Tag Archive | Harry Potter

Posh Polesdon Lacey in Surrey

Jun17

Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Great Bookham, Surrey

For some reason, I could not sleep until well past 1.00 am last night and to make matters worse, I awoke at 5 am. (groan!!). I read a bit of Harry Potter but felt dreadfully drowsy again by 6 am when I went back to sleep not to awake until 8. 15 am. So my entire schedule went haywire today–it is a good thing I am not officially working anymore! I dealt with my email and my blog for a good hour after that and only had a shower at 10. 30 am , my breakfast at 11 am and I left the house at 11. 45 after meeting and chatting with Isabel, Paul’s secretary, who comes in once a week to work for him.

My aim, today, was to get to Surrey by public transport to visit Polesdon Lacey. This elegant Regency country estate is set in the middle of nowhere or somewhere in Surrey (like so many of the National Trust properties are). I had googled it to find out timings and transport facilities and discovered that I could take a Southern main line train from Clapham Junction to Leatherhead on the Dorking Line. I took red buses to get to Clapham and boarded the 1.08 train which was supposed to arrive at Letterhead at 1. 30 pm.

Only problem was, I fell asleep on the train and overshot my stop! Instead of getting off at Leatherhead, I had to get off at Dorking. The bonus was that I got a chance to take in the spectacular Surrey Hills and countryside around Box Hill, a picnic area that was popularized by Jane Austen in her novels as a spot that she and her family often frequented. It wasn’t difficult to board another train in the reverse direction and in another fifteen minutes, I was at Leatherhead again, looking for a taxi to take me to Polesdon Lacey because there is no public transport to get to this venue. Let me tell you that my guidebook had informed me that the one-way fare by cab was 6 pounds–it turned out to be a whopping 10 pounds and with 10 pounds return, this turned out to be a rather expensive trip transport-wise (because I paid 8. 50 pounds for the train ticket)!

Still, my long excursion and the transportation expense had been well worth it. All I knew about this estate was that it was once owned by the Restoration playwright Richard Brindsley Sheridan. Later, it was purchased by a Mrs. Margareth Greville, a socialite and hostess with the mostest, who turned it into a grand country estate in the Edwardian style, providing for her weekend guests the kind of lifestyle that after World War II has gone with the wind.

What I found out when I arrived at Polesdon Lacey was a great deal more–and it was truly fascinating. In keeping with my desire to use my National Trust membership to the maximum to explore these little-known venues and having to rely only on public transport (as I do not drive in the UK), I have had to scout around for places that meet these two criteria.

My cab driver, a Frenchman named Jean, chatted en route to the estate and volunteered to come back at 5.00pm to pick me up. So that took care of that and I was relieved as I was rather worried about how I was to get back to Leatherhead train station. We passed beautiful unspoilt countryside that lay spreadeagled under a vivid green blanket on what was a bracing day–no rain even if clouds did not allow the sun to shine brilliantly upon the earth.

I went through the farm shop where I found Border’s Dark Milk Chocolate Covered Ginger Biscuits being sold for just a pound a pack. Needless to say, I bought 4 packs as these have become among my very favorite biscuits in England and I eat them by the carton! The shop was sampling a brew called Indian Pale Ale, which I tasted and found to be rather good. It was only later (in the house) that I learned the history behind this tipple.

In the main reception area, I showed my Royal Oak Membership Card. They wanted to know where in the States I was from and when I said “Connecticut”, the lady responded, “Ah, a place where there are some really beautiful gardens!” Then, they gave me my sticker and led me in. I used the facilities and poked my head into the restaurant where I discovered that A Curry Festival was on for the week–the menu would feature Indian meals such as the ones Mrs. Greville was likely to have served her Indian guests (maharajas all) when she entertained them at her country estate in the 1930s! Well, Indian it was, but pricey too–the sort that would suit the pocket of the Maharajas who ate them, no doubt!–and I had my sandwich tucked in my bag that I planned to eat later in the afternoon–so I passed on the curry treat.

The History of Polesdon Lacey:
I headed straight, then, to the House which appeared suddenly as I rounded a bend. And I was completely stunned by the size of it. Indeed, it seemed to go on forever, so many of its wings stretching out around a courtyard. National Trust volunteers greeted me at the entrance, relieved me of my bag and led me to the main doors. In the grand hallway, a ‘steward’ told me a little bit about the history of the house and pointed out its main features. The house was built in the 17th century but by 1818 it was a ruin. It was bought in 1908 by Mrs. Greville upon her marriage to Mr. Ronald Greville. He had aristocratic connections and introduced her to royal circles so that the house soon became graced by the presence of royalty.

Now while Mrs. Margareth Greville might not have had aristocratic antecedents, what she did posses was a pile of very serious money. Her father was the beer brewery magnate William McEwan who made his fortune in ale–the famous Indian Pale Ale which became a huge hit among British Raj expatriates in the colonies to which it was exported by the shipload throughout the 1800s.

Now there is a bit of hazy family history at this point of which not much is known. You see, William’s wife (Margareth’s mother) was once married to a Mr. Anderson who happened to be William’s butler. However, William had once had a clandestine affair with Mrs. Anderson. When 9 months after their intimate tryst, Mrs. Anderson produced a baby, William McEwan probably suspected that the daughter to whom she gave birth was his. However, as the mother was married to Mr. Anderson, the name of the baby’s father on Margareth’s birth certificate was Mr. Anderson!

William McEwan waited until Mr. Anderson died a natural death and only married his widow, Mrs. Anderson, when her daughter Margareth was 21! As the newly married McEwan couple had no other children, William’s entire fortune (a staggering 1. 5 million in 1907) passed into the hands of Margareth. Hence, when she married Ronnie Greville, she brought an astounding amount of money with her, a great deal of which she spent on restoring Polesdon Lacey to make it fit for entertaining royalty.

The refurbishment was completed in 1917, but poor Ronnie Greville died in 1918. Though she was courted by most of the country’s most eligible bachelors, Mrs. Greville remained a widow until her death in 1942, when, because she died childless, the house with its contents and the contents of her father’s London’s home were bequeathed to the National Trust. Hence, the house as we see it today is entirely Margareth Greville’s doing and when you walk through the corridors and rooms that make up its splendid bulk, you are reminded constantly about the ravishing spirit of the woman who made it all possible.

The House:
The entry hallway is remarkable for a carved wooden reredos that dominates one wall, a series of Flemish tapestries and a general sense of elegance created by the presence of well-chosen pieces of furniture. On the left hand side, is a staircase covered with a red velvet carpet and a vitrine with a collection of Italian majolica inside.

Once I had learned the history of the house in the entrance hallway, I entered the Dining Room with its long table all set as if for a formal banquet with the lovely Swiss Zurich family porcelain. The only portrait on the wall with any connections to the owner’s family is that of William McEwan, who has an endearing face and a rather handsome snowy white beard. All the other portraits on the wall are 18th century works collected by Mrs. Greville who became something of a connoisseur of fine art and filled the house with her acquisitions. The Trust provides handouts in each room that allowed me to study each of the paintings, some of which were done by prominent contemporary artists such as Thomas Lawrence and Peter Lely.

