to take an excursion with her as I end up learning so much and to see with informed eyes. Traveling with her means becoming aware of things I would never have found out on my own. For instance, she stopped outside a block of houses with blackened brick and explained to me how the windows were raised and lowered using a concept of weights and pulleys that were concealed in the broad window frames! Just next door was a later Victorian house that still used the same mechanism, but the apparatus was hidden inside the house so that the broad window ledges and crowning frames disappeared by the mid-1900s. Not only has Janie an eye for these things but she has the knowledge and the enthusiasm to explain every last detail and the awe and passion in her voice as she speaks is unmistakable.

Getting to Know Edward Alleyn:
She then went on to tell me about Edward Alleyn, a name that I knew was familiar but could not immediately place. When she mentioned Christopher Marlowe, something clicked in my brain, and I remembered he was the Elizabethan actor-manager (of the Rose Theater, a competitor of the Globe) who had taken the debut role of Dr. Faustus in Marlowe’s play. Well, like Shakespeare, Alleyn made a stack of ducats and ended up with a finger in many business ventures, including dubious ones like bear baiting and brothels! Then, one day, during the scene in Dr. Faustus with Mephistopheles in hell in which he is surrounded by 12 devils, Alleyn counted 13! And that changed his life. He decided that he was a man wealthy beyond his wildest expectations and ought to give something back to the society that had so nurtured his talents and allowed them to bloom. It was schools for little boys that he was going to found with his excess wealth and that he set about doing in the Village of Dulwich in which he lived and had a grand mansion.

So began the God’s Gifts School–first one, then another, then yet another, until the education of boys became his passion and he poured all his profits into them. The establishment of Dulwich College (a private school for boys) soon followed and you can see the imposing red brick building with its exterior Victorian flourishes (reminiscent of The Victoria and Albert Museum) and its magnificent wrought-iron gate alongside his house just next door to the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Janie’s son goes to one of these schools which is how she is so familiar with the history and origin of this set of fine public (which means private!) schools. I took many pictures (despite the drizzle that played almost all day) and decided to explore the area on foot after Janie left at mid-day as she had domestic commitments.

The Dulwich Picture Gallery and Sickert in Venice:
By the time we arrived at the beautiful purpose-built building that comprises the Dulwich Picture Gallery (no marks for guessing that the architect was Sir John Soanes, he of the Bank of England and the famed Museum that bears his name), we were starving and decided that a little pick-us-up of toasted croissants with caffe lattes would do very nicely, thank-you. So we headed off first to the cafeteria and sat ourselves down and caught up! I had last seen Janie when she was kind enough to drive me to Rochester, Kent, to pick up my antique weighing scale. Turned out, she had since then received the contract to design posters and other such graphics for the Rochester Cathedral based on their eagle logo, which she had visited for the first time on her trip with me!

Well, it turns out that Janie actually knows some folks in the antiques shipping biz and I might end up getting a better quotation for the shipping of my antique bureau-desk back home to Connecticut. Wouldn’t that be lover-ly, as Eliza Dolittle would say? More chatter, more sips of latte, more bites into our crispy croissant, and then we were ready to see the collection.

My Met ID card worked and I was granted free entry into the special exhibit entitled “Sickert in Venice”. Entrance into the Gallery is usually free–it is only the special exhibits for which you pay. I felt very pleased indeed though Janie did buy herself a ticket–a rather steep nine pounds, I might add for an exhibition that spanned just four small rooms.

So it was the Sickert we looked at first of all. Those canvasses took me right back to Venice and the fun days I had spent there last March with my friends Amy and Mahnaz. I had gone there for a conference organized at the Venice International University and made a holiday of it–and what a blast it was! Well, there they were…all those images reminding me of those awed times that we climbed the Campanile in Piazza San Marco to watch the pigeons in the square below; the baldachino in the Basilica San Marco that conceals the stunning Pala D’Oro behind it (easily one of the most beautiful things in the whole world that I have ever seen!), the canals with their bobbing gondolas or stopping by the pallazos–some still shining, others rather decrepit, the Rialto Bridge gleaming in the artistic sunshine in shades of pink and blue and yellow. All those memories came rushing at me in Impressionistic idiom and color and I sighed and gazed and sighed again. Sickert’s perspective is often oblique, his tendency (as in the new photographic form) closely cropped to focus on just one element of a Renaissance structure or on the effect of silvery moonlight on a watery canal. It was magical.

And then there were his portraits–mainly of prostitutes who posed for him, their hair coiled up like Japanese geisha girls. More portraits of their mothers saw them looking pale, forlorn and very pathetic indeed. Women in bed sleeping quietly while watched, women stretching lazily like so many graceful felines, women bending over their baths, women chatting companionably (though, in reality, they were ruthless rivals for the same clientele). Surely those years in Venice (the early 1900s) might have been adventurous in the extreme for the young Sickert escaping strait-laced Victorian respectability and middle-class morality in England and sowing his wild oats under the Venetian sun!

