Tag Archive | Oxford

Freud Museum, Regent’s Park Open Air Theater, Hounslow & Richmond

Jul17

Thursday, July 16. 2009
London

Featuring prominently on my List of Things To-Do in London was the Freud Museum and I am amazed that I have waited so long to see it. Five years ago, this would probably have been my first stop in London as I was steeped in Freudian theories as I was researching my second book on The Politics of Mourning: Grief-Management in Cross-Cultural Fiction. With my third book under way, I have turned to other topics and they took predominance over all thing Freudian. Still, having become so familiar with old Sigmund’s writing, particularly those associated with Mourning and Melancholia, I simply couldn’t leave London without exploring his English hidey-hole.

Freud’s home is open from Wednesday to Sunday from 12 noon till 5 pm only. Hence, one has to carefully plan a visit to this place because it is not in the heart of London but in Finchley which I reached by Tube so as to arrive there exactly at 12 noon. I had spent the morning continuing to work on my Oxford lecture and my packing and the discarding of a huge bunch of accumulated papers I do not need to carry to the States. Minda had arrived to clean the loft but I had little time to chat with her today as I had a lengthy agenda of things to be accomplished.

A word about the neighborhood in which Freud made his home in 1938 when he arrived in London fleeing the Nazi invasion of his native Austria where he had spent a lifetime in a house at 19 Bergstrasse in Vienna: It is in an area called Maresfield Garden, a truly lovely street filled with grand Victorian single family (detached) homes wrapped in red brick and defined by a wealth of snow white architectural details. I passed front garden after front garden completely taken by the wealth of the neighborhood until, a short walk later, I arrived at Number 20 where the Freuds made their home. A large plum tree greets visitors at the front gate past a small and perfectly well-kept garden ablaze with giant roses.

It costs 6 pounds (3 pounds student concession) to tour the house which is spacious by English standards. In fact, Freud himself was quite taken by the proportions of it and wrote enthusiastically of its size in the letters he exchanged with his siblings who remained behind in Vienna (they were all eventually killed in the concentration camps). The tour is made superbly interesting by the audio guides that cost an additional pound (but it is well worth the extra expense). You walk through the lovely hall and into the study and long consulting room where Freud met with his patients. He was a sick and old man by the time he arrived in England (suffering from cancer of the jaw which required frequent painful dressing) and took on only four patients whose voices can be heard on the audio guide describing their sessions with him.

For me, the biggest surprise was discovering that Freud was an enthusiastic collector of antiquities and amassed a vast number of Greek, Roman, Turkish and Asian artifacts that are seen all over the house as single pieces as well as in groups neatly displayed in glass vitrines. I suppose I ought not to be surprised, come to think of it, for an obsession with history and antiques is to be expected from someone whose fondest psychological theories focus on people’s past as offering a key to their present and future.

The study also contains Freud’s couch, perhaps the most famous piece of furniture in the world–and, again surprisingly, it is covered with velvet cushions and handsome Turkish carpets which are also strewn liberally all over the wooden floors of the house. Also surprising is that the rooms do not look a bit like the consulting rooms of a doctor’s office–far from it. In fact, with the use of curtains, floor rugs, masses of objects d’art and skillful lighting, Freud managed to make the rooms look cozy and very comfortable indeed and conducive to the opening of his patients’ minds. We see the cushioned bucket seat on which he sat behind his patients and, therefore, out of their sight in order not to inhibit them from speaking by giving away his own thoughts through his expressions. The entire method which Freud devised and upon which his approach rests–psychoanalysis–required the very careful creation of an ambiance that would encourage the free association of thought and ideas which would then allow the psychoanalyst to make sense of them. It was a fascinating and very exciting space to be in and to know that it was from these premises that Freud was able to allow his revolutionary techniques to be made known to the world.

Indeed, though he had been practising psychoanalysis for decades from his clinic in Vienna long before he arrived in London, he took pains to see that every single one of his books and antiques was shipped to London (including the famous couch which was a gift from one of his female patients) so as to recreate the rooms as they had existed in Vienna. Hence, though Freud only lived in Maresfield Gardens for one year (he died a little over a year after taking up residence there), his London home is a far more authentic space than the house at Bergstrasse in Vienna which has also been turned into a Freud Museum but which contains none of his own possessions but merely a replica of the manner in which the space might have looked while he as there. And as we all know (from Freud himself) how insightful an analysis of our personalities and our beings can be gauged from the possessions that we amass, his ‘things’ are not mere ‘objects’ but keys to his own mind and his own personality–just as ours are. Interestingly, before the apartment was dismantled and its contents shipped to London, Freud had a professional photographer come in and take a series of pictures of his Viennese rooms–many of which now adorn the walls of his London dining-room– to give him a template upon which his London rooms could be recreated.

Upstairs, there is a room that was occupied by his youngest child, Anna Freud, the only one to follow her father into his profession and who specialized in Child Psychology having being taught Psychoanalysis by her father who actually psychoanalysed her–in a most unconventional and unorthodox move–for a father would never psychoanalyse his own child in contemporary Psychology. At any rate, it is great to see the manner in which these rooms have been preserved. They give us a superb insight into the mind and thought of this 20th century genius whose theories have influenced every single one of us in ways that we might not even realize. Such common words that form our daily vocabulary as “unconscious”, “sublimated”, “regression”, “negated”, etc. are all derived from Freudian psychology.

Amusingly, a young man entered the house and at the ticket counter, while purchasing his ticket, asked the young clerk: “Am I dressed OK for a visit to this place or should I be wearing a Freudian slip?” Unfortunately, his clever pun was lost on the clerk for whom English was clearly a foreign language! Instead, his groupies, two young girls, giggled in unison and prevented his joke from falling flat on its face.

I took a walk around the dining room with its grand Austrian painted cupboards (a collection amassed by Anna Freud) and the garden where I was delighted to find lovely small ripe plums strewn all over the lawn. The tree in the back garden had yielded the sweetest fruit and the birds hadn’t yet gotten them. With a handful of plums to snack on, I left the house, very pleased that I had made it to this temple of Freudian thought and had acquired a very interesting insight into this remarkable man whose work has had a great influence on my own writing and whose theories form the cornerstone of the literary analysis that I had undertaken a few years ago.

Regent’s Park Open Air Theater:
Then, I caught the Tube back and got off at Baker Street to meet Chaichin who handed over to me two tickets to see the matinee show of The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theater. Now I had never been to this theater and thought it would be great fun to see a play there and we were blessed by the kind of day that seemed tailor-made for such outdoor activity. I had made plans to meet Jack, son of my friends Paul and Loulou, and our rendez-vous was the entrance to Madame Tussaud’s. It always amazes me how many hordes go through the doors of this London attraction each day. In fact, you can tell that tourist season has begun in the city when you start to see the line winding in serpentine fashion around this block of Baker Street. Having been to Madame Tussaud’s 22 years ago when I first arrived in London, I have never returned there and have never felt the inclination to visit it again.

Jack arrived bang on time and we made our way towards Regent’s Park where the theater was located. It was a short ten minute walk past the beautiful Queen Mary’s Rose Garden laid out in 1935, one of London’s best-kept secrets. Though the roses were not as stunning as the ones in the many gardens I have recently seen all over the place. I could not resist taking a few photographs, and with that done, we made our way to the lovely amphitheater where we found seats in the park surrounding it and sat down to chat for a few minutes before curtail call when we climbed the stands and took our seats.