It is the three arms of the wide corridor that contain the best part of Mrs. Greville’s collection–here, works by Culpys, Ruisdael, van de Velde, etc. (mostly Flemish) catch the eye, but it was an exquisite work called Children Playing Golf by Pieter de Hooch (one of my favourite painters) featuring his own two children that completely enchanted me. I looked long and hard for a post card of it in the shop but was sadly disappointed not to find one. There is also a full length portrait of Mrs. Greville that I took to be the work of John Singer Sargent (going by its distinctive style) but it turned out to be by someone else who was trained by the same Portrait master under whom Sargent had trained!

Then began my exploration of the many rooms that comprise the home and of these, the Gold Salon was breathtaking. There is also a Billiards Room and an adjoining Smoking Room and a Gun Room, and in the female part of the home a Library and study that Mrs. Greville thought of as her haven–the concept of A Room of Her Own seems to have originated long before Virginia Woolf made it popular. It is in these rooms that the visitor can fully appreciate the extent of her collecting capacity for there are books and paintings and sculpture and china and porcelain, any amount of Japanese Satsuma vases and urns and gold fish bowls, crystal chandeliers and sconces–all of the baubles that the moneyed collected when their pockets felt deep enough. I enjoyed my wanderings through these posh environs feeling very grateful indeed for the good job that the National Trust does in preserving them for future generations.

Perhaps the best and most ingenious touch of all was a live pianist who sat in the Salon tinkling on the ivories and creating the most evocative music throughout my visit. I, who have walked through so many such extravagant properties, felt that my experience was totally transformed by this tuneful touch and I thank the Trust for including this treat and the pianist for making my visit so special.

Upstairs, there is a salon area where visitors are encouraged to linger by taking a breather on the luxurious sofas and imagining for a moment that they are Mrs. Greville’s privileged guests. For it was the rich and famous who made an appearance at Polesdon Lacey including Albert, Duke of York (“Bertie”, later King George VI, father of the present Queen) who spent part of his honeymoon there following his marriage to Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (the late Queen Mother). There are delightful black and white pictures of them taken on their honeymoon at Polesdon Lacey in which they do not so much as hold each other’s hands! There are also pictures of the Maharajas of Cooch Behar and of the Maharaja of Mysore and I have been marveling at all these India connections that I seem to be making everywhere I go! These were personal friends of Mrs. Greville who wintered in the colonies as the guest of some of the world’s glitterati–the Merry Widow sure did waltz to a tune all of her own making!

Just before I left the house, my ears pricked up the strains of one of my favorite melodies of all time–Schubert’s Ave Maria. I turned around like a shot and returned to the Salon where the pianist was picking the tune with the utmost delicacy and bringing to my eyes the sharp prick of tears–for I can never listen to this composition without crying. It was only left for me to go and thank him for his talent. Indeed his choice of piece at the very point when I was leaving the house made me feel as if he had chosen it especially for me.

Strolling Through the Gardens:
No grand estate is complete without an equally superb garden, so it was time for me to walk through the sprawling property–all 1,400 acres of it that Capability Brown inspired. Except that I neither had the time nor the energy to go more than a few paces. I chose instead to linger in the lovely Rose Garden which was in full bloom today. The English really do know how to grow roses and how to plan and plant rose gardens to their best advantage. Always enclosed within high brick walls, these secret gardens are entered through ornamental wrought iron gates that add to their charm and lead the visitor on scented pathways towards floral perfection. Right outside the gates was the grave of Mrs. Greville who was buried on the beloved grounds of her English home within touching distance of the pale yellow walls of Polesdon Lacey.

I paused for a slice of Coffee and Walnut cake in the cafe and was just in time to meet with Jean who arrived on schedule to pick me up. In a few minutes, I was on the platform at Leatherhead en route for Clapham where I reversed the morning’s journey and returned home by 7. 30.

I spent the rest of the evening writing my blog and attending to my email. I am having long and very busy days but they have been truly edifying and through a tour of these grand country estates and gardens, I have taken myself body and soul into one of my favorite phases in English history–the Edwardian Age, a time when the landed gentry lived like royalty basking in the wealth that was generated by their colonies, little knowing that the guns of war were rumbling in the background and that their lives would never be the same after it!

Sissinghurst, Grosvenor House Antiques Fair, Dinner at St. John

Jun16

Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Sissinghurst, Kent

Morning Rumination:
I had what one might call a phenomenal day–and I rarely use that term lightly. I mean, I awoke at 6. 30 am. I am now convinced that the reason I could never sleep beyond 5 am in my former flat at High Holborn was because it was much too warm at night. Not only was there a lack of cross-ventilation but I used to sleep under a down comforter (that’s American for a duvet) and I am sure that the combination caused me to wake up far too early each morning. It is also quieter here as traffic noises do not reach me in this secluded fold of Farringdon. At any rate, with the longer hours I am sleeping here, I wake up deeply refreshed. Though it is supposedly summer, this bedroom is far cooler and though day breaks as early as 4 am, I sleep like a baby till 7!

I read Harry Potter for an hour making swift progress. I am now only a hundred pages from the end of Book VI which leaves me just one more volume to finish–shall probably read that one next week in Oxford. At 7. 30, I checked my email, responded to notes that required immediate action and at 8.00 am, I entered my bathroom for a shower, prepared a toast and melted cheese sandwich (breakfast to go) and took the bus to my Bedford Square NYU campus as I needed to photocopy some forms that I filled out last night for my Oxford stint.

I had intended to spend the day at Sissinghurst ‘Castle’ and Garden in Kent but since the bus that went from the railway station in Kent to the garden only left twice a day (at 11. 45 am and 1. 45 pm), I had the time to print out a few of the many interviews that I have been transcribing in the past couple of weeks. However, soon I noticed that the toner of my printer in my office needed to be replenished and, on scanning the train schedule, I discovered that I would need to hurry to get to Charing Cross within the next 45 minutes to take the 10. 30 am train to Staplehurst.

I locked up my office quickly, caught the 29 bus to Charing Cross, bought a return day ticket (15 pounds round trip) and made the 10. 30 am train just in the nick of time. It was a very leisurely hour long ride to Staplehurst where I would connect to the public shuttle bus that would deposit me at the garden.

Train to Kent:
The train journey to Kent on South Eastern Railway was pleasance personified. En route, I read up City Secrets of London, a book that gives insider tips on the most interesting and unique bits and pieces of the city. Now that I have almost come to the end of my year in London, I do want to make sure I see the very last dregs of the city’s ‘sights’.

We passed by some of the most recognizable city landmarks (Hungerford Bridge, the London Eye–up close and looming ahead of me like a gigantic bicycle wheel–Tower Bridge, the Gherkin–indeed this was the first time I was traveling by train across the Thames and it was a pretty marvelous experience on what was another truly spectacular day).

When we left the city behind, we zoomed into a tunnel and it took us quite a while to get out of it…but when we did, we had magically left urbanity behind and emerged into the Kentish countryside that lay quiet and emerald bright in the golden light of day. Mile upon mile of velveteen lawn sprawled out before me as far as my eye could see punctuated only by the white conical hats of the rust oast houses in which the famous Kentish hops are dried for the brewing of its famous beers (Shepherd Naeme is the oldest brewery in the country and it is based in the medieval town of Faversham). Not for nothing is Kent called The Garden of England–indeed orchards that in autumn would yield the sweetest pears, apples and plums were plain to see as the train whizzed past and I could quite easily imagine the splendour of their spring-time blooms.