Janie left soon after, allowing me to browse through the rest of the small but rather lovely collection. There were a few outstanding canvasses, I thought–the one of ‘Mrs. Moody and her Children’ by Gainsborough was particularly evocative because she died so soon after it was painted and her little boys (both wearing girls’ dresses with great big sashes and bows as, I understand, was the custom until boys were potty-trained!) were painted in later. This naturalized portrait compares intriguingly with Gainsborough’s earlier work such as Mr. and Mrs. Andrews (in the National Gallery) which are so much stiffer and stylized. Also lovely was a portrait of a girl at a window by Rembrandt (recently restored and rather beautifully at that) in which she gazes at the viewer quite saucily, her eyes bright with hope for her future. Peter Lely’s young man (not really a portrait since the person in neither known nor named) is wonderfully lit, his features glowing golden in the clever artificial lighting. There were stunning Murillos, Riberas and a Velasquez portrait of Phillip IV in rather an unusual pose.

All the while, you are walking through rooms created by Sir John Soanes, himself a great lover of art and a collector (see Hogarth’s series called The Rake’s Progress in his house at Lincoln’s Inn Field) and I can see how carefully he must have considered the placement of the windows to allow maximum natural light without diminishing the clarity of the paint as time passed by. There are his classical embellishments–the use of four decorative urns at the top of the main entrance, but some modern touches as well–the use of rather unusually designed doors. There is a classical austerity in the many arches, brick-bound and sombre. Enjoy the art but also pause to enjoy the architecture–for the more I see of the work of Soanes and the more I get to know the man, the more he is beginning to feel like an old friend.

Exploring Dulwich Village:
It was time to potter around the Village and my first stop was the spacious grounds of Edward Alleyn’s house (now turned into a number of almshouses). There is a chapel that is open only on Tuesday afternoons but beautifully landscaped rose gardens that were brimming over with fragrant blossoms–a significant flower for the Elizabethans loved roses with a passion. There is also a bronze sculpture that celebrates Alleyne’s thespian contributions to the Theater and set against the quiet square and the blushing roses, they took me right back to those passionate times when blank verse rang out from sawdust covered stages and the groundlings screeched their approval of bawdy lines.

I strolled through Dulwich Village which revealed itself to be studded with coffee shops, a church hall filling rapidly with adorable pink tutu-sporting toddlers off for their ballet lessons, one-of-a-kind boutiques and a few patisseries. It wasn’t long before I got back on the bus, delighted to have made the acquaintance of a rather lovely part of London that has largely remained undiscovered by the conventional tourist.

As the bus wound through Peckham High Street, I spied the Clark Factory Store and out I jumped, hoping to find some plantar fascittis-friendly sandals for the coming summer. And there they were –just the kind I wanted marked at one-third the price in the high street plus I got the second pair at one pound! Hey, you can’t beat a deal like that, so out I walked with a big bag and my summer footwear wardrobe in my hand. I might just make a trip there again next week to take a look at the newer stock as I had reached there at the very end of the day when the shelves were mostly empty and my size was almost impossible to find.

Back home, I made myself a very early plate of dinner (was starving as I had eaten no lunch) which I ate while watching TV for exactly 15 minutes and at 6. 40pm, I began transcribing the interview I did with Noel in Hounslow–an interview that had gone on for hours and would take at least three more to complete. In-between I chatted with Llew and made a few more calls. After the transcribing, the proof reading began and when I looked next at my watch, it was 11 pm!!! Just enough time to get ready for bed, read a bit of Potter and fall off (hopefully without having to count too many sheep).

Museum of London (2) and Selfridges is A Hundred!

Jun4

Thursday, June 4, 2009
London

I took forever to fall asleep last night. And then, when I did get to sleep, I awoke within an hour and then took forever to fall back to sleep again! In frustration, I switched on my bedside lamp and turned to Harry for company. Read about 50 pages before I did finally fall asleep at 2. 30 am and awoke at 7.00 feeling really fatigued. Sitting in bed, as I usually do, I began to work and realized it was 8. 30 when I heard sounds outside my bedroom door–which announced to me that the cleaning lady, Minda, had arrived to start her weekly chores. Just when I was getting accustomed to rattling around on my own in this spacious loft, I had company and how comforting it felt.

Of course, just as I had been warned about her arrival, she had been told about my presence. And she could not stop chatting with me as I ate my cereal breakfast. She was so excited that I was from the States because she has traveled there extensively herself and has several relatives in Michigan. She is a lovely friendly Filipina and she instructed me very thoroughly on the garbage disposal system in this building and the precautions I must take if I am using the washer-dryer in the laundry room. I was very grateful indeed, both for her company and her concern for me.