The Importance of Being Earnest is such an entertaining Edwardian comedy that it is impossible to do a bad job of it. I had seen a very good version of it last March (2008) at the Vaudeville Theater with my friend Amy when she and I had spent a few days in London en route to Italy during my Spring Break. Lady Bracknell was then played by Penelope Keith (of To the Manor Born fame)and it was to see her that I had booked tickets then. Well, imagine my surprise when I discovered that Lady Bracknell in this production was played by Susan Woolridge–whose real name may mean less than her screen name (Daphne Manners) in The Jewel in the Crown! She made a very funny Lady Bracknell but both Jack and I thought that our favorite character was the girl who played Cecily (Lucy Briggs Owen) in such a saucy fashion as to be completely lovable.

The set design was rather ingenious though I have to say that I had my heart in my mouth every time the characters walked down that steep slope–I could see how gingerly they were doing it. One false move and they could have been flat on their faces. With a Pimms cocktail at the interval for me and a coffee for Jack, we stretched our legs a bit before making our way back to our seats for the second half that was equally delightful. Since it was Jack’s first time at the Regent Park Open Air Theater we were both very pleased that we had such fine weather and such a charming performance at which to make our debut appearances as audience members at this venue.

Meeting Relatives in Hounslow:
Then, I was saying goodbye to Jack and getting back on the Tube and heading towards Hounslow East where I was picked up at the station by Joel, who drive me over to see my Dad’s second cousin Sybil who hasn’t been very well for several months. Since I am leaving soon for the States, I did want to see her before I left and I was glad to find a free evening in which to fit in this visit–indeed I made the time to see her even if briefly. It was good to sit and chat with her and Joel over old times. We took a few photographs and then Joel was dropping me off to Richmond–a mere 15 minute drive away–where he said bye to me at my friend Stephanie’s place.

Stephanie was cooking us an Indian dinner when I arrived–chicken tikka with brown rice and papadams–and as we enjoyed it in her living room, she told me all about her recent cruise in Croatia which was a blast. I was so glad to hear all about it as well as catch up with other things.
It was about 11.00 pm when we went to bed. I was spending the night at Steph’s as she will be driving me tomorrow to Andover where she works. I intend to take a train on to Salisbury as I would like to see the Cathedral and the very historic town that developed around it, before I return to the States.

Incredible Jude Law as Hamlet at the Wyndham and a Walk in Soho

Jul15

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

London

Probably the strain of everything I have to do in these last few days is wearing me down because I am waking up too early again–today at 6. 30 am. Still, it gave me a chance to tidy up my room which now (with all my packing and discarding of unnecessary items) looks as if Hurricane Katrina has hit it. Also with Loulou and Paul here and with us having made plans for breakfast, I snuck into the kitchen to find out if they had awoken and got coffee going! They hadn’t and were still sound asleep. It is wonderful to have their comforting presence in this loft as it is vast and can get very lonely–so I am also glad that Llew will be here on Saturday to share this fabulous living space with me.

By 8. 30 am, however, Paul and Loulou had awoken. Loulou nipped down to Our Pantry (read M&S Simply Food) to buy coffee and croissants while I set the table–for four as we were also expecting their son Jack to join us. Well, a little later, he had arrived and we all sat down to crusty croissants with butter and jam and cereal with milk, coffee and grapefruit juice and chatted companionably as we reviewed our plans for the next couple of weeks. Hard to believe that I am down to the wire now and talking about what I will do when Llew gets here. We are planning a week in France with friends in Paris and Normandy, so I am also trying to set that part of our holiday up.

The carpet guy Dick came in to change the carpet in my wash room and I changed quickly and left him to it as I was headed off to NYU to do a few last minute things: I had to settle one last electricity bill, I had to print out a whole bunch of last interviews I had done and I had to photocopy something, not to mention chatting with the shipping guys about two more boxes that I need to deliver to their warehouse in North Acton. My friend Janie (who is currently with her mother in Yorkshire but who returns to London on Monday) has promised to help me out with that! Where would I be without all these friends who have sprung so amazingly to my rescue repeatedly during my stay here? They are truly incredible and I am truly grateful.

Errands at NYU:
At NYU, I did all the tasks I had to accomplish and then left my office knowing that I will return there for one last time next week when my Oxford Lecture is complete and I have to print it out. I said bye to Mimi, the security guard at Reception, and flew out the door (having lost a few precious minutes right as I was leaving in talking to Llew who called me. He is very excited about his return to London and we had to go over some last-minute details).

Lunch with Michelle:
My next appointment was at the office of my friend Michelle who is a lawyer working for Parliament. We had made plans to meet for lunch and I was delighted to see her. Michelle was in college with me at Elphinstone in Bombay where we had majored in English Literature and competed fiercely for every last mark! But, of course, we have remained close friends over the years despite her many international stints, first as a journalist in Hongkong and then as a lawyer here in London.
We had a really good lunch (their cafeteria is posh, the food very far from institutional)–a zucchini (0r courgette, as they call it here) quiche with a balsamic glaze and Brambly Apple compote–yummy! Needless to say, we talked nineteen to the dozen and before we knew it, I had to leave for my next appointment, but not before I hugged and thanked Michelle for the delicious lunch which was her treat. I am hoping to see her again on Tuesday at the little farewell get-together I am planning for a few friends.
Then, I was hopping into buses to get to Leicester Square for the 2. 30 pm matinee show of Hamlet starring none other than Jude Law himself at the Donmar Wyndham Theater. Because I was a bit early, I had a chance to browse through some of the antiques stores in the neighborhood and entered one selling old English coins. I was delighted to find a special gift for Chriselle. I had been looking for a while for something unique to buy her from London and when I did find it, I realized again that it is not the monetary value of the item you buy for someone but the singularity of it that matters and its connection with the person for whom it is intended. I hope very much that she will like it.

Then, I made my way to the theater to find a long line snaking out of it as people hoped to find tickets. I was thrilled that I had purchased my ticket online several months ago because with Jude Law playing Hamlet, the summer hordes that have descended upon this city (mainly star struck teenyboppers) are making a beeline for this theater hoping to find tickets. Well, they are going to need all the luck in the world as the house was full to bursting. I had fairly good seats and was so grateful for the opera glasses that I now carry with me every time I go to the theater as they are so useful.

Jude Law Plays Hamlet:
The play in general and Jude Law in particular have received such staggeringly good reviews that anything I say would be superfluous. Suffice it then to say that it was an extraordinary afternoon at the theater and that it is productions like these (it was directed by Michael Grandage who also directed the As You Like It production that I saw at The Globe last month) that make me realize why Shakespeare is so revered and why his work will live on forever. I have seen many versions of Hamlet in my lifetime (on stage and screen–I am most familiar with the Mel Gibson production but my favorite is the Kenneth Branagh version with Derek Jacobi playing Claudius) but I know that I will remember forever this anguished Hamlet played so vulnerably by Law. I have to say that I have never found him a heart throb myself, so I was able to watch the performance objectively and it was splendid.

But as has happened repeatedly since I started going to the theater here in London a year ago, what leaves me gob-smacked is the number of other cast members with whose work I am familiar through the small screen. So just imagine how pleased I was to discover that Claudius was played by Kevin McNally who was wonderful in a TV show from the 70s called Dad that I had seen on PBS screenings in the States…and best treat of all, that The Player Queen was played by Jenny Funnel whom I recognized immediately as the lovely lovely actress who plays Sandie in As Time Goes By! It is these unexpected treats that have made my stay in London so memorable and they just never stop coming.

At the end of the show, I inquired of the ushers as to where the Stage Door was located in order to try to catch a closer glimpse of these stars–I reiterate…I was more interested in McNally and Funnel than Law! Thankfully, we did not have to wait too long. Within fifteen minutes, the actors began trooping out and when McNally arrived, I requested a picture with me. He was very pleased indeed to pose with me (see left).