Arrival at Sissinghurst:
I arrived at Staplehurst in exactly an hour. There was a bus awaiting me at the station at 11. 30 am. when we pulled in. It is a quaint toy-like building seemingly in the middle of nowhere. In fifteen minutes’ time, after we’d driven through the town of Staplehurst (4 pounds round trip) with its exposed beam houses and medieval pubs, we were in the midst of rural Kent, fields with the occasional sheep wandering through them, proclaiming its farming pursuits. The signs to Sissinghurt Castle and Garden were prominent, proudly displayed by The National Trust that owns and maintains the property.

The History of Sissinghurst:
For students of contemporary English Literature, the name of Sissinghurst ought to be familiar (as indeed it has been to me for decades). Associated with novelist, gardening columnist and gardener, Vita Sackville-West, a prominent member of The Bloomsbury Group and a close friend of novelist Virginia Woolf, the home and garden have become legendary and a compulsory stop on the itinerary of any English garden-lover. I have read about this place and seen umpteen pictures in the many gardening magazines to which I have a subscription–both writers and gardeners have been fascinated with the lives and the outcome of its residents.

Born Victoria Sackville-West to an aristocratic family at the turn of the 20th century, ‘Vita’ as she became known, was raised in Knole House (which I shall be visiting later this week) in Kent, an old Elizabethan country estate that had been in her family since the time of Thomas Sackville, first Earl of Dorset to whom it had been gifted by Queen Elizabeth I. Because she was a female, Vita could not inherit property in those backward Victorian and Edwardian Ages. Knole House, therefore, passed on to other members of her family; but upon her marriage to Harold Nicholson, Vita bought Sissinghurst since she always wanted to live close to Knole and in the midst of the Kentish countryside.

Sissinghurst had been an abandoned property for at least a hundred years when it fell into the hands of Vita and Harold. It had last seen occupation during World War I when French soldiers were stationed there. It was they who thought that the remnants of the old Tudor mansion with its unique tower resembled a chateau and the term ‘Castle’ was used for the first time in connection with the property at Sissinghurst–a designation that stuck. It came to be known as Sissinghurst Castle and Garden– a fact that must have pleased the history and tradition-conscious Vita!

For the next three decades, Vita and Harold lived at Sissinghurst, raising their two sons, Nigel and Ben there (and their dog Rebecca), writing their novels, their reviews, literary criticism and biographies and…most famously, creating a garden. Indeed, the last was their mutual passion and it was Harold who designed the property in such a way as to create divisions within it–the divisions that have come to be termed ‘garden rooms’. These divisions were achieved through the use of tall hedges, box and yew borders, red brick walls (now covered with ivy, creepers and climbing roses) and bent wood edging.

Vita, for her part, planned the plantings with the idea of creating separate, individual gardens each themed differently (the Herb Garden, the Rose Garden, the Cottage Garden and, most well-known of all and possibly the reason so many people travel to Sissinghurst each year for a glimpse of it, the White Garden). It was for all these reasons that I have wanted so badly to visit Sissinghurst in season. I yearned to walk in the footsteps of this fascinating literary couple who left their mark on gardening history as well as created a sense of marital camaraderie and shared interests that have always appealed to the Romantic in me.

I have to say that I have visited Sissinghurst before–about four years ago, in the company of my cousin Cheryl and her husband David. But we had arrived there at the end of November when the garden had been closed for the year. All we could see then was the moat that surrounds the property and the twin turrets of the Tower. This time, I was determined to go in June, when I knew the gardens would be at their prime and, believe me, if I could have ordered the kind of day I would have liked for this expedition, I could not have chosen better!

Touring Sissinghurst:
Sissinghurst is open only three days a week–on Tuesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. I can just imagine the hordes that must descend upon the place at the weekends in the summer. If the number of people present today was anything to go by, well, I am glad I did not wait for the weekend but chose this odd day instead. There were numerous coach groups, comprised, no doubt, of garden club members. I loved the fact that so many of the visitors were elderly (the average age of the visitors was sixty if they were a day) and they were dressed in the ubiquitous wide-brimmed straw hats that made so many of them appear as if they would bend down any minute and start doing a bit of weeding themselves!

Apart from the clothing and headgear that is so distinctive a part of English garden visitors, there are the comments and I absolutely love to eavesdrop on them: “Oh, do you see those roses. Aren’t they extraordinary?” and “My word, is that clematis? How do those flowers grow so large?” and “Would you look at those delphiniums? Just lovely, they are!” Toddlers, meanwhile, stumbled among the foliage of a border bed and were lifted gingerly by mothers pushing strollers while gardening staff trundled along, their wheel barrows filled with the plants they’d uprooted to thin the beds.

I had the time of my life and realized as I flitted, butterfly-like, from one garden room to the next, that there is a limit to the love of one’s own company! For it is difficult to be in a garden and remain silent. I mean, for the many months that I have tolerated my own company in this city, I spent hours in museums or in art galleries in intellectual or in artistic contemplation of greatness. But, in a garden, where it is not the mind that is stimulated but the senses, one must simply express in verbal form, one’s delight in one’s surroundings. How is it possible, for instance, to pass by a clump of two-colored sweet peas and not exclaim at their uniqueness? How can one survey a batch of brand-new snow-white Icecap Delphiniums that are taller than I am and not gasp in disbelief? How can one possibly pass by irises, yellow as buttercups, and not wonder at the concealed stakes that must hold up those weighty sunshiny heads? And yet somehow, I managed to curtail my natural verbose impulses and simply imbibe as best I could the brilliance of the vision and the doggedness of the effort that had created so splendid a sight before my dazzled eyes.

So treading my way at leisure through the Purple Garden with its lavender and salvia and the first lupins I believe I have ever seen in my life, I entered the Library. This Tudor building (completely clad in red brick) was once the Stable and housed the horses who undoubtedly worked in the fields in centuries when Sissinghurst was a working farm. Harold and Vita converted it into the library, inserted windows, a gigantic stone Inglenood fireplace and loads of books that line the walls like soldiers. A quick peek at their titles showed me works by Horace Walpole, Herbert Spencer and William Blake. There is a striking oil-painted portrait of Vita above the mantelpiece–she is not a beautiful woman but she exudes breeding like her rose bushes exude fragrance–effortlessly! I was struck by the coziness created by the use of Turkish kilims on the floor and an abundance of lamps. The room just begged to be sat in and enjoyed, preferably with a good book in hand.

Outside, I walked towards the twin turrets of The Tower and found a line waiting to climb the spiral stairway to the top for what, I could only assume, would be thrilling views of the Kentish countryside. A few minutes later, I was curling myself around those stone-steps lined with portraits of Ottoman personalities that were inherited by Vita’s mother. En route, I passed by the most charming octagonal shaped room–Vita’s boudoir (though they call it her study–a term far too bland, I believe, for her flamboyant personality). This room was bagged by Vita as soon as she saw it and she cozied it up, as she had done the library, with a chaise-longue (for swift naps, no doubt, in-between her bouts of strenuous writing), a bent wood chair, a desk that was cluttered with writing paraphernalia and a black and white portrait of her dear friend Virginia Woolf, and in an ante-room, stacks of books on the wall. Virginia would, no doubt, have been envious of Vita’s Room of Her Own (as indeed I was)!

More twirling around the spiral steps and I was up at the summit where the scene spread out before me was indeed as thrilling as I expected. The garden beneath me looked like a patchwork quilt upon which Lilliputtians crawled for the folks inspecting them were suddenly shrunken in size. I could hardly stop myself from taking pictures of the property from on high.