Then, I got back to my room and worked steadily for about three hours. I finished transcribing the interviews I did with the Walters and after I had proofread them, I felt hunger pangs beckoning me towards the kitchen once again. I made myself a toasted ham and goat cheese sandwich which I ate while watching TV–this gave Minda more of a chance to chat with me and ask me if I knew her former employers from Sharon, Connecticut!–which I didn’t.

I showered quickly to allow her to go ahead and clean my bathroom and at 2. 30, she left, having spent 6 whole hours cleaning this penthouse. I decided to go out and enjoy the day which was a bit more nippy than the hot days we’ve had recently.

More of the Museum of London:
I set out first for the Museum of London with the idea of finishing up the bit on the Fire of London that I hadn’t yet done. I arrived there rather quickly, taking two buses, and discovered that in just 15 minutes time, a Highlights Tour of the Roman Gallery would be starting. I decided to join it and in the company of a docent called Lynne, I spent the next 45 minutes seeing again the items I had seen two days ago.

Lynne was very good indeed. In the manner in which she spoke–the clear enunciation, the turn of phrase, the wacky sense of humor, the accent–she reminded me so much of my former neighbor Tim! It was amazing! Of course, she knew a great deal about the gallery and she explained things very clearly; but to my enormous shame, I who had grabbed hold of a portable stool so that I could rest my feet in-between items, found myself dozing away during her commentary! Clearly lack of sleep was taking its toll on me and I resolved to get to bed early tonight. I was glad I received another review of the Roman Galleries and I have to say that I came away from this museum realizing how deeply influenced London is by Roman occupation. In fact, the modern city of London sits on top of 20 feet of “rubbish”, i.e. garbage that was left over by the Romans initially and all the other people that made the city home over the centuries.
The Fire of London exhibit was not half as exciting as I thought it would be, though I have to say that I was deeply excited to discover that the home currently occupied by my friends Cynthia and Bishop Michael Colclough at 2 Amen Court is featured in the Museum as one of the blocks of houses rebuilt after the Great Fire between 1671 and 1675! I wonder if my friends know that information about their house is actually in a museum with a picture of their front door! I must make sure I convey this fact to them!

St. Bride’s Church on Fleet Street:
I was done by 5.30 pm and out the door soon after. Since I was in the right vicinity, I decided to finish up a self-guided tour from my Frommer Book 24 Self-Guided Tours of London entitled ‘Monks and Bodysnatchers’. I had covered almost the entire route over which this tour travels (on one evening when I had decided to explore Charterhouse Square and Smithfield on my own). It was only the latter part of the tour that I hadn’t traversed and this took me through Giltspur Street to the golden statue of the ‘Fat Boy’ on the corner of Cock Street. It is significant that I was looking at this statue today–the day I had spent studying the various aspects of the Great Fire of London of 1566–as the statue was put up to represent the dangers of gluttony. For the fire had started in Pudding Lane and had ended, five days later, in Pie Lane! It was felt that it was the gluttonous ways of Londoners that had brought the wraught of God down upon them and caused them to suffer so abominably! This statue was later moved from Pie Lane to its present location.

Then, I was walking towards the end of the road to enter The Viaduct Tavern at the end of the street and the intersection with the Old Bailey. I was instructed to enter the pub and examine its interior decoration which was rather striking. The pub was already full of white-collared workers having their first pints of the evening and I had to elbow my way to get through to the three paintings of classical women representing Agriculture, Banking and the Arts. The decoration on the walls was ornate and featured fat cherubs gazing down upon the carousers. My book also informed me that this is the most haunted pub in all of London–oh dear! Knowing this fact, I will not be seen hanging around this place after dark–that’s for sure.

Then, I was crossing Fleet Street and entering St. Bride’s Avenue where I suddenly came upon the beautiful tiered ‘wedding cake’ spire of the church that was another one of Christopher Wren’s masterpieces! In fact, this spire inspired the design of the traditional wedding cakes! It is not just this fact but so many other historical tidbits that make it special: the parents of Virginia Dare, the first English colonist to be born on American colonial soil in Virginia, were married in this church. The famous 18th century novelist Samuel Richardson (author of Clarissa) is buried in its church yard. Dickens worshipped here as did Dr. Samuel Johnson (whose home is not too far away). In the Crypt of the church, which was discovered after the Blitz destroyed a part of it, an intact Roman pavement was discovered deep beneath the foundation. Perhaps, most importantly, since this church is a landmark on Fleet Street, once the stronghold of the newspaper publishing industry in Great Britain, it is the Journalists and Publishers’ Church and many prominent members of the Fourth Estate have been associated with it. For all of these reasons, this church is special indeed.

I was, therefore, very pleased when I discovered that it was open and could be visited. Naturally, I went inside and made my three special wishes, and had a chance to examine the interior elements. Like most Wren churches, it has a rather plain and austere look with the slightest embellishment in the form of gilded plaster ornaments on the ceiling. There are two rather interesting plaster of Paris figures of a girl and boy that once stood over a school that was situated close to the church. These figures, I have now come to recognize, as traditional fixtures of 18th century schools and foundling homes of London–there are a couple of them on the first floor of a former foundling home in the East Side as well as in nearby Hatton Garden.