A few minutes later, Jenny Funnel appeared and I might have surprised her deeply when I asked if she would pose with me. I swear I felt as if I was fifteen again! Seems I might have missed my calling as a groupie!!! She, too, was very gracious and willing and when I told her that I have watched her and loved her for years in As Time Goes By, she beamed, her beautiful large blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. So here is the picture I took with her. And let me tell you that these two close encounters of the Anglo Kind so made my day that I called Llew in great haste on the bus to tell him whom I had just met!
In fact, in a few minutes, one of the stage hands came around to tell us that Jude Law does not appear at the stage door between shows (there was another show at 8pm) and that he would only be available at the end of the evening’s performance. The poor star struck teens outside were devastated, while I quickly waltzed away with not a crack anywhere in my own heart!
A Walk in Soho:
And then I got on a bus that took me back to Oxford Street as I wanted to explore Soho on my feet. I mean how crazy is this? I have been in London for a whole year and have not yet explored its trendiest part? I mean, were I twenty, I guess that’s where I’d be every evening…but not being twenty anymore, well, I have different priorities!

I started off at Soho Square, the lovely little park with a Tudor house in its center and the sculpture of Charles II (he once frequented the area and built a home for his mistress Nell Gwynne on the Square). Today, the place was rather crowded and a corner of it was taken up by a group of idlers and drug addicts who, once-upon-a-time, when I used to see them hanging out at Union Square Garden in New York, used to make me feel very uncomfortable indeed. It seems that I have gotten over even that aversion for this time round they did not bother me at all!

It was from a history plaque in the garden that I realized from where the word “soho” came. It was a hunting term, used each time a prey (such as a fox) was spotted. The leader would yell, SO HO!” and the troupe would give chase. Needless to say, this part of London in the 17th century was hunting ground being covered thickly with woods! French Huguenots and Catholics congregated here and as time went by built two churches that stand upon the square–one a Catholic church in which I had once attended Sunday mass.

From there, I picked my way to the beginning of Dean Street to see a shelter for the homeless called The St. Barnabas House. My book informed me (and I am using a different book now as I have finished all 24 walks in Frommer’s Book) it has one of the most beautiful Rococco staircases in the city and it was for that reason that I visited the spot. Well, the nice gentleman who led me in, then gave me a special private tour taking me from one historic room to the next where the plasterwork on the walls and ceiling was truly stunning. In fact, in one of the rooms I saw the largest central ceiling medallion that I have seen anywhere–featuring playful fat cherubs. It was really lovely. The man also then took me to another staircase to show me the special iron balustrades that were constructed to protrude out into the stairwell so as to accommodate the enormous crinoline hoop skirts for which the 18th century was renowned. It was very nice of him to do this for me but clearly he sensed my vivid interest in such things and even permitted me to take photographs. He also said goodbye to me at the door and presented me with a color brochure that gives wonderful close up views of the plasterwork.

My walk in Soho continued as I wound my way in and out of the maze of streets each one lined with restaurants of every kind and cuisine. I saw the home in which the young Mozart had once stayed and composed and where the essayist William Hazlitt died. The drizzle which had been sporadic through the day turned into a heavy shower at this point and though I had my brolly, I sheltered under the lobby of a building until the worst of it passed.

Next I went out in search of Mezzo restaurant which Terence Conran has turned into the largest one in Europe–or so my book said. Well, it turned out that my book was five years outdated! The restaurant closed down five years ago but has been replaced by two others–Floradita and Meza–still owned by Conran–so a nice guy told me at a neighboring place. I took a peek into them and then continued on my rambles looking in particular for The Gay Hussar, a Hungarian restaurant that has been packing them in for fifty years on this street–clearly it was opened as a time when Gay meant something else altogether different!

The interior of the restaurant is similar to Lindy’s in Manhattan in that its walls are covered with cartoon representations of the many dignitaries who have supped within them. The Gay Hussar is best known for its wild cherry soup and I thought it would be the perfect pick-me-up and a great way to escape the rain. So in I went. It was still rather early in the evening (about 6. 30 pm) and the diners hadn’t yet started to arrive. I told the maitress d’ that I was there only for the soup and she seated me down graciously at a window corner and brought me a bowl. It was amazing! I mean there I was sipping a great big bowl of what might be described as cherry flavored milk with a few cooked cherries hidden at the bottom–the perfect summer soup. I am determined to experiment with a few concoctions to replicate this delight once I get home to Connecticut for it was fabulous! At 4. 75 pounds a bowl, it is a steal as the portion was huge making it very filling indeed. Replete with this treat inside of me, I resumed my rambles and arrived on Berwyck Road at which point, I began to feel fatigued.

I know the area that the rest of the walk covered really well (Cambridge Circus and Charing Cross), so I decided to cut it short and took another bus to come straight back home.

I spent the evening in my room downloading my pictures, checking my email, sending out a birthday message to my cousin Bonnie in Bombay and winding down for the day, thrilled at its outcome. I had a very late dinner (rice and salads) and fell asleep.
It had been at least two weeks since I had done any serious sightseeing (as I had been preoccupied with work at the libraries) and I realize that one of the highlights of my year in London has been the many walks I have taken and the secrets and hidden gems of the city to which they have introduced me. I know that I can return again and still find a year’s worth of places to explore and it is this thought that is making the withdrawal symptoms a bit easier to bear as the days and hours fly by.

A Funeral in Lewisham

Jul14

Wednesday, July 14, 2009
London

My day started at 6. 30 am as I checked email and proof read my blog before calling my parents and brother Russel in Bombay. I also continued working on my Oxford Lecture and made steady progress on it until I decided to stop for breakfast (cereal and milk) and a shower. At 11. 30 am, I left my flat for the bus ride to Lewisham for the funeral of Mary Wilson whom I had interviewed at the end of last year. I did manage to get to the Church of St. Savior on time and was pleased to see so many folk from the Thursday Luncheon Club of the South London Anglo-Indian Association who had already assembled there. I walked to the church with Oscar , another man who I had interviewed, and met Cecil, Mary’s husband at the church. He was surprised but very pleased to see me indeed.

This was my first funeral in the UK and indeed my very first cremation. The mass was short and said by a South Indian or perhaps Sri Lankan priest. The eulogy delivered by Mary’s son, Peter, took the form of the recitation of a poem that was composed by Cecil. It was deeply moving and I was in tears for a good part of the service. It is amazing to me how close I feel to these folks who have shared their life stories with me. In fact, I possibly know them better than they know each other even though they have been friends for years. Certain aspects of one’s life never come up in conversation even with one’s closest friends. Everyone spoke fondly and admiringly of the devotion that Cecil showed Mary who was on dialysis for years and it was profoundly moving for me to see him dab at his eyes several times during the day. Equally emotional was their grandson. It is wonderful, I think, that these Anglo-Indians have created links that allow them to stand by and support each other in times of grief. The members of the group are hoping very much that Cecil will return soon to the Thursday Luncheon Club as this might be a way for him to resolve his loss and move on.

I was especially grateful to Dennis and Joy who gave me a ride from the church to the crematorium to the wake which was held in a pub in Lewisham called One. This couple has been extremely supportive of my work here in London and I very grateful to them too as also to a number of the other folks I had the chance to meet over the past year. They are now preparing for their Anglo-Indian Annual Day which takes places in Croydon on the first Sunday in August–alas, I will miss it as my UK visa expires on August 1 and I need to leave the country before this date. Unexpectedly, this funeral gave me a chance to meet many of these folks and thank them personally for the assistance and hospitality they extended to me over this past year. I was also pleased to meet Lynette, Cecil’s sister from Canada, who flew to London for the funeral. We have corresponded via email but hadn’t met each other earlier. This was a sad occasion but an opportunity, nevertheless, for us to connect in person. Lynette does a great job keeping Anglo-Indian history and affairs alive in her part of the world and her networking skills are enormous.