And then I was down and finally in the White Garden (entered by the cutest wooden door set in a red brick wall) and had to pinch myself to believe that I was actually there in the flesh–for God knows how many times I have been here virtually and in my imagination. Could I imagine what this place looked like on a full moon night? Just as splendid as must the Taj Mahal, I thought, as I took in the sights of white shrub roses and tall white poppies (the first I have ever seen), white nicotiana whose fragrant heads brushed my trousers and white foxgloves, giant white peonies and white shoo fly flowers and there, standing like a proud focal point in the garden, the Icecap Delphiniums that the gardeners created only this year replacing what they called “poor Galahad” who now seems like a poor relation at the same wedding banquet! These towered above and dwarfed me (as you can see from the picture below).

It was time to pause to take in the flowery feast spread out before me and it was by a sheer stroke of luck that I found a shaded arbor that was planted with what was probably wisteria vine that had finished blooming. Seating myself at a table that seemed tailor-made for a picnic, I pulled out my sandwich and began to munch when I was joined by the sweetest pair of ladies you could imagine. I have written before about the basic unfriendliness of the English, particularly in gardens, where they stick to their own company and do not welcome intrusions.

A Chance Brush with the British Raj:
Well, these two ladies proved me wrong–you cannot generalize about anything, can you? Jeanie and Beatrice were friendly and warm and by their speech–both accent and diction–I could tell two things: they were ladies of quality and they had traveled. For it is only those who have had some kind of global exposure who can be so open to fellow travelers on the road of life. And then guess what? It was all revealed. Both these ladies who unbelievably were in their mid-80s (how on earth was that possible??!!) had been born in India and had lived a good part of their early lives in Calcutta–in fact, one of them had her daughter at the Elgin Hospital, she said–a lovely lady whom I met a little later. Their fathers were stationed in India during the fading days of the Raj and they knew that glorious eastern city in her colonial heyday. No, neither one of them had been back in at least a half century but they cherished the fondest memories of their days there. We had the nicest conversation–they were articulate and curious and had minds sharp as buttons! Glory be to them (and may I have that same inquisitiveness of spirit when I become a octogenarian)!

A half hour later, my sandwich all consumed, their daughters joined us–lovely women (probably cousins) who looked at if they might be my own contemporaries. So there I had it–a chance to finally speak to someone and to exclaim about the genius and synergistic creativity that combined in the Vita-Harold marriage and to talk about these ladies’ school days in Mussourie and Nainital and the diplomatic parties they attended in Calcutta as young brides! Indeed, these ladies whisked me back to the Edwardian world–not of Sissinghurst but of the Raj, half a globe way, and I felt privileged and honored to have been allowed to step into that space, if only for a little while.

Then, I was off, camera slung around my neck, to see the Rose Garden (many bushes were past their prime and in need of deadheading!) and the Cottage Garden and then the wide open meadow where bees buzzed and a dovecote stood sentinel all the way to the banks of the lovely deep moat that gave their Tower its castle antecedents and on to the Lime Alley punctuated at both ends by classical statuary and on to the Nuttery where I watched busy gardeners at work thinning herbaceous borders.

And I realized, all of a sudden, that what makes Sissinghurst so distinctive a garden is not the plantings and not the flowers and not the garden rooms and certainly not the pathways (some brick, some gravel) but it is the architecture–the old-fashioned and utterly charming collection of buildings (the Tower, the Tudor library, the cottages, the farm houses) that lie sprinkled among the acres that do it. It is the age that is proclaimed by their brick walls and slate roofs, the roses and clematis that ramble up their sides clinging ferociously for a centuries-old foothold, the aged wooden doors and rusty wrought iron handles, that give this space its mark of distinction. For, of course, I could take notes and replicate the selection of flowers that Vita advocated in my own gardens at Holly Berry House in Southport, Connecticut. But no, they would never look the same (even were I to reproduce the lushness of those peonies or the profusion of those hydrangeas–which I never could) because they would be viewed against the white clapboard siding of a typical New England colonial–not against the moss and lichen-covered stone walls of an Elizabethan outhouse! And, therein, lies the difference!

While the gigantic wrought-iron clock on the Tower (a present to Vita from Harold and her boys) tolled the lazy hours, I found sustenance at tea-time in a pot of National Trust Blend and a generous slice of coffee and walnut cake as I propped myself by a window to have the glory of the countryside spread out before me for free, as it slumbered silently on this spectacular afternoon. Then, I browsed in the shop, read snippets from the lives of the Nicholson family and promised myself that I would read Sissinghurst: An Unfinished Story by Adam Nicholson, their grandson, who still lives and writes on the property, following doggedly in the footsteps of his illustrious grandparents!

It was time for me to catch the 5. 30 bus returning to Staplehurst station which left me only about ten minutes to browse through the lovely exhibition on the first floor of the barn. I wish I had thought of doing this earlier for the exhibit was just heart warming–it contained Vita’s journals in her own handwriting with the accompanying printed pieces as they appeared in The Observer, the London newspaper in which she wrote a gardening column for decades. How could a female writer like myself not take inspiration from so unusual a woman? I am so glad I went to Sissinghurst and I cannot wait to get to Knole–I know that the two visits will work like a jigsaw puzzle to fit together all the missing pieces that comprise her privileged life.

Back in London for the Grosvenor House Art and Antiques Fair:
The train got me back to London in an hour, but absent-mindedly, I got off at London Bridge instead of Charing Cross. It was not a problem, however, for I jumped into the Tube and headed off to Marble Arch where I had made plans to meet my friend Stephanie at the Grosvenor House Art and Antiques Fair.

It was my friend Loulou who had given me a free pass to the event that admitted two and since I hadn’t seen Stephanie in ages and she knows how fond I am of antiques, I thought she would best appreciate a dawdle through the stalls with me. She was arriving from Richmond on the Tube and only reached there at 7. 30. The late evening opening was winding down but we did have a quick half hour to dally with the dealers and marvel at their wares–paintings by Frank Leger and Picasso, sculptures by the late Victorians including one of my favorites of all time–Drury’s The Age of Innocence priced at 60,000 pounds!–jewelry from Cartier and Boucheron, rare Persian carpets, Sevres porcelain and what American interior designer Mario Buatta (aka The Prince of Chintz!) jokingly calls “phooey Louis” were all available. If you had a stuffed wallet and some good taste at your disposal, you could walk home with gems–just like that! Stephanie exclaimed freely and loudly and we both wished we had more time to tread through these treasures. But at 8.oopm, the curtain came down on another day of dealing and we made our way outside to find the buses that got us back to my flat.

Dinner at St. John in Farringdon:
For I took Stephanie with me to Farringdon to deposite my bag in my flat before we set off for dinner in the neighborhood. She loved the loft space I currently occupy as she took in the Modern Art on its walls–the Andy Warhol Marilyn Monroes (miniatures of which we had seen at the Art Fair only to receive sticker-shock!). It was only ten minutes later, that we left in search of dinner as she was starving and I suggested the St. John Bar and Restaurant that lies right opposite my building. Though we did not have reservations, the maitre d’ was able to squeeze us in and we spent the next couple of hours catching up and eating a most interesting meal.