Since, it was only 7.oo pm and still so bright–it now stays bright till almost 9.00 pm, a sure sign that summer is almost upon us in case the blooming roses are not indication enough–I decided that I would go out and cover another item on my List of Things To-Do: Visit Liberty of London Department Store, which, if you can believe it, I have never visited before! So I hopped into a bus that was headed towards Oxford Street and just sat in traffic forever around Trafalgar Square. Again, sleep washed over me and I dozed off for a few minutes right there in the front seats on the upper deck!

A Bargain at Selfridges:
When I found that I had not carried my map with me and had no clear idea where Liberty was, I decided instead to hop off at Oxford Street and do something else on my To-Do List: “A Visit to Selfridges during its centenary celebrations”. Yes. Selfridges proudly announces the fact that it opened its doors in 1909 and since this is the year of its hundred year celebrations, there are specially packaged items all over the store–chocolates, tea, cupcakes, biscuits, etc. I browsed around in the Food Hall and enjoyed some free samples of chocolates at Artisan du Chocolat (which were delicious!).

Further browsing took me to a section devoted to condiments and there I spied a tiny ceramic dish containing the very English condiment called Patum Peperium aka The Gentleman’s Relish! Now I have heard of this thing for years but have never ever tasted it. I believe it is some kind of fish paste or spread made of anchovies which I actually find rather tasty though a lot of people have an aversion to them. This concoction once came in white ceramic signature pots that have become collector’s items today and are sold at incredible prices in antiques’ stores. Apparently, they no longer make the white pots because the spread is available at Selfridges today in black ceramic pots. However, the tinier white ones that I spied where much more fancy–they featured Edwardian golfers out on the links and Victorian riders at a fair. I picked a small pot of the former design which was, somewhat unbelievably priced at 2. 99 pounds! The small plastic pots that sat right at their side sold for 1. 99 pounds. Naturally, I went for the ceramic pot and took it to the register to pay for it. It was at that stage that the store realized that they had mispriced the item. However, they gave me the benefit of the marked price and I ended up paying 2. 99 pounds for something that ought to have cost me 8.00 pounds! Not only was I glad about spying something that is a keeper–an old-fashioned ceramic box that I can use to store trinkets, but I walked away with it at a bargain!

Discovering St. James’ Church, Clerkenwell:
It was time to get back on the bus and get home, but not before I made a slight detour when I got off at St. John Street. I decided to try and find out the name of the church whose white spire I can see from my new bedroom window. I had walked by this church and its yard before on one of my walks but I could not remember its name and I figured that I might as well try to get to Sunday service there if I can while I am living in it shadow! Well, it turned out to be the Church of St. James’, Clerkenwell. The streets leading up to it and all around it were just spilling over with wine bar clientele with loosened ties fuelling up for the evening ahead. Indeed, they were so numerous that I thought for a minute it was Friday night!

Then, I walked briskly back home and discovered a nicer, shorter route to my building through the street that I see straight out of my window–Britton Street. Within minutes, I was upstairs, changing, then serving myself a plate of pasta with prawns and peppers that I had thawed from out the freezer and eating chocolate and praline ice-cream for dessert and then catching up on my email of which there was a stack, mostly from Chriselle. While I was in the middle of dinner, my friend Ian called me from the States and we had a chat as we hadn’t spoken for ages. He is a regular reader of this blog and he is astounded by how much I have managed to cover. He says he is afraid that when I return home to Southport, Connecticut, I might find it “so dead”.

Though I told myself that I would go to bed early tonight, it was midnight when I switched my bedside lamp off and went to bed.

Meeting Yet Another Anglo-Indian Couple in Wembley

Jun3

Wednesday, June 3, 2009
London

It has been a very very long time since I have had breakfast with anyone; so I was especially grateful to have Paul and Loulou to chat with at breakfast in their lovely bright kitchen this morning. Over cereal and coffee, we talked about my research project before Paul raced off to the airport for a trip abroad. Loulou and I went over some minor programing details and then I was off, rushing on the Tube to Wembley to keep my appointment with yet another Anglo-Indian couple. Indeed, it has been a very productive week for me and I am grateful for all the contacts I have been making recently with this ethnic minority–all of which will validate my research and give me a wider sampling to comment on as I begin to analyze my findings.

I had never been to Wembley though I have heard so much about it. Indeed, Wembley is Little India and if I did not see the red buses right in front of me, I would never have known that I was in London. South Asians (mainly Indians) have flocked to this London enclave and colonized it, as it were, bringing their piquant Indian smells to the area in the form of fragrant spices, temple flowers and Indian attar perfume. The Anglo-Indian couple with whom I had an appointment, Gerry and Coreen Gilbert, had made their home in Wembley 46 years ago, however–long before any Indians came to settle here and their dwelling has to be seen to be believed.