I said my goodbyes to Cecil and my friends and left the pub at 4. 30 pm to catch the buses that brought me back home at 6 pm when I took a bit of a rest before I continued with the task of sorting out papers and packing. I need to make a list soon of all the things I have to do before Llew arrives here so that I can actually spend our last few days in London doing quality stuff and not anything too boring such as packing.

At 6. 30 pm, I heard sounds in my loft and realized that I had company–a few minutes later, Loulou walked in, to my great joy. It was great to see her again after more than two weeks. Paul followed a few minutes later. They had arrived to go out for an important family dinner and, therefore, disappeared into their room to dress. I continued to work on my PC, then had a solitary dinner at home–still trying to finish leftovers in my fridge and freezer but I made myself a large salad after a long time with a mustard vinaigrette. I went to bed early knowing that I would awake the next day and have company at breakfast.

More Archival Research at Kew and Seeing the Domesday Book

Jul13

Monday, July 13, 2009
London

I did not have a good night at all. Was awfully restless, then awoke at 3. 30 am with a headache. Took a pill for it and tried to get back to sleep but tossed incessantly feeling hot and cold within five minute intervals. I finally gave up at 5. 45 am, typed my blog, then fell asleep again at 6. 30 am and did not awake till 8 am. I was so annoyed with myself as I had wanted to leave the house by 7 am to take the buses that would get me to the Archives at Kew by 9 am. Fat chance!

Well, I raced through a shower and my breakfast (cereal and milk), made myself a packed lunch and left the house at 8. 50 am. I carried Owen Thorpe’s autobiography to read on the bus as I find the long journey of nearly two hours to Kew rather monotonous and I figured I might as well get another book read. I found it very interesting and not entirely serious either. It is written with a very firm tongue-in-cheek and as any boy who grew up on the Indian sub-continent in the 40s, 50s and 60s will attest, speaks of a simple but blissful childhood with dozens of friends and a multiplicity of games that kept one fit and slender. I saw so many visions of my own childhood reflected in the pages of this book that I am enjoying every moment of it. Despite the fact that Owen was brought up in South India and I in Bombay, there is such a similarity of habit, custom, tradition and experience as to make the book seem as if I have authored it. Very entertaining indeed!

Then, I was at Kew and ensconced in my seat at 10 A pouring over the last of the files that spell out policy decisions particularly those pertaining to the British Nationality Act, 1948. Needless to say, I am discovering a great deal about the legal positions that governed decisions regarding who could and could not legally enter the UK as immigrants and the extent to which the British government was willing to lend a helping hand and a leg up to the new arrivals. With all the reading I am doing, both fictional and autobiographical, and all the documents I am reading and photographing and photocopying, I feel fully steeped in the culture.

Unfortunately, I am unable to meet Alison Blunt whose work on the Anglo-Indian diaspora preceded mine. She sent me a text message to cancel our appointment due to a sudden loss in her family. I felt very sorry for her indeed and look forward to meeting her another time.

The National Archives Museum at Kew:
I was done with my research by 4 pm when I left the Archives, but on the way out I saw the entrance to the Museum of the National Archives and, of course, I cannot pass a museum without peeking inside it…so in I went. To my immense surprise, there was the famous Domesday Book that dates from the 12th century when William the Conqueror of Normandy decided to create a census, if you like, of all the landowners in the British Isles in order to determine the amount of taxes that was owned him by his new subjects! Hence, ever since that day, old and well established British families boast their age and authority by their presence (or otherwise) in this Book. Having seen the Book of Kells (at Trinity College Library, Dublin) and the Gutenberg Bible (in the British Library at King’s Cross), I was thrilled to be able to inspect the Domesday Book–which is really the earliest book of any significance produced in the British Isles.

The Book is handwritten in exquisite calligraphy by a single monk who wrote on parchment leaves (obtained from the stomachs of sheep) and then illuminated (illustrated) each page with beautifully decorative borders and motifs. There is also a Little Domesday Book which contains similar entries for a few other parts of the British Isles and these two together make intriguing viewing. I also saw the chest that was used for its safekeeping.

Also on display at the Museum is the register in which Henry VIII’s Bishop Thomas Cranmer began a slow and painful record of all the ecclesiastical properties that fell under the jurisdiction of the Crown following the Disillusion of the Monastries in 1538. This too us superbly illuminated with a rather interested representation of Henry VIII himself on the front page–wonder if it was made from a life pose or from memory. Though this museum is small, it has some rather wonderful exhibits and I was amazed, as always, at the condition of these priceless artifacts and the pride with which they are placed on display in the UK.

Though it is a bit of a hike getting to the National Archives which are situated in the midst of residential Kew, it really is worth going there just to see the Domesday Book. And really it is of significance that the book is placed here as thousands of ordinary people go to these Archives each year to trace their family history as the building is a receptacle for a thousand years of British documentary history. My own research in this place has proven invaluable–not only in helping me understand the state of affairs that brought Anglo-Indians to the UK but the manner in which bureaucratic principles of policy design and decisions were inherited by those of us who can trace our own history to the former British colonies. It amazes me how racist these men were (and they were always men then) in whose hands the running of the Indian sub-continent was placed and how despite their animus towards people of color, they never ever said so in so many words. As one of the more thoughtful and reflective of my Anglo-Indian subjects told me, “The British will never tell you to your face that they dislike you because you are brown…but boy, read the sub text which is present all the time…and the writing’s on the wall!” Certainly in the documents I examined (many of which I have photographed) that date from the early 1950s, it is crystal clear that British officials tried their hardest to keep Anglo-Indians out of England after India’s Independence. Indeed, had the Anglo-Indians been privy to the discussions that occured among the officials in whose hands their own fate was held, they would never have been surprized by the racism they encountered when they arrived here. No wonder so many of them have told me how grateful they are for the current climate of political correctness which, at the very least, prevents mainstream Britons from verbally expressing their dislike of people who do not come from what the documents describe as “white stock”.

By 5. 50, I was home to check email and receive instructions and directions from my friend Oscar for the funeral I will attend tomorrow of Mary Wilson whom I had the pleasure of interviewing. I also used Journey Planner on my PC to figure out how to get to Lewsiham on the buses tomorrow. Then, I made a To-Do List of items I must slowly start to do as the days fly by and the day of Llew’s arrival is upon me. Top of the list is to compete drafting and editing my lecture to be delivered at Oxford in a couple of weeks from now. It is, however, a great weight of my mind to know that I have successfully finished all my interviews and all my intended research at the British Library and the National Archives at Kew.

Feeling marvelously light (mentally), I started my packing. Hauling boxes out of my closet and pulling down one of my suitcases, I stated to put all my recent shopping into it and placed myself in Wind Down Mode. Then, when I had accomplished a great deal of clearing of papers and books, I stopped at 9. oo pm to have my dinner (Zurek, the delicious soured Polish soup to which we had been introduced in Poland and which I found in a Polish grocery store at Croydon and rice and vegetable curry). I watched a spot of the BBC News as I ate, then decided that since I slept so badly last night, I had better try to get to bed early tonight.

An Anglo-Indian Bash in Wembley

Jul12

Sunday, July 12, 2009
London

With just one interview left to be transcribed, I awoke at 7. 30 and decided to finish it up–but that was after I read some Potter–the last novel is taking me longer to go through than the previous one. Then I was grabbing a bit of cereal and a mango, showering, dressing and taking a series of buses to Wembley Central for the summer party thrown by Gerry and Coreen–to which I was invited about two months ago. En route, I began reading Owen’s book and have to say that I find it absorbing.

The party was great…loads of people present–relatives and friends. This core Anglo-Indian group that calls themselves The Gang take it in rotation to meet periodically at their homes. Gerry and Coreen have an enviable parcel of property in Wembley that allows them to throw a huge bash complete with shamianas, and a family of caterers who cook the meal on site–all surrounded by the many aviaries filled with exotic birds that forms the center of their unusual business.