As it happened, we got into conversation with an American foodie couple from Boston who sat right besides us at the next table (put a pack of Americans together and the conversation starts flowing, doesn it it?). Hard to believe that they had come to London only to eat at this restaurant! I had just chanced to find a tidbit about this place in the book I had been reading but to be given an endorsement as huge as this was stunning. It seems the restaurant is world-famous (it is ranked Number Two in the world) and is known for its “Nose to Tail Eating” which means that its menu features parts of game that no other restaurant would serve–literally from nose to tail. With a two-volume recipe book collection to its name, this restaurant is a star. With that introduction, we ought not to have been surprized by a menu that included Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad, a special of Lamb’s Neck, Oxtail (which features the entire tail), a deboned pigeon and snails with courgettes!

Stephanie and I decided to play it somewhat safer! For appetizers, she got Crabmeat on Toast while I got the Roast Pork and Rabbit Terrine (both very good and superbly seasoned and spiced) and for a main, we decided to share what we thought would be pot roast of “Gloucester Old Spot” as we get it back in the States, only to discover that it was nothing more special that roast ham served with stewed peas! At 20 pounds, we both thought it was atrociously priced and Stephanie even declared that her mother’s ham was far better than this! By the way, the bone marrow and parsley salad was no longer available nor was the terrine we also ordered and finally when it came time for ‘pudding’, I ordered the elderflower sorbet only to be told that they had also run out of it! Instead, they brought us a strawberry sorbet (which they said was free of charge) but which neither of us wanted anyway and so declined. Instead we shared the chocolate terrine which was delicious but in my opinion, much too firm–I think I’d have preferred a creamier texture. At about fifty pounds for the meal (I had a glass of red house wine, Steph had a Diet coke), we thought we did not get our money’s worth at all. Had our American companions not hyped it up so much, perhaps we would not have been so sorely disappointed…but perhaps we should give it another try before writing it off so completely.

A few minutes later, I was kissing Stephnie goodbye as she returned to the Tube and at 11.30, I was winding down at the end of what had been, as I said at the beginning, a truly phenomenal day.

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.

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 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!

Chriselle’s Last Day in London–Smithfield and the British Museum

May15

Friday, May 15, 2009
London

The day dawned all too quickly when Chriselle had to leave London and return Stateside. Cliches come to mind in such situations: All good things must come to an end; Every parting is such sweet sorrow, It’s not Good Bye but Au Revoir, etc.

For some reason, despite having gone to bed rather late, Chrissie awoke by 6. 30 and could not sleep any more. For another inexplicable reason, she feels horribly lethargic about 11. 3o am when she has this uncontrollable desire to curl up somewhere and go straight to sleep. Jetlag does funny things to people…

My next-door neighbors Tim and Barbara are leaving for Seattle this morning and we wanted to say Goodbye to them. Ringing their door bell produced Tim on his way out somewhere. A little later, Barbara rang our doorbell and we had a chance to wish her Bon Voyage and all the best on their Stateside rambles.

We ate our breakfast quickly–lovely Walnut Bread from Waitrose with Boursin cheese and Sainsbury Three Fruits Marmalade with English Breakfast Tea–I am so going to miss these British treats when I leave. And then we dressed to start our last bout of sightseeing. There was some parts of London I simply wanted Chrissie to see before she left.

The Smithfield Meat Market:
Top of the list were the new digs into which I will be moving on May 31–the penthouse is on Cowcross Street right outside the Farringdon Road Tube Station. We walked along there via Hatton Garden, the London equivalent of Manhattan’s Diamond District with its shop windows that winked and glinted at us as we passed by. Then, a quick right into Greville Street brought us to the building which, I noticed, was recently painted and refurbished. I had no real idea exactly where it was located the last time I saw it, but today, I noticed that it is right off a cute square called St. John’s Square which sits right across from the ornate and very beautiful Victorian Meat Market called Smithfield.

Chriselle who is a vegetarian did not fancy walking through it but she tolerated the short excursion on which we saw white-coated butchers and health inspectors in their white helmets still bustling around though most of the day’s activity had ended. Helmets? Why on earth would you need a helmet when working in a meat market??? At any rate, I have been promising myself an early morning visit to this place to see the butchers at work, the restaurateurs selecting their favored cuts of meat and the restaurants around (that specialize in big meaty breakfasts with large pints of ale–yes, at 8 am!). I must put that on my list of places to go and things to do…

The Church of St. Bartholomew the Great:
Across Smithfield Circle we went through the medieval gabled doorway that leads to the beautiful black and white checkered Church of St. Bartholomew the Great where we entered to find that we were meant to pay a fee for a visit or enter for free if we wished to pray. I have attended Sunday Communion Service at this Norman church and while its age (dating from the 12th century) is deeply impressive, and it does contain a sprinkling of memorials to a few famous Elizabethans, it is the black interior that is most interesting. Centuries of dirt and grime and dust seem to have seeped into the stone pillars that support the ceiling. This is how the interior of St. Paul’s Cathedral might have looked before its 11 million pound refurbishment. It was the best indication we could have had of what time can do to an architectural masterpiece and an ancient Gothic interior. After saying a few prayers, we left.

Checking out London’s Public Toilets:
OK, the next thing wasn’t really on my List of Things To Do, but I have to say that I have been curious and never really had the courage to check one of them out–the Public ‘lavatories’ of London! With Chrissie by my side, I finally plucked up enough courage to venture underground and check out the one in Smithfield Circle. We expected it to be stinky and water-logged and falling apart and Chriselle even turned up her nose at my suggestion that we explore it.

Imagine our shock when we found it spotless, odor-free, spanking new and clean and free to boot! How startled we were! Indeed both of us exclaimed that it was the kind of toilet we could use without hesitation and, next thing you know, we did! There was actually an attendant downstairs who sat in a small cabin watching TV. There were four stalls with brand new toilets, doors with latches and hooks all in order, small sinks (or ‘wash basins’ as the English call them) with running water and toilet paper and paper napkins were in abundant supply. How marvelous! The Victorian exterior with its turquoise painted iron grill work belied the modernity of what lay beneath and we were completely bowled over by something as simple as public toilets! What a great deal we can learn from the English!

A Bus Ride to King’s Cross for a Trip to Hogwarts:
Then, we were sitting in a bus that took us past the great old buildings of one of London’s oldest quarters to arrive at the red brick expanse of King’s Cross. One of my goals was to finish reading all seven Harry Potter novels before I left London and I have to say that this has prevented me from reading anything else since the end of January! I am now in the middle of the fifth one (The Order of the Phoenix) and Chrissie’s visit has halted my progress through its labyrinthine paths. It does not help that the books get more voluminous as the series marches on so that reading one of them is like reading three! Chrissie, on the other hand, read every one of the novels as they were published and saw each of the movies as they were released. Having such an ardent Potter fan on my hands, I simply had to take her to King’s Cross to see St. Pancras Station from where the Hogwart’s Express carries the students from Platform Number 9 3/4 to their School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Chriselle was excited but not overly enthusiastic. I could see that the non-stop sightseeing of the past 5 days had started to take their toll on her–that, I suppose, combined with the late nights and lack of sleep had served to take the wind out of her sails. But when we arrived at the station, she brightened up considerably. I discovered that due to construction activity, Platform Number 9 3/4 has been moved to another location to which Harry Potter fans are being redirected. Yes, we did find it, a few minutes later–the stone wall into which the luggage cart disappears and we did take our share of pictures as we attempted to evaporate into the wall! This is such a fun excursion for kids and we marveled at the sense of indulgence that allows the English to create a spot like this just to appease young readers.