So, let me say, at the outset, that Gerry is an ornithologist by profession–a passionate hobby that grew into a profession and provided a successful entrepreneurial business that made him a wealthy man beyond all his wildest ambitions. I took to him and his lovely wife Coreen immediately and before we even settled down to our chat, Gerry led me out to his enormous garden to take a look at his aviary. Believe be, I felt as if I was at the London Zoo for the variety of bird life in his backyard is unlike anything I have ever seen . It still amazes me that what started as a childhood hobby for Gerry in his native India became a flourishing business in the UK that made him the sole provider of exotic birds to the superstore chain called Petsmart. The achievement of his dreams led him to retire over 15 years ago on a rambling property the likes of which is truly rare in London.

Once we did sit down to chat, I found the couple to be thoroughly engaging. Their climb up the financial ladder and the interesting stories and jokes that Gerry cracked along the way made me feel as if I ought to devote an entire chapter of my proposed next book to this couple. And what’s more, they reinstated my faith in the innate hospitality of the Anglo-Indian community for I was, quite unexpectedly indeed, plied with a heavy meal of absolutely delicious Mutton Biryani with salad, fresh Alphonso mangoes (boy, did those take me straight back to Bombay!) and a plateful of Indian mithai to complete our repast. Considering that in the past couple of days I have traveled to homes in far-flung Hounslow and Osterley where I was given nothing more elaborate than a simple cup of coffee, this meal went down a treat and I was deeply grateful. What’s more, the couple instantly invited me to a party at their place on a Sunday in July at which I hope to meet many more of their Anglo-Indian friends. I found them jovial and fun to be with and, like so many of the Anglo-Indians I have met, unbelievably youthful for their years.

Then, since I had a bus pass, I took a bus back to Euston (and what a journey that was!!!). I passed through parts of London I had never seen before where the ethnic demographic is so different from anything to which I am accustomed in Central London. I saw women covered from head to toe in burquas with only slits in their veils for their eyes. I saw (and smelt!) Blacks who were obviously down and out and reeking of cheap alcohol. I saw streets that were filthy with litter and, for a moment, I thought I was back in Bombay yet again! Nothing like fresh ripe mangoes and refuse to whisk you back ‘home’ to India!

As soon as I got home to Farringdon (I am still discovering the little bylanes of my new neighborhood), I called Tim, my friend, hoping to receive advise from him on how to get hooked to the wireless network. Within ten minutes, we were all set up and I was so grateful to him for his help and the time he devoted to me. In fact, he was all set to come right back to this flat to set me up when I made the discovery that I was, in fact, connected! I managed to contact him again on his cell phone before he had left his place to get to mine. What a weight it was off my mind when I found that I could finally work from my favorite place–my bed!

I spent the evening catching up on my email (there was loads of it!) and updating by blog as well as writing up one of the interviews I did with Owen in Kent. And then, it was time to read a bit more of Harry Potter and get it to bed.

Interviewing an Anglo-Indian Couple in Hounslow

Jun3

Monday, June 1, 2009
London

Settling In my Awesome New Roost:
I did not sleep badly in my new roost, all things considered: late night, new bed, etc. I awoke mid-way, at about 4. 30 am, checked to see what the time was and went promptly back to sleep to awake at 6. 45 am. Not too bad at all. I hope I can continue this pattern of sleep through the rest of my stay here.

My first priority was to try to get connected to the internet. Though I did try to use the Ethernet and the long cable that my neighbor Tim had provided, I was unable to get online—a matter of some concern as so much of my work is done at home. I called Tim to ask for his help. Meanwhile, I went about trying to unpack my boxes, find storage space for all the empty suitcases and cartons and get myself organized in my new room. I stopped in-between to get a bit of breakfast (cereal and milk) and watched the BBC Breakfast show as I did, becoming acquainted for the first time with the TV set and the new remote control. Then, it was to time to get back to work unpacking.

Tim called me in about an hour and offered to come across and see why I wasn’t able to get connected. This left me enough time for a shower and at 12 noon, he arrived. It was not long before he had me connected and online and how delighted I was—though I have to say that to have a wireless internet connection would be far better as I can then use my PC in my room. Still, I am not complaining. As long as I have access to my email and I can respond from home (and do not have to get to my office at Bloomsbury which is what I had intended to do), I’m fine.

When Tim left, I had some lunch (the remainder of the Hot and Spicy Prawn Pho that I had ordered last night at the Vietnamese place—gosh, I was so tired I don’t even remember it’s name). I opened the lovely French doors in the kitchen so that the sunlight streamed in on this golden afternoon. Placing a chair at the window, I seated myself there and took in the scenic vista spread before me. There was the brick building just ahead, built in the 1700s now a boutique hotel called The Rookery. St. John’s Street lay just ahead and below me was St. Peter’s Lane and in the distance was the white conical spire of a church whose name I have yet to discover. And I thought me myself once again, “Ah, this is England!” How idyllic this urban scene and how privileged I feel to be able to enjoy it.