This is your typical Anglo-Indian party…only scaled up to include rock and roll hits of the 50s, 60s and 70s, a really great bunch of guys who know each other well and take to the dance floor at the drop of a hat to shake a leg and let their hair down. The booze flowed and I particularly enjoyed a Gerry concoction he called Mango Fool–more like a Mango Lassi which, spiked with Bacardi, took me to the Bahamas! Needless to say, the food–all Indian, all cooked by a Pakistani woman called Farah who had the most adorable brood of kids helping her out–was great, particularly the appetisers–a variety of kebabs of which the Chicken Tikka and Lamb Chops were to die for.

I met a couple of folks, who, over the months, I have interviewed and who seemed pleased to see me again. And then I met a bunch of folks I have never seen before–in the case of so many of them, I feel terrible that it is now time for me to return Stateside for I know that they would have made great company during all the months that I was alone in this city and even greater friends. I was very happy to meet and chat with George Hillier who spearheaded the creation of the Anglo-Indian associations in the UK and was the shaping force behind the many London Anglo-Indian dances of years gone by.

I had a bit of a shock when it was revealed to me that one of the Anglo-Indian ladies that I had interviewed several months ago has passed away. Her funeral is on Tuesday and I would dearly love to attend it but I have already made plans to meet up for lunch with Prof. Alison Blunt, a fellow scholar of the Anglo-Indian diaspora, and I fear that I will be unable to change that appointment as I have only a few days left now to play around with before Llew gets here and I have to leave. I was very sad indeed to receive the news as I had been welcomed warmly by this person and her husband at their home in Lewisham and had partaken of her excellent chicken curry and had enjoyed a very interesting conversation with her. Little did I know that before I returned home, one of the folks I have interviewed would be no more. It makes me realize once again how important it is that the oral history of these lovely people be recorded for posterity before it is too late.

One of the folk I particularly enjoyed chatting with was Bash, Gerry’s financial adviser, who also then offered to give me a ride home. Except that when we got into his car–the cutest little silver grey model–and began our journey, he sensed my interest and made a few detours en route to show me some of the sights that Wembley could offer–such as the iconic Stadium where ever so many sports events and entertainment shows are held and a little further afield, the famous public school, colloquially known as ‘Harrow’ at Harrow-on-The-Hill where Jawaharlal Nehru was once a student and from where he wrote some of the most moving letters to his father Motilal as he tried to cope with the strangeness of the country into which he had been thrust as a tender teenager!

I was struck both by the stadium’s unique design–it has a rather odd semi-circular hoop that seems to stand suspended above it–and even more so by the glorious red brick buildings that comprise the prestigious school. Build in the Tudor idiom, they reveal the kind of extraordinary brickwork of which only the Tudors and the Elizabethans were capable–black brick making interesting herringbone and diamond patterns to relieve the monotony of the red walls. There are castellated tops, a grand approach comprising steps punctuated by rose bush beds and a rather lovely grey and white church with a slender spire reminiscent of the one on the chapel roof of Exeter College, Oxford. This school served as the location for Hogwarts School for Wizards in the Harry Potter films. Despite the failing light, I took a few pictures before we left the venue. Indeed, the entire little village of Harrow-on-The-Hill is prettiness personified with the heart of Old Harrow comprising a warren of narrow streets lined by bookstores, coffee shops and trendy restaurants. It never ceases to amaze me how many quaint parts of London I have yet to see and with this school visited, I can tick another item off my List of Things To Do in London–thanks to Bash and his offer to include a bit of unexpected sightseeing on my agenda.

Back at my place, Bash stayed for a cup of coffee before we said goodbye. I had a conversation with Llew before I prepared for bed and as I intend to spend the day tomorrow at the National Archives at Kew, for which I need to leave my early, I went off to bed straight away.

A Most Productive Birthday!

Jul8

Wednesday, July 8, 2009
London

So I awoke at 6. 30 am to the realization that it was my birthday! This is not the first time I have had a birthday in a foreign country while entirely on my own. Twenty-two years ago, I was in Oxford on July 8 and not a single soul knew that it was my birthday! This time round, my cell phone did not stop ringing and I was delighted to hear from Bombay, the USA, Canada and friends right here in London who called, sent me e-cards as well as conventional cards. It was great and I certainly did not feel alone. At 8. 30 am, Isobel arrived to get on with her secretarial work for Paul and she was the first person to wish me.

I had little time to dawdle, though, as I had made plans to have my bureau-desk transported to Acton today through Headley’s Humper. Llew’s friend had loaned me his car with a driver and he arrived at 11.00 am which left me a good hour to edit my Oxford lecture. With the help of some carpet fitters who are currently working in the building, we got the desk into the back seat of the car in three minutes flat and rather effortlessly at that.

We had horrendous traffic all the way to Acton. But when we did get there, at about 1. 30 pm, I had the most nightmarish experience you can imagine. I mean, it was surreal. That same desk that had taken two guys almost no time to put into the car took eight blokes and about twenty minutes to get out! Believe me, I almost fell down on my knees in prayer as they struggled and huffed and puffed and tried to get the thing out of the doors. We tried everything: we moved both the car seats forward, we pressed down on the seat cushions to make more room, they attempted just about every trick in the book–all to no avail. In desperation, I began praying and then just when I thought there was no possible way to get it out, someone came up with the bright idea of duplicating in reverse the manner in which it had been fitted in. And that finally did it! Voila! The desk slid out and I could breathe freely again. As I said, it was a nightmare!

The silver lining to this awful cloud was that the gentleman who assisted me in the office upstairs, one Sega, was marvelously cooperative and made my life very easy indeed as I obtained a receipt from him. We were on the road in about a half hour and in less than twenty minutes, we were in Central London again–this time the traffic spared us!

I was dropped at Waitrose at Brunswick Square as I wanted to buy a load of supplies for dinner. I had invited my former neighbors Tim and Barbara over for dinner and they were expected about 7. 30 pm. I had a bit of a lie-down before I started putting together my no-cook menu:

1. Mesclun Salad with Grapefruit, Croutons and Toasted Goat Cheese with Citrus Vinaigrette.
2. Summer Couscous with Lemon Vinaigrette, Preserved Lemons, Toasted Almonds, Parsley and Dried Cranberries.
3. Parma Ham with Peaches in a Mint Vinaigrette.
4. Corn and Tomato Salad with Bacon and Basil in a Balsamic Vinaigrette.

And for dessert: Waitrose’s Black Forest Gateau. Since it was my birthday, I guess there had to be a cake!

With Buck’s Fizz cooling in the fridge and a bottle of white wine, I put out a few roasted almonds and some Indonesian crisps, then stepped back to change and get dressed. I so enjoyed putting together this no-fuss meal. It was simplicity itself and such a great way to beat the summer heat.

My guests arrived promptly at half-seven (as they say here!). It was great to see them again. They came bearing a large box of Leonidas’ Belgian chocolates–top of the line goodies that I know Llew will enjoy sharing with me.

Needless to say, we had a lovely evening, as always. They did discover it was my birthday only when they saw the cards that I had received. Incredibly, it was almost 11.00 pm before we knew it and when they left, I spent the next half hour clearing and washing up and still continuing to receive email messages. wishing me for the year.

My fridge is now full of leftovers and I will try my best to finish it all up before I leave. With my desk on its way to the States, a great weight is off my mind. I have now to think of ways and means to shrink all my stuff into four suitcases–two will go with Llew, two with me! It is a daunting prospect but, hopefully, will all be accomplished.