Off to the British Museum:
Then, we were aboard another bus headed to Russell Square to see the Highlights of the British Museum. Though the approach with its Neo-Classical facade is really the best way by which to enter this hallowed institution, we took a side entrance along Montague Place which brought us directly into the Asian Galleries.

Now as anyone who has visited the British Museum knows, you can spend a month of Sundays in the place and not finish seeing everything. My list of Highlights was short and the items that I did want Chriselle to see are the most talked-about ones in the Museum as well as the most unusual. Oh and I made sure she saw the rather lovely Great Hall with its new Millennium structural additions.

Here is what I showed her during our visit:
1. The Easter Island Sculpture
2. The Rosetta Stone
3. The Parthenon Marbles
4. The Caryatid from the Erectheum on the Acropolis
5. The Temple of Nereid
6. The Sculpture Bust of Rameses II that inspired Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’
7. The Assyrian Temple Carvings and Bas-Reliefs from Nimrud
8. Ginger–the Mummified Woman in the Egyptian Section
9. A Number of Mummies
10. The Portland Vase.

By the time we finished seeing these, it was 11.30 and the drowsiness that Chrissie has been fighting washed over her and she was ready to collapse. It was time to head home, so she could get started on her work with Fusion and start packing for her evening departure.

Getting Ready to Leave London (And the Kindness of Strangers):
With all the things that Chriselle is taking back to the States for me, she had two large suitcases and a carry-on strolley that made our journey to Heathrow pretty excruciating. We hailed a cab to take us as far as Holborn Tube station from where we intended to board the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow.

Everywhere we have traveled in London in the past week, Chriselle and I have been deeply impressed by the general sense of politeness that prevails here (especially among service personnel of any kind) among the general public. Numerous times people have stopped on the street while we were consulting our maps, to find out if we needed help. So I was not surprised when so many of them came forward to give us a hand with our baggage as we struggled to get it on the escalators and into the trains during peak hour rush! Poor Chriselle was battling huge butterflies in her tummy as she tried to think about the ordeal of carrying such heavy baggage back to the States. I owe her big time for the great big favor she has done me in taking so many of my belongings back home for me. At any rate, once we did get our baggage into the train (with a lot of willing help from other passengers), the worst of it was over.

Once at Heathrow, we found carts that allowed us to load our bags on them and push them to the Terminal for her American Airlines flight to New York. No, she was not overweight as we had weighed each bag before we left the house to make sure we stayed within the limits. Once she checked her bags in, she was left with a very light and easily malleable strolley and off she went. I have to say that it was my turn to go all emotional and I was teary as I said my goodbyes to her as we had one of the best weeks of our lives together, enjoying and exploring and sharing London like nobody’s business. Chriselle left with a great love for the city and I was so pleased that I was able to communicate this great passion that I have for London to her as well as get her to share in some of it herself. As we hugged, I quite forgot that in less than three months,I will be back in the States myself. So those cliches came back to mind again–about parting being such sweet sorrow, etc. as I saw her off at the Security gates.

I turned to leave and pulled out my cell phone to call her fiancee Chris who will be picking her up from Kennedy airport. We had a chat and I left and all the way in the Tube getting back home to Holborn, I kept thinking about how much we had covered in such a short space of time and how joyful was Chrissie’s reception of everything I had recommended she see. I know that she learned her way about the city and as she put it, “received a crash course in British history, culture, art and society” in the short time she spent with me. Considering that there were so many glitches and so many things that had to be sorted out in the process of planning this trip, I felt that it had been completely successful and I was very glad about the outcome.

Back home, I felt suddenly and deeply fatigued. I called Llew for our daily late-evening chat, then downloaded my pictures and began to edit them. When sleep washed firmly over me and I could shake it off no longer, I switched off my bedside lamp but not before I made a list of all the things I have to do tomorrow.

As the days slide by and the date of my departure from this flat approaches, I want to make sure that I stay on track with all the things I have to do and not feel overwhelmed at the very last minute.

Celebrating St. George’s Day and the Bard’s Birthday with Loreen.

Apr23

Thursday, April 23, 2009
London

London awoke to another spectacular National Day–for April 23, St George’s Day, is the closest the British come to having a National Day–St. George, who killed the dragon, is the patron saint of England!

My day began with a hefty installment of Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix that I am finding rather absorbing. In-between grading more student papers (when they rain in on me, they pour!) and working on an itinerary for Chriselle’s stay with me in early May, I managed to make a call to my parents in Bombay and rushed in for a shower.

For I had an 11.30 am appointment with my friend Loreen at St. James’ Park Tube Station and it is always a production connecting at Bank station where not only is there a name change (Bank becomes Monument), but you are required to get out of the Underground, walk overground for a couple of blocks and go back underground again. This delayed me by 15 minutes but we made contact at 11. 45 and started our walk–yes, another one from my Frommer’s book 24 Great Walks in London. This one is entitled “A Brush with Royalty”.

Loreen could not have lucked out more with the weather for she has had an unbelievable week. I can only hope that Chrissie will have half as decent a week when she gets here. Our walk took us through Royal London–past Buckingham Palace and St. James Palace (which I had never seen before). It was at the Queen’s Chapel (attached to the Court of St. James–don’t you just love the sound of that phrase?) that we realized it was St. George’s Day. There was a Holy Communion service on in the private chapel that is designed by Inigo Jones. Both Loreen and I wanted to get in for a peek but the bobby who stood at the door told us that it had been locked from the inside. We asked if the Queen was in, by any chance. “Can’t be, can she?” he responded. “She’s in Scotland, she is”. A few more affable words were exchanged before we said bye to him and made our way into Marlborough House, Headquarters of the Commonwealth, and approached by a private courtyard one wall of which was covered with fragrant flowering lavender wisteria that just took our breath away. Both Loreen and I are avid gardeners in Connecticut and we exclaimed long and longingly at all the spring flower beds we saw at St. James’ Park where the tulips are currently crying out for attention with their marvelous colors.

Then we were at the chapel in which Princess Diana’s body lay in state–we only caught exterior glimpses of its stained glass windows before we found our way into St. James Square Gardens, a delightful place whose lawns were simply strewn with seated human beings munching on their lunch-time sandwiches. Soft pink petals had carpetted the flower beds from the cherry trees that encircle the focal point of the garden–a sculpture of King William III who died after falling from his horse who reared suddenly when he tripped over a molehill. This brought us to Waterloo Place and the tall column of the Duke of York who gazes benignly over Pall Mall (all festive with dozens of Union Jacks lining it–another sign that St. George was being remember) just across from the entrance to St. James’ Park where we ate our picnic lunch while seated on a bench. We had earlier in the day savored the pleasure of occupying one of the striped green lawn chairs in the same park.

Lunch consumed, we walked across the Horse Guards Parade, wandered through Admiralty Arch and arrived at Whitehall just opposite Inigo Jones’ famous Banqueting House which I suggested to Loreen she should seen. Always game to see something interesting, Loreen agreed. Inside, we watched a film together on the history of the building and its special association with the execution of Charles I while Loreen nipped upstairs to study Peter Paul Reubens’ ceiling painting, I sat and graded a few more papers.