And then I was off to Hounslow to interview an Anglo-Indian couple. I stopped en route at High Holborn to return my keys to my concierge Arben and do a final walkthrough of my former flat to make sure I had not left anything behind. I also took a few pictures with Arben and thanked him warmly for everything he has done for me (which was a great deal indeed).

Off to see an Anglo-Indian couple in Hounslow:
It was during the Fall semester when one of my students had taken my course on Anglo-Indians at NYU that I had become introduced to this couple through the ethnographic profile he had created. I decided to contact them for my own research and had found the gentleman quite willing to speak with me. Though we had been in telephonic contact, it was nice to finally meet them. I took a convoluted route to get to their place (using the buses as I bought myself another bus pass since the rest of my week will be spent interviewing Anglo-Indians in the far-flung suburbs). They awaited my arrival at the Tube station, then walked me over to their place where we arrived at 4. 30 pm.

I spent the rest of the afternoon talking to them and gleaning a great deal of helpful information. The gentleman warmed to me fully only at the end of the interview when he realized that I was born and raised in India and, despite my naturalized American citizenship, consider myself wholly Indian. “Oh”, he said, “from your name I thought you were Portuguese and since you say you are from New York University, I thought you were a Yankee!”

This individual, who has neither joined any one of the Anglo-Indian Associations in London nor socializes with any other members of his community in person, spends his days in cyberspace communicating with Anglo-Indians around he world online through ‘The Anglo-Indian Portal’. He was rather an interesting character who joked frequently and told me things about his experiences as an Anglo-Indian in India and in the UK that made me laugh rather heartily. His wife too joined in our conversation. These are, what my father would call “simple folk” (but as the nicest of compliments, not as an insult) because they are guileless. Their expectations are low, their contentment with their modest lot obvious, their welcome was warm and they were hospitable. As I was leaving, they implored me to “stay in touch” with them and made me promise that I would call on them again if I ever needed company.

Then, I was back on the buses and when I got home, a bit exhausted from my morning’s unpacking and my long commute, I nipped into ‘my pantry’ in my building (read M&S Simply Food) bought some milk and bread and returned upstairs to eat my dinner in front of the TV (watched a bit of old material from Britain’s Got Talent), checked my email and returned to my room to write my journal in Word with the intention of transferring it to my blog as soon as I can get online again.

Interviewing another Anglo-Indian near Osterley

Jun3

Tuesday, June 2, 2009
London

Waking up in this new place feels rather strange to me. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. It was 6. 45 am when I awoke and since I wanted to get to Osterley (close to Heathrow airport) in time for a 10. 30 am appointment, I showered really quickly, ate my cereal breakfast, made myself a ham and cheese sandwich and left at 8.30 am. I had to find out where the nearest bus stops are as well as the routes that serve this area. I guess I will have it all figured out in a few days.

Getting out of Theobald’s Road and arriving at Holborn Station takes the longest time in the bus what with all the traffic snarls and the peak hour rush. Despite changing three buses, I arrived at Osterley Tube Station earlier than I expected and called the Anglo-Indian gentleman who had agreed to speak to me. He picked me up from the bus stop in his car and took me to his home where we settled down with a glass of water that I requested. His wife was also supposed to speak to me as part of my project; but I sensed her reluctance right away and when she agreed to answer some questions only and did not sign the agreement giving her consent to the interview, I politely declined. In the end, I spoke only to the husband who had rather interesting views which he shared very frankly with me. He told me later that his wife had completely conflicting views and did not wish to air them in front of him as they differ widely on the subject of their decision to emigrate to the UK and the manner in which life has treated them since they arrived in this country 20 years ago.

Still, despite his misgivings, it is impressive that three of his four children are university educated and that too in the cream of the country’s institutions of higher education such as Cambridge, Oxford and UCL. Their last daughter is taking her GCSEs this year and is also headed towards what we, in America, would call an Ivy League school. This man was so different in attitude and behavior from the couple I met yesterday. Thus, though I have spoken to over 35 Anglo-Indians already, I do not find my work repetitive as each of them tells me completely different stories and has inordinately different views.

A Visit to the Museum of London:
Back in the City, I went straight to NYU to settle the last of my utility bills and then I was on the bus heading to the Museum of London. This one, together with the London Transport Museum, is still on my To-Do List and I decided today would be a good day to go out and explore it. It is located near the Barbican and has a very interesting architectural design. Built in close proximity to the old London walls (the base dating from Roman times), they make the perfect backdrop for a place that traces the evolution as this city from 43 AD to the present date. The only misfortune is that the entire lower level is under refurbishment and closed to the public (which means I shall have to make another trip to London sometime to see it!) but the top floor contains interesting artifacts that span several centuries right up to the Great Fire of 1566.