I am more than grateful for what has been an extraordinary year for me! I feel profoundly blessed for everything that this year brought along with it; but, most of all, for the love of doting parents, an adoring husband, devoted brothers, a loving sister-in-law, the cutest niece and nephew, a caring daughter and loads of fond friends–including the newest ones that I have made here in London–the company of two of whom ensured that I was not alone on my special day though so far away!

Library Research, a Disastrous Bus Ride and ‘Pottering’ Around Leicester Square Premiere!

Jul7

Tuesday, July 7, 2009
London

I had intended to spend the entire day doing research at the libraries. But you know what they say about Man Proposing and God Disposing. It wasn’t as if I awoke late—nothing of the kind. In fact, I awoke at 6. 30 am, read another 40 pages of Potter, called my parents in Bombay, cooked myself some scrambled eggs with sausages and bacon (as I am trying to finish up all the food in my freezer in preparation for my departure at the end of the month), then showered and left my flat.

At the British Library:
I had expected to arrive at the British Library at 10 when it opened, but I got there about 10.30 and by the time I took possession of the documents that were held for me in the Asian Section (former India Office Library Collection), it was 10. 45 am.

One glance at a longish Anglo-Indian Memorandum of 1934 convinced me that I needed to photocopy the entire 32 pages of it. However, the cost was 88p per page and when I asked the assistant for help, he told me that he would see if the same document was available in Microfilm, in which case I could photocopy it myself at a cost of merely 20p a page—big improvement that! He then called for the item and informed me that it would take at least an hour before it was located and handed over to me.

This lent me the time to read a marvelous memoir by an Englishwoman named Elinor Tollinton who had spent most of her life in British India as the daughter of a former ICS man (A.R. Astbury) and later the wife of a British lawyer (Phil Tollinton). It was like turning the pages of The Jewel in the Crown all over again. She presented the memoir to the British Library in 1988, a little after the Raj Revival of the mid-1980s had brought tons of TV watching pleasure to Great Britain as it soaked in Imperial nostalgia—The Jewel in the Crown, the Far Pavilions, Gandhi, Heat and Dust—all these films had flooded the market at the time probably motivating people like Elinor to tell it as it really was; for she ends her memoir saying, “Recent films and sophisticated propaganda have introduced a picture which does not always accord with the facts. I know because I was there.”

The memoir, typewritten on very fine tissue-like paper is accompanied by an album of photographs that documents the construction of so many Public Works Projects in the undivided Punjab—bridges over the rivers, lodges and government bungalows in the Simla hills and the railroad lines and the new trains that were created to take Raj officials to the hills to escape the heat and dust of the plains in summer. It was not just the history buff in me that thrilled to these words but indeed the travel lover as well, for the memoir takes us through Germany before the war, Northern India at the time of the Raj–particularly Lyallpur (now in Pakistan) and Simla– Oxford where Elinor and her family moved after the Independence of India and Austria where they went on vacations.

It is a marvelous record of the adventures they encountered as they met with a gallery of personalities that fill the history books of the period: Gandhi, Nehru, Rajagopalacharia, Sir John Simon (of the Simon Commission) and Lord Wavel (last but one Viceroy of India). In-between Elinor talks about the epileptic fits that almost took the life of her son, Hugh, and her daughter Elizabeth’s refusal to answer to anything but her nickname, Buffy. At her school interview in London upon returning from India , when asked to spell her name, she said, B-U-F-F-Y, much to her mother’s acute embarrassment.

I had expected to find some information about the interaction of these British officials with Anglo-Indians but except for one small mention of their proficiency in running the Railways, there was nothing at all. Nevertheless, I did not consider it a waste of time and I was swept away into the Edwardian world with a vengeance—one of my favorite periods in history.

When, my document arrived, Chris, the assistant, showed me how to register to use the copy machine and how to photocopy from the microfilm reader. By 3. 30 pm, I was all done but I was starving as I hadn’t even taken a break for lunch having found my reading so absorbing. Back downstairs, it was pouring rain and I ate my quiche in the quadrangle under a large umbrella of the café outside called The Last Word. Then, I decided to wait a bit until the worst of the downpour had passed (as I had no umbrella) and when the fury of the shower had abated, I caught Bus 10 to Hammersmith and then changed to the 391 to Richmond.

A Disastrous Bus Ride:
I intended to travel next to the National Archives at Kew where several other documents were being held for me. This Archives are open on Tuesdays until 7 pm, which would leave me a good two to three hours to examine a few of them. That’s when my plans went completely awry. The bus took ages to arrive and when it did, two of them, infuriatingly, came together. And then the creeping and the crawling began. We were still at Oxford Street about 45 minutes later. By the time, I arrived at Hammersmith; it was already almost 6 pm. Still, I decided to push on and at least get to the Archives so that I could find out where exactly they are located and take the Tube there next time round.

Well, the 391 was even worse and by the time we reached Chiswick Road, it was past 7 pm. Yes, it had taken me three hours to get from King’s Cross to Chiswick!!! The Archives would have closed by then, so filled with irritation at myself for having chosen to take the bus, I got off at Gunnersburys Station intending to return home by Tube as I simply couldn’t stand the idea of doing the same bus journey in reverse!

Pottering Around Leicester Square:
Only instead of taking the Underground, I took the overground train! This meant that I had to get off at Willesden from where I transferred to the Bakerloo Line to get to Baker Street. At that point, I remembered that tonight was the World Premiere of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Well, the premiere was at Leicester Square and while the hoopla had begun last night, I thought I should try to catch a glimpse of at least one star. Besides, attempting to see a premiere at Leicester Square is supposedly one of the free things you can do in London and just for hoots, I thought, why not???

So there I was at Leicester Square where I arrived at 8.00pm. Alas, I was 15 minutes too late for the stars of the film had already entered the two theaters that were simultaneously showing the film and had disappeared. There was a huge stage set up, however, and though most of the crowd had left to grab dinner, a few stragglers were hanging about it. No one was clear exactly what was likely to happen later in the evening but the rumor did the rounds that the stars were inside watching the film and would emerge 115 minutes later to climb the stage and humor their fans.

The stage set was covered with red and yellow flags that featured the Gryffyndor logo on it: a dragon spewing fire, while another crest featured two crowns. I did not have my camera with me and after standing in the midst of the excited crowds for a while, I heard an organizer announce that the film had started late and it would not be until 10 pm that the stars would come out of the theater!

Just when I began to feel as if I should get back home (it had, after all, been a long day), who should emerge from the theater but Mr. Pottymouth Himself–Gordon Ramsay of Hell’s Kitchen fame with his wife Tana and his two kids. They must have wanted to use the toilet or something for they left the movie half-way through it! At any rate, with the crowd giving him a rather lukewarm cheer, he ascended the stairs with his young family and disappeared on the other side.
I heard someone standing next to me say to her companion, “Who was that?” and her companion said, “Oh, he’s that famous TV cook but I can’t get his name!” My Dad always used to say: “Fame is the food that dead men eat…I have no stomach for such meat” quoting someone or the other! (It was actually Henry Austin Dobson, 1840-1921).

Well, then, that was my brush with fame. I did not feel motivated enough to wait until 10.00 pm and I turned right around, took two buses that got me back home after which I ate a rice and curry dinner while watching extracts on BBC One of the Michael Jackson Memorial Service in LA, checked and responded to my email and wrote this blog before getting to bed.

The new Harry Potter film opens on July 15, so perhaps I shall see it when I get back home to the States—this novel was my favorite of the lot and though I want to go back to Southport and watch all the films in sequence, I must say that I am sorely tempted to see this one right here and now!

Interviewing Anglo-Indians in West Drayton

Jul6

Monday, July 6, 2009
London

My day began at 6. 30 am when I resumed reading the last Harry Potter. Reached page 165 before I decided to spend some time reviewing my Oxford lecture. I was supposed to leave the flat at 10 am to catch the 10. 42 train from Paddington to get to West Drayton where I would be interviewing three Anglo-Indians who had agreed to chat with me.