When she reappeared, we looked at the sculpture of poor Charles I on horseback at the end of Whitehall and the beginning of Trafalgar Square, then walked down Northumberland Road to the Embankment Tube Station. We crossed the criss-crossing Hungerford Bridge on foot (a first time for me) to arrive at the South Bank where at the Royal Festival Hall, Loreen’s daughter, Alicia hooked up with us. A short rest later, we walked the length of the South Bank past the Tate Modern and the Globe with the intention of visiting Borough Market which is open on Thursdays. En route, we stopped at the OXO Building (another first time for me), took the elevator to its rooftop restaurant and got some stirring glimpses of the city on a remarkably clear day before we resumed our walk.

We soon arrived at Southwark passing by the Clink Prison, the replica of Sir Francis Drake’s Golden Hinde and Southwark Cathedral before we entered the market only to find it closing for the day. There were none of the crowds or the variety of foods to be found when business is in full swing. Still, they got a taste (literally!) of the place, for the vendors were still dishing out a few samplers.

Then, because we all craved a cup of tea, I led them to The George Inn, London’s only “galleried” inn where Pandemonium reigned. Indeed, we saw young men dressed as knights, sporting the red and white colors of the flag of St. George and downing pints faster than you could say “By George”. Celebrations had begun in earnest and the ale was flowing. We ordered ourselves three pots of tea and a platter of cheese and nibbled and sipped as we watched the antics of the crowd that got rowdier with every passing half hour!

It was not long before we decided to move towards “Wobbly” Bridge where I had planned to part company with them. It was then that we realized that April 23 is also supposedly the Brithday of the Bard, a day that heralded the opening of a new Season at the Globe Theater. A quartet of Elizabethan musicians guarding the gates stuck up their instruments as a couple of girls went around making balloon animals for the kids. Yes, Romeo and Juliet will see its first performance tonight–a play I hope to see soon.

We stood around and took in the fun for a while before I bid Loreen and Alicia goodbye–they were headed to a program of Mendelsohn at the Royal Festival Hall. Wobbly Bridge teemed with tourists as I arrived at St. Paul’s Cathedral from where I walked back home. It was time for me to finish up the last bits of grading and while I ate a few scotch eggs, I continued with that task.

Then, it was time to look at my email, write this blog and transcribe some of the interviews that I have taped over the past week.

Nose to the Grind Again–and Meeting a High School Classmate

Apr20

Monday, April 20, 2009
London

Not having my Monday morning class, I took it fairly easy and did not experience the beginning- of-week morning stress. Awaking at 6. 00 am today, I began reading the next Harry Potter book in the series–The Order of the Phoenix. Had a bit of a set back on discovering a mix up in the date for the lecture I was scheduled to give at Oxford this summer. This made me feel a bit low for a while, but hopefully something will still work out favorably–fingers crossed.

After breakfast, I sat to edit and caption a bunch of photographs I took a while back as I am still trying to catch up with that. Before I knew it, it was 10. 30 am and I had to leave my flat to get to Kensington High Street to meet Reverend Trevor Hubble who showed me around the Lee Abbey International Students’ Club–a really nice place.

Then, I was on my cell phone with my high school classmate Charmaine Rodriguez who has arrived from Australia to spend a few weeks in London with her sister and her parents. She happened to be based at Kensington, literally a few steps from where I happened to be. We had spoken on the phone this morning (after she had emailed mea few days ago) and had made tentative plans to meet.

It was a treat to see Charmaine after almost 35 years. I also met her sister Shirley who did not remember me at all. Unfortunately, I had to leave almost as soon as I arrived at their place as I had a 2.00 pm class for which I did not want to be late. Hopping into the Tube at Kensington, I alighted at Tottenham Court Road and walked the ten minutes to our Bedford Square campus where I picked up my files and headed straight to my class in Birkbeck College.

It was great to see my students again. Almost every one of them had traveled to some exotic European destination (Berlin, Greece, Istanbul) and were full of stories about their adventures. We then got down to the serious business of setting dates for future assignments (drafts and final essays) before class began.

My South Asian Studies Seminar was next at 5 pm in my office. This small group meets in a tutorial. Today, we covered Indian economic and foreign policies after Independence and the political history of Pakistan since its creation. It has been a very interesting few sessions we’ve had, with the students asking many questions based on independent study.

At 7 pm, after they left, I dealt with Aetna Global Medical Insurance in the States, photocopied some material and made a packet to be mailed to Llew. Then, off I went at 8. 00, arriving home at 8. 20, feeling suddenly quite exhausted. I read some more Harry Potter before getting my dinner ready (two kinds of Chicken Salads with olives and feta cheese). At 9 pm, I watched New Tricks on the Alibi channel and, quite predictably, nodded off on the couch for about 10 minutes but did not miss anything by way of the plot.

At 10 15, I brushed and flossed my teeth and went straight to bed as I badly needed some shut eye!

A Self-Indulgent Saturday in London

Mar14

Saturday, March 14, 2009
London

Sometimes staying around in London on a Saturday can be an adventure in itself. When Stephanie called me early this morning to say that she needed to keep her weekend travel-free to sort out her stuff after her move last weekend to Richmond, I understood right away. I tend to be rather anal about settling down and feeling organized after a move, so I figured, she needed the time and space. I could use a weekend in London anyway to catch up with my own chores and do bit of independent sightseeing.

So over a high-carb breakfast (Waitrose’s cranberry loaf with pumpkin seeds and a variety of spreads–praline from Le Pain Quotidien, Nutella, grapefruit marmalade from Harrods and Lurpak butter), I stretched out on the couch with loads of coffee and had a leisurely and very late meal.

Then, it was Chore-Time! I pulled out the vacuum cleaner from my broom cupboard in the hall, got out my Bounty and started sweeping and scrubbing and polishing and dusting and generally having a great time while up to my elbows in warm suds. Within an hour, my kitchen was polished, my bathroom was spic and span, my toilet was sparkling, and my bedroom was dust-free. I felt fabulous.

Then, I set out for Holborn Library as I finished Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire early this morning and was ready to start the next one. I had to return it though to the library from where I had borrowed it and I also wanted to pick up some travel books on Italy so I can photocopy the pages I need to carry with me on my trip on Tuesday. I usually photocopy just the pages I need on each of my trips as these books are so heavy and with the budget airlines severely restricting baggage allowance, this is the only way to go. I found the DK Eyewitness Travel Guide to Italy and another on Northern Italy and over the weekend, I shall read up and flag the pages I need to photocopy at NYU on Monday.

Then I went on a food shopping spree to Waitrose which is a ten minute walk away from the library at the Brunswick Center. I was amazed at the number of people out in the courtyard where food was being sold by vendors–it was a sort of Borough Market with everything being sold–from chorizos in rolls, cheesecake, nuts and dried fruit, cupcakes, roast pork sandwiches, falafel. You name it, you could buy it–and there were many generous samples (or ‘tasters’ as they call them here) being dished out too.

I, however, went into Waitrose for some scones and clotted cream. After having returned from Cornwall, I have developed a taste for cream teas and thought I would have one instead of my lunch today–I know, I know, I am being wicked and dreadfully self-indulgent, but I promise I will return to sensible eating soon. I am going to Italy next week and I know what the food is like out there. So perhaps I can pig out for the next few days and return from Italy with a new resolution to watch my weight again!

But for the moment, it is time to feast…so I bought some good Stilton with Ginger (my favorite cheese), a walnut loaf from Paris’ Poilane (sold in select stores here in London), some fresh ravioli (as I have a sudden craving for pasta) and an absolutely fabulous-looking Black Forest Gateau! I also bought a number of packaged soups as I had run out of those–I do enjoy a hot cup of soup with my dinner and over the winter I have tried Waitrose’s packeted soups–this time, however, I thought I would try Knorr.