I watched two rather short but fascinating films—one on the Great Fire, another on the Black Death (the Plague) that ravaged Europe throughout the Middle Ages. Then, my exploration of the contents began. Among some of the most notable things I saw (and not necessarily in any order at all) were:

1, 2 Roman leather bikinis that would have been worn by dancers—it is remarkable that they have survived despite being made of leather. There are only 3 Roman bikinis in the world and 2 of them are here in this museum.
2. A set of Roman gold coins, excavated in a single hoard, featuring the heads of every one of the most significant of the Roman emperors. This must have belonged to someone very wealthy who buried his treasure hoping to retrieve it someday but never got back to it.
3. A fragment of a marble tablet on which for the very first time the people of London have been named as Londoners (Londiniumvernis, I think it said).
4. The very first fire engine ever used in England.
5. A spectacular Roman mosaic floor found intact in a house in Bucklersberry near London in the late 1800s.

I did not finish seeing all of the museum. I have yet to see the exhibit on the Great Fire of London which was crowded with a school group, leading me to postpone my visit there.

I took the bus and returned home to Denmark House to find that my friends Paul and Loulou had arrived there from Suffolk to spend a night as they do once a week. It was great to see them again but we did not have a chance to spend a whole lot of time together as they were off to a party and will return late tonight. I tried to set myself up once again with the wireless connection but failed. Will try again tomorrow. Hopefully, Tim will be able to walk me through the process.

I ate my dinner while watching a program called Come Dine With Me—in which four strangers are thrown together to cook for each other and put on a complete meal for the other three. It made rather interesting viewing but because it was an hour-long show, I saw only a part of it as I wanted to get back to writing my journal for my blog.

I was pleased before I went to bed to review the comments in the evaluation sheets left for me by my students and to discover that they were very complimentary indeed and said a lot of very positive things about the courses I taught them this past semester. I am very pleased that the year I spent teaching in London was beneficial to them and that they enjoyed my classes.

I also began the next novel in the Harry Potter series: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince which I hope to finish in the next couple of weeks so that I can start the last and final one and return the last two books to Barbara who lent them to me. When I have finished all of them, I can cross out yet another item on my To-Do List: Read all 7 Harry Potter novels in London!

Moving on Pentecost Day! Goodbye Holborn, Hello Farringdon!

Jun1

Sunday, May 31, 2009
London

I awoke on the last morning of my stay in my cozy flat at High Holborn at 6 am. I guess you could say that at the very end, I was sleeping almost the whole night through and for that I am grateful. I did check my email and I continued drafting my monthly newsletter to my friends around the world, then checked the website of the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Field as I had never been there before for a service. I figured that Pentecost Sunday would be a good time to get there and listen to the choir of a great church.

Only, I did not bargain for the fact that because the church sits at Trafalgar Square right in front of Gerard Street and the heart of London’s Chinatown, it has a huge percentage of Chinese parishioners and the service was, therefore, bi-lingual—in English and Mandarin Chinese. This, of course, made it very interesting but it also made it very long. In fact, it went on for almost two hours! There was an English priest and a Chinese one and they alternated as co-celebrants. What was particularly interesting was that the readings were done in fragmented fashion by a number of folks representing different nations and in different tongues. This was especially significant as Pentecost, which represents the coming of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles after the death of Christ, bestowed upon them the gift of tongues. This allowed them to travel far away from the Holy Land (some as far as India as St. Thomas did) taking the message of Christ with them and spreading Christianity.

The preacher, the Vicar of the Church, whose name I did not catch, was, as all Anglican preachers are, simply compelling. The quality of these sermons astonish me, Sunday after Sunday, and given that he included detailed references to Mohsin Hamid’s novel The Reluctant Fundamentalist with some very interesting interpretations, I found it very absorbing indeed.
The light at the end of the lengthy tunnel was that the entire congregation was invited to attend a Bring-And-Share Lunch in the Crypt after the service. And because the congregation was so diverse, there was a variety of foods on the table—from three kinds of Chinese noodles to sausage rolls and cold ham. Indeed it was all quite fascinating.

A couple of people came up to speak to me and welcomed me into their midst—one of them happened to be a Malaysian named John who informed me that he had been a member of the congregation for the past 30 years. Another lady told me that she was originally from Cape Town, South Africa, and had spent about 40 years in England. She had recently retired and wished to return to South Africa but she was disappointed by the lack of racial harmony in her country and the terrible corruption, she said. An Indian woman, who informed me that her father was a Sikh and her mother a Christian, also came up to chat with me.

Of course, I need say nothing about the fabulous interior of the Church that is a London landmark, what with its strategic position on one of the country’s most-visited sites. The lavish plasterwork on the ceiling is just stunning, embellished here and there with touches of gilding. There is a huge royal Crest in the center featuring the lion and the unicorn that I have seen all over this country—in churches, palaces and all sorts of venues associated with the royal family. I had once sat upstairs in one of the pew boxes during a fusion concert that featured Middle Eastern, Indian and Western music in the compositions of Talvin Singh. This time, seated down, in the midst of the congregation, I had a very different perspective of the church and I thought it was quite arresting indeed.