After my breakfast and a shower, I drafted my lecture for about an hour and then it was time to leave. I took the Tube to Paddington, bought my ticket and got on the train as scheduled. Malcolm was awaiting my arrival at the station and since he picked me up in his car and drove me to this place, he made it so easy for me to get to my destination. I have to say that I have forgotten what a luxury it is to get around by car since I have been using public transport for almost a year now.

His friend Terry had just arrived as we pulled up to his driveway and, a little later, we were joined by Joe. The three of them, friends who go back a long way to their early youthful days back in India where they were classmates in the same school, have a wonderful camaraderie that is born by years of enjoying a tried and tested friendship.

I have to say that I found it much easier this time to interview three blokes at the same time. I seem to have perfected the method and organization that it takes to direct my questions from one to the other. I still find it disturbing when two of them start speaking to each other while I am talking to a third one as I simply cannot hear or concentrate on what the third is saying. Some people have the tendency to lose interest in the interview and start a conversation that has no bearing on the questions I wish to ask or the issues I wish to cover. That is why it is easiest for me to interview one person at a time. Anyway, for the most part, I managed to keep the conversation on track and I have to say that I received three very satisfying interviews by the time I was done.

We stopped half way through to enjoy the delicious lunch that Malcolm had prepared. He is a good chef and his parathas served with grilled chicken, dal and a potato sabzi were very tasty–good homey Indian food with no frills, but just wholesome and home made and very tasty. I have been touched repeatedly by the warmth and hospitality of these indivdiuals and the generosity they have exhibited as they have invited me to their homes and served me meals. It is great to see that they have not lost this aspect of their Anglo-Indian spirit, though I have to say that some served me nothing more than a cup of coffee despite my long distance to and from their homes.

Still, I know I will go back with wonderful memories in addition to the data I have collected. I took the train back (Malcolm dropped me back to West Drayton station) and I took the Number 15 bus back from Paddington. Once home at 6 pm, I transcribed the interview I had done in Oxford with Philip. By the time I was done proofreading and editing, it was 8. 30 pm. I stopped for dinner (quiche with sushi that I picked up from Simply Food) and then I sat to find bus directions to get to the National Archives at Kew tomorrow where I shall be spending most of the day reviewing documents; but this will be only after I have spent a couple of hours at the British Library looking again at the documents I examined a few days ago.

As the Month of July marches on, I find myself very busy but I am trying not to panic and hoping that I will be able to look at all the material I want to review before I leave at the end of the month.

Last Walk in Chiswick and Wimbledon with Amy

Jul2

Thursday, July 2, 2009
Chiswick and Wimbledon

With my friend Amy in town, I resolved to complete the last walk in my book Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London. Now were I planning to do it with anyone else, I might have abandoned the idea. But Amy is such a sport and perhaps the most uncomplaining person I know. The heat was gruelling and the humidity intense in this horrendous heat wave we’re going through –most unusual for the UK. I always used to say to my American students: “There is nothing more beautiful than a summer’s day in England” Well, I might have to re-think this because when I was a grad student here, I do not remember going through a single day in July or August without a light cardigan. I do not ever recall being able to wear shorts or a T-shirt (forget about a tank top). I really do finally believe that there is such a thing as global warming when I go through sweltering days like this in the UK because there were simply non-existent twenty years ago.

A Riverside Walk in Chiswick:
Anyway…I took buses that got me to Richmond and I arrived at Stephanie’s place at 11. 30 am. Amy was waiting for me in the skimpiest pair of shorts you ever did see! Good for her! If I had legs that good, boy, I’d be wearing a pair like that in a heartbeat! So, another bus ride later (the 190), we arrived at Stamford Brook Underground station from where our walk began. It was entitled “The Chilling Streets of Chiswick” and it took us directly to the Thames embankments which have different names along different stretches (Hammersmith Embankment, Chiswick Mall, Upper Mall, etc). A Mall in this context is not a shopping plaza but a corridor of sorts (like, I suppose, Pall Mall in London).

Lunch at the Black Lion Pub:
It was only a few blocks before we passed St. Peter’s Square with its Georgian homes adorned with giant eagles, lions, urns and stately Ionic columns and lovely garden (though the lawns look terribly dry and uninviting) and arrived at The Black Lion Pub where we were both ready for a meal. In the beer garden at the back, we settled down with a bottle of Bulmer’s Pear Cider (so welcome on this blistering day!) and found ourselves entertained by a waiter who kept abbreviating the word “Pleasure” to “plej” much to Amy’s amusement. In fact, she kept thanking him every two seconds just to hear him say “plej”–and she has decided that she will add this charming new coinage to her vocabulary!

Well, we ate delicious brie and cranberries on crostini with salad and a hearty ciabata sandwich made with goat cheese, sesame seeds and fig relish and they were gooooood! In fact, it was so marvelous to sit under the shade of those spreading trees munching our meal and catching up that I had half a mind to abandon our pursuit. But then I figured, I might as well tick one more item off my list and get it done.

Kelmscott House:
So, an hour later, off we went again,this time walking towards Hammersmith in error–we weren’t concentrating on the directions (gabbing too much as we always tend to do) and were almost at Hammersmith Bridge before I realized we’d done something wrong. But, as often happens in London when you wander down an unintentional path, you arrive at some place astonishing and we arrived at Kelmscott House, London home of William Morris and the base of the William Morris Society!!!

Now this probably was meant to be as I had been so keen to see Kelmscott Manor in Oxfordshire but had abandoned that plan when I discovered how impossible it was to get there by public transport. So here I was in Morris’ London water-front home! The lovely lady who acted as guide invited us inside and we saw some of his original designs on the wall (for what later became his famous tapestries) as well as his printing press (he founded one with his other Pre-Raphaelite pals at Exeter College, Oxford, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Edward Burne-Jones and named it the Kelmscott Press). There was loads of photographs and the original rush-seated chairs that once belonged to him in the house. Well, after spending a few minutes chatting to the lady, she suggested we walk further down river and arrive at No. 7 Hammersmith Terrace, home of Emery Walker with whom Morris was very close and whose home has been retained as a receptacle of the philosophy and ethos of the Arts and Crafts Movement.

Mansions and Gardens of the Thames and St. Nicholas Church:
Off we went passing by the most beautiful mansions and gardens fronting the Thames until we did find No. 7–only to discover that it could be toured in small private groups with a guide at a cost of 10 pounds each. Well, we did not wish to be dissuaded from our goal, so we continued until we arrived at medieval St. Nicholas Church whose squat square blue clock tower easily proclaimed its age. It is in this churchyard that the railed Georgian tomb of the painter William Hogarth might be found. We reverentially encircled it and then walked around the church hoping to get in–only to find it closed.

Chiswick House:
On we went to Burlington Lane, then crossed the busy roundabout by the subway to arrive at the vast grounds of Chiswick House–only to find it closed for renovation as was also Hogarth’s House next door. So in terms of getting into a house on both occasions, we were thwarted in our plans, but we did enjoy the cool and shady grounds of Chiswick House. The heat called for another drink and we, therefore, made our way to The George and Devonshire Pub and walked just past it to what might be London’s smallest square (Chiswick Square) which has buildings dating from the 15th century on three sides (one of which is called Boston House). It was very picturesque indeed.

Arrival at Wimbledon:
Back at the bus stop, we made connections to get ourselves to Wimbledon where our friends Stephanie and Wendy had tickets for the game and where we’d made plans with them to have dinner. The bus rides gave Amy and me a chance to see the Thames-sides hamlet of Putney as we rode right through it, talking nineteen to the dozen!