Back home, I had my cream tea (Oh, Happy Day!) and my gateau with a lovely pot of Darjeeling tea. Imagine!!! England has made a tea drinker of me, I have to say, except that I have it very light with lemon and honey. I can’t even express how much of a pick-me-up this is proving to be. In my even lovelier Tea for Two Paragon China Tea Set, I sat and sipped slowly and decided that today would be a day for big time pampering and lots of little luxuries.

Then, when I had cleared up and put everything away, I had a long chat with Llew. I am also in the process of finding accommodation for us in B&Bs in Rome and Istanbul and I remembered that his cousin, a nun named Sr. Rosie, had spent many years in a convent in Rome. I wondered if she knew a convent that gave out pensione accommodation and if she would be able to organize an audience for us with the Pope! I told Llew to try to organize that with her and he agreed. It will indeed make our visit to Rome very special if we can meet the Holy Father.

And then, it was time for me to go out and do another one of my walks. It was such a mild and pleasant afternoon and the weather beckoned insistently. I took the pages I had photocopied from the DK Eye Witness Guide to London that outlined a walk around Smithfield Market (which is right behind my street in Holborn) and by 4. 45 pm I was off.

It turned out to be such a great walk. I had actually explored most of this area about three years ago with my friend Bina Ullal when she had come from her place in Harrow to meet me in London and spend a day with me. The walk took me to the famous Victorian Smithfield meat market which at one time sold live cattle and poultry; but today, thankfully, sells only cuts of meat. It is busiest early in the morning when the city’s butchers get there to select their stock for the day. Right around the lanes radiating from this gigantic building which occupies three city blocks are a number of taverns and pubs and eateries that serve enormous breakfasts with ale to the butchers who are ravenous by mid-morning. I was amazed how many restaurants are to be found in these little lanes–apart from the pubs offering good old-fashioned British food, there were very fancy French restaurants with haute cuisine on their menus and extensive wine lists.

Then, I found myself in lovely Charterhouse Square, a very old part of the city–once a monastery, it is a hospital today. Its cloisters and quiet courtyard still stand but I wasn’t able to go in and explore as guided tours are given only between April and August. I will have to wait for another month, I guess. Meanwhile, the walls of the building are deeply evocative of its history and the entire square reeks of age.

Turning around a corner, I arrived at Cloth Street, which derived its name from a medieval Cloth Fair that was held here annually right up to the Jacobean Age. In fact, it was this noisy fair that inspired Ben Jonson to pen his famous play about this event. This entire area is just fabulous–it contained narrow lanes, some of which have their original medieval buildings just oozing charm and character and medieval architectural details. Numbers 41 and 42 are two of those old preserved buildings and at Number 43, the Poet Laureate John Betjeman lived for many years (in what looks like a very tiny flat indeed).

I am a bit surprised how many references I have recently come across to Betjeman–first it was Padstow in Cornwall where he lies buried; then it was Rules Restaurant at Covent Garden which he frequented and which he endorsed and now it was his home at Number 43 Cloth Street. There is a blue plaque to mark this location as well as a restaurant called, appropriately enough, Betjamans where he is well remembered. I can just imagine how thrilled Betjeman would have been to live in such a historic part of London knowing his great passion for old architectural gems. He is responsible for saving St. Pancras Station from the demolisher’s hammer and has written many books on the old Norman churches of England. I often wish I had the chance to meet him. I think we would have had such an interesting conversation for we seem to share such a love for the same things–Nature, old churches, poetry, Oxford. Well, I guess, I have to be content that I did meet his wife, Lady Penelope Chetwode, once, a long time ago.

Next I was skirting the area around the wonderful ancient church of St. Bartholomew (which gave Jonson’s play its name) with its unique black and white checked design, its round tower and its quiet courtyard garden. I noticed that Sunday services are held at 9 am with Communion and I have decided that in keeping with my resolution to visit a new historic church every Sunday when I am in London, I will go to the service at this one tomorrow. I am so excited to be in a church that Ben Jonson and Shakespeare and the other Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, no doubt, knew well. It has one of the best preserved medieval church interiors in the country and I can’t wait to see the inside of it. I also remember vaguely that one of the wedding scenes in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral was shot in here, but that I cannot confirm.

Then, I was out on the street again making my way towards Newgate where I saw the Old Bailey up close and personal and took pictures of the gilded statue of the Goddess of Justice atop the dome holding her scales forward. I cannot believe how close I live to all these masterpieces of architecture and all these landmarks of the city. I am truly blessed to be within a stone’s throw of all these renowned monuments. I had always dreamed of living in London and the fact that I have been posted here for a year and have access to all these marvels proves to me that the works of the Lord are unique and complete and that, as the Bible says, He “gives not in a measure but in its fullness”. Indeed, when the Lord gives, he gives in bountiful abundance and I often feel as if His blessings upon me this year have been beyond generous; and for that I feel truly humbled and profoundly grateful. And it is amazing how this truth comes home to me in the strangest of ways–like when I am gazing at a church that Ben Jonson might have prayed in or glancing at a monument that crowns the Old Bailey!

Next, I was entering the garden of St. Sepulcre-without-Newgate–I have noted before that these ancient churches have the oddest names–most incorporating their geographical location in them! This one –the Church of the Sepulcre–was outside the New Gate–hence its name!!! This is the church that is referred to in the rhyme Oranges and Lemons in the lines:

“Oranges and lemons” say the Bells of St. Clement’s
“You owe me five farthings” say the Bells of St. Martin’s
“When will you pay me?” say the Bells of Old Bailey
“When I grow rich” say the Bells of Shoreditch
“When will that be?” say the Bells of Stepney
“I do not know” say the Great Bells of Bow“
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed
Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head
Chip chop chip chop – the Last Man’s Dead.”

I have reproduced the rhyme here so I can read up the sinister references to all the public beheadings that took place in London in days gone by. It seems that the rhyme refers to these killings and they were often recited by children who seemed to take delight in the fact that so many heads rolled in those ruthless days!

At any rate, I walked a little bit further down Holborn Viaduct up to the tower of Christ Church which is the only intact thing that remains of Wren’s masterpiece–the nave of the church that was destroyed in a fire has been converted into a pretty garden that will, no doubt, come into its own in the next few months as spring advances into summer.

I came home to check email and catch up with more chores–I had to make backup CDs for all my pictures. And then I decided to spend the evening cooking myself some fresh ravioli and having a nice dinner and a glass of cider while watching a movie–Where Angels Fear to Tread based on the novel by E.M. Forster (which I had not read) and which featured Helen Mirren, Helena Bonham-Carter and Rupert Graves. Shot entirely on location in Italy (which made it significant since I will be there on Tuesday) and England, it was such a sad story that had me completely absorbed. Lovely Victorian costumes and sets (in the vein of the films of Merchant-Ivory) and marvelous cinematography had me enthralled. That’s what I love about Love Films.com–it is a matter of serendipity for you have no idea what they will mail you. To have ended my lazy day with a Forster film was bliss indeed!

It did turn out to be a perfectly indulgent Saturday for me but one I know I will remember for a long time. I have no regrets that I did not do a day trip today. I have done enough traveling in the last few weeks and it felt good to stay at home and have an unforgettable day–a staycation of sorts!