Finally Finishing The Order of the Phoenix:
Despite the fact that it was moving day for me, the bulk of my packing had been done and I could not resist joining the throngs of people who had gathered on this extraordinarily bright and beautiful day to enjoy the outdoors. Since I was so struck by the Victoria Embankment Gardens in spring when the tulips and primroses had filled the green oasis with color, I decided to take a look at it again. I had carried The Order of the Phoenix with me and I thought that the gardens would make a great place to finally finish the book—I had about 30 pages left and I wanted to return it to Barbara who had lent it to me before I left the building in the evening.

My thorough knowledge of the geography of London now allows me to find my way to my desired destination in the shortest possible time and with the least amount of walking. I have to say that I myself marvel at this ability as London is not laid out in a grid like New York and there are no numbers to guide you to a venue—you need to have a very good map or a very good instinct for direction.

In less than ten minutes, I was entering the gardens and, expecting to see loads of blooming flower beds, was in for a huge disappointment. All the spring flowers had gone and the beds had been dug up, in time, perhaps, for a new round of planting. At any rate, they looked bare and devoid of any floral interest whatsoever. Not willing to be dissuaded from my goal of finishing the book, I found a shaded bench and spent the next one hour turning the pages and people-watching (and unconsciously eavesdropping) at the same time. A pair of elderly ladies joined me on my bench and twice I entered into their conversation as I could not help overhearing them and both times I had the answer to their questions.

“What is that thing called?” said one of them pointing in the distance. “I always forget it’s name”.
The other shrugged. She did not know and she not care.

“That’s the London Eye”, I said. Though they thanked me warmly, I wondered if it was impolite of me to have butted into their private conversation. In the States, I wouldn’t think twice about doing this; but in the UK, where everyone is so reserved, such an intrusion on my part might well be considered rude and I am not yet fully familiar with the social protocol governing casual chatter with strangers.

A few minutes later, the sharper woman stopped a member of the cleaning crew to ask, “What is the name of those flowers there?” –pointing to a flower bed.

“I don’t know”, replied the man. “You will have to ask the gardener there”.

“Those are hydrangeas”, I said.

“Oh thank-you”, they said again, then proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the time I sat there! Again, I am certain that such a thing would never have happened in the States where this exchange would have been the start of a long and interesting conversation about mutual interests, such as, in this case, gardening!

Back to Pack at Home:
I stopped for a few minutes to gaze at the Thames before I walked back home to begin the final stages of my packing. It stunned me that no matter how many hours I devoted to the job, it seemed never ending. Finally, it was all done and I was able to await the arrival of my elves—Rosemary, my friend, arrived with her car, from Battersea and a little later, Chriselle’s friend, Rahul, joined us too. We began loading my boxes (about eight of them in all plus 3 large suitcases and a bureau—how on earth did I accumulate so much stuff???) at about 7 .45 pm but we were not done until after 10 pm because though I am only moving about a ten minute walk away from my current place, the one-ways and the barriers erected between buildings made the journey convoluted and cumbersome. Still, I have to say that my friends were a pair of workhorses as we loaded all my stuff into the car and then into my new digs and carried the bureau like a pair of stalwart movers! Between the three of us, we got the entire job done and then we got out in search of dinner, but not before the pair of them expressed their awe at the place into which I have moved.

Moving into my New Digs:
Indeed, my new digs have to be seen to be believed. From a tiny one-bedroomer, I have entered a sprawling loft-like apartment whose “living room”, as Rahul put is, “is larger than a football field”. My own room is cozier though and has a lovely, very spiffy attached bath. The place is tastefully furnished, crammed with medieval sculpture and modern abstract art (Andy Warhol and Maggi Hambling among a host of contemporary artists), Polynesian carvings and a whole whale vertebrae. It is a very classy place overall and I know that I will enjoy finding my way around it as I rattle around on my ownsome.

Because it was almost 10. 30 and none of us had eaten, I decided to take them out somewhere for dinner but Carluccio’s where we went first, at Smithfield Market, was closed for the evening and at Rahul’s suggestion, we drove far off towards Old Street, close to where he lives, to the heart of Vietnamese London where we finally settled down in a restaurant and ate steaming bowl of Pho, the noodle based soup. My Hot and Spicy Prawn Pho was just that—hot and spicy! Rosemary sniffed her way through her Chicken Pho while Rahul had beef with bamboo shoots and mushrooms. It was late, really late, when I returned to the flat, feeling a bit uneasy about the strangeness of my surroundings and the vast size of the rooms.

With so much unpacking to do the next morning, I decided to call it a night but not before I had a long chat with Llew on the phone. Since we hadn’t talked all day and he wanted to know how my move went, it was a long call, so that it was after midnight when I finally switched off my bedside light and hoped for a good night’s sleep.