At Wimbledon Station, we got off and began exploring the area. The station was crowded with office commuters returning home and getting away from the frenzy of the tennis tournaments. I wanted to be a part of that frenzy so off we went into another bus that took us past pretty Wimbledon Village to the tennis courts. We had to descend down Wimbledon Hill past the gorgeous homes and gardens of the area which Stephanie informed me is one of the most expensive zip codes in the city.

The Excitement of the Tennis Tournaments:
The crowds and excitement began long before we reached the courts themselves. People were already starting to leave though a match between James Blake and a Russian was on in Court Two. Now James Blake is my ‘homie’ as he is a product of Fairfield, Connecticut, and we consider him our ‘home boy’. Llew and I had watched him at the US Open Tennis Matches, a couple of years ago, on Center Court, when he had made his return to professional tennis for the first time after his long bout with shingles.

Amy and I were unable to get in, of course, as we did not have tickets, but we did get a wonderful sense of the fun and vibrancy of the matches, the excitement of the crowds, their sense of competition and fun as we walked by the gates and the walls and the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Museum. It is possible to take a guided tour of the site and perhaps I shall do that when Llew gets here, but for the moment, we were happy to enter into conversation with a Nigerian security guard who was heading off for the beginning of his night shift and was so delighted that Amy was an American that he wanted to “swallow” her because he loved the country so much–though he has never been able to get a visa to enter it!

Drinks and Dinner at the Fox and Dog Gastro Pub:
Well, when we’d taken a few pictures and imbibed the spirit of Wimbledon tennis, we climbed up the hill again, took another bus to Wimbledon Village and arrived at the Fox and Dog Pub where Stephanie had made a dinner reservation for us for 8. 30 pm. Amy and I lingered in a few retro and vintage stores ( as this is a passion we share) and then found our way to the pub where we settled down gratefully with another bottle of Bulmer’s Pear cider.

About half an hour later, Steph joined us with her Australian date Chris and another friend Wendy and we made our way to our table where we had a really delicious dinner–Amy and I split Fish and Chips and a Butternut Squash Linguine with goat’s cheese and toasted pine nuts that was rich and heavy but delicious. More Pear Cider did the rounds as we all chatted with Chris whom we were meeting or the first time and then it was time for me to take the Tube and get back home after what had been a terrific day with my pals.

I was so pleased that Amy had squeezed in two days with me in London (work commitments in New York had prevented her from staying longer) which allowed us to catch up and discover parts of the city that we had never seen before.

It was about 11. 30 am when I went to bed and resolved to spend the next few days doing some serious work as I really need to get to the library as well as continue drafting my lecture.

Amy in London! Climbing the Monument and a Superb Steak Dinner

Jul1

Wednesday, July 1, 2009
London

I awoke at 7.00 am, typed my blog and sent out my June newsletter and Oxford Travelog when I heard a sound in the loft and realized that Paul’s secretary, Isobel, had arrived. When I wanted to take a shower, I realized that I had not turned the boiler on when I got in last night, so I did that and started to order material from the British Library from the online catalog as well as material from the National Archives at Kew in Richmond as I have earmarked the last couple of weeks to review a few official documents. Having done all that, I awaited Amy’s arrival while reviewing my proposed Oxford lecture.

At 12. 45, my dear friend Amy arrived from New York, having taken the Tube to Farringdon from Heathrow. We had a joyous reunion. I had last seen her in Fairfield, Connecticut, in December when I had visited my family back in the States. She had organized an evening out–dinner in an Indian restaurant called Bangalore–with a few of our friends…and we’d had a superb evening. It was so great to see her again. She is an intrepid traveler too and has been my travel companion on the road in India, in London and in Italy and it was she who introduced me to Stephanie with whom she has traveled to South America. In fact, she is here, passing through London to push off with Stephanie and a bunch of friends for a sailing holiday in Croatia.

After she had rested and I served her an Indian lunch (pullao and curry with a salad), she and I left my flat and I gave her a little walking tour of my neighborhood: St. John’s Gate and Museum, the Smithfield Meat Market, the Church of St. Bartholomew the Great, St. Bart’s Hospital and Museum (and the Hogarth Staircase) and the Church of St. Bartholomew the Less. Then, we walked along Hatton Garden’s Diamond District and the Leather Lane Street market to my former building on High Holborn where I had the chance to chat for a few minutes with my former concierge, Arben. It was great to be back there and I received a warm and very sincere welcome from him.

Climbing the Monument:
Then, having equipped ourselves with bus passes, we took the Number 8 bus to London Bridge with the idea of climbing the 311 steps of the Monument which has recently been refurbished and looks sparkling clean and spanking new. Amy and I had together climbed the 5o0 odd steps to Brunneleschi’s Dome in Florence during our travels in Italy last March (2008) and I figured that she would make the best companion for climbing the steps of the Monument as this is also on my list of things to do before I leave for the States.

Well, as luck would have it, we could not have picked a nicer day for this project: the sky was a clear, cloudless blue and visibility was astounding. The monument, itself, completely re gilded glows in all its glory. At its summit, is a large gilded vase with a bunch of flames symbolizing the Great Fire of London of 1666 which destroyed 13,000 acres of the city. Christopher Wren was assigned the task of designing a Monument to mark this catastrophe and he came up with the idea of erecting a tower that was exactly 202 feet tall because exactly 2o2 feet away on Pudding Lane was the Bakehouse where the fire is said to have originated.

From the summit, we could see past Canary Wharf and on to Greenwich. Tower Bridge was gorgeous in the bright sunshine as was the dome of St. Paul’s on one side and on the other, the tip of the Gherkin. It was slightly scary at the top as the area is rather cramped. You walk along a balcony but the entire space is enclosed with a very wide grill through which you can fit a camera lens to take pictures.

On our return to the base and as we were leaving, we were each handed a certificate that stated that we had climbed the 311 steps of the Monument–a lovely souvenir to take home with us! If, like me, you haven’t been on the London Eye, this very economical alternative at just 3 pounds per head makes a lot of sense. I was very glad I did it and that I had Amy’s wonderful company to accomplish this goal. We had spent a few days together, last year in London, and this day out only served to remind us of the good times we’d had then.

On to the Serpentine:
Then we got on to a bus to get to Hyde Park as I thought that the blisteringly hot summer’s day simply cried for a day out on the water. Amy seconded the idea enthusiastically and I thought it would be great to rent a pedal boat for a half hour. However, the bus ride took ages–it just creeped and crawled along in peak hour rush–and we only arrived at Hyde Park at 6. 45 and they had stopped renting out the boats at 6. 30 pm. Well, perhaps this is something I shall do when Llew gets here.

A Super Juicy Steak Dinner:
So this time we took the Tube back to Farringdon from Marble Arch–which was way faster! Our idea was to go out for a nice dinner together before Amy picked up her baggage from my place and took the Tube to Richmond as she was spending the night with our mutual friend Stephanie. I chose 26 Smithfield’s, a steak restaurant opposite the Smithfield Market, which is renowned for its steaks. We ordered bread with oil and vinegar as a starter and split a bottle of pear cider which was cold and very refreshing and very delicious. Our main course was steak fillets–Amy chose a red wine sauce, I chose a peppercorn sauce and our steaks were to die for! I mean they were seriously good–unbelievably tender and succulent and the mash that accompanied the meat was equally creamy and tasty. As always, we did justice to our meal and found no room for dessert.

Amy did not stay long after our meal as she had a long way to go on the Tube. I said goodbye to her and we have made plans to meet tomorrow in Richmond as we intend to take the walk in Chiswick.

It was just wonderful to see my dear friend Amy again and I look forward to another day tomorrow of hanging with my friends before I get down to serious work in the library again.