Cherry Day at Mt. Ephraim Gardens and a Musical Treat

Saturday, July 4, 2009
Isle of Sheppey, Kent

We had decided to take it easy on Saturday as Cherry had gone through a grueling week and wanted a more relaxed weekend. As if there was any chance that would happen! David volunteered to make me a full English breakfast and I enjoyed it with scrambled eggs and sausages and toast with butter and coffee and apple juice. Yes, it was one of the largest breakfasts I have had in recent times and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

One of the joys of being in Kent with my cousin and her husband was the ability to get close to their cats, Morgy and Button–another first for me. Not being a cat lover myself (unlike Chriselle), I have a hard time even if they are in my vicinity. But these cats are the most unique specimens you will ever see. I always say that in a former life, they must have been dogs! They are friendly, very friendly, love to be cuddled and hugged and petted. They are non-agressive and silent (you will rarely hear them miaow though they purr unendingly). It is not just unusual, it is unheard of to let me have cats anywhere on my body, yet I was more than content to have these, especially Morgy, huddle close by, climb on my lap, settle down and lie against my arm like a baby! When I opened the door of my room, she ran right inside, parked herself on my bed and fell fast asleep–something she is not usually allowed to do!

Then, it was time for us to get dressed and leave for the outing they had planned for me: A Visit to Mount Ephraim Gardens in Fernhill near Faversham. I was excited to get to another garden again—though I have to say that I would have been pleased to drive anywhere through the Kentish countryside as the benign green landscape is particularly soothing and serene this time of the year.

In less than an hour, we were driving through Faversham. We arrived there through narrow country lanes past fields and orchards that were full of ripening fruit. It was truly delightful. Kent is called The Garden of England and it is easy to see why—there are oast houses used to dry the famous hops, and loads of stoned fruit—cherries, peaches, plums, nectarines.

Cherry Day at Mount Ephraim Gardens:
And then we were turning into the driveway of Mount Ephraim Gardens where the Dawes family of Kent have lived for over 300 years. On their vast landholding (over a thousand acres of it, much of which is farmed so that the land is fully fruitful), they have created beautiful gardens, a tearoom (which was used by a bridal party while we were there) and abundant orchards. It happened to be Cherry Day at Mount Ephraim which meant that cherries were being sold by the punnet together with strawberries, apple juice and free range pork sausages that were barbecued and served in rolls with onions and onion relish and mustard.

Well, we set off immediately to explore the gardens. They are nowhere as stunning as the ones I have spent the past few weeks seeing, but they are significant. Entry fee was 5. 50 pounds, which David paid for me. We strolled through the lovely Japanese Gardens with its lovely extensive water feature that seemed to follow us all around the rolling meadowland. The Rose Terrace was not nearly as nice as the ones I have been seeing in other spots, but the perennial border right by the tea room was certainly worth photographing.

After we had spent more than an hour in the garden, Cherry suggested a stop at the Café to get a bite to eat and we settled out of the sun on garden chairs with a pretty table. Alas, because it was Cherry Day, there was a special menu and since none of it appealed to Cheryl or David, we decided to get a drink (I had a very welcome lemonade) before we set out to buy our pork sausage hot dogs. These, at 2. 50 pounds each, were a treat and I stood us all lunch. It was very enjoyable indeed to sit in the shade and eat our al fresco lunches and it was then that we were informed that a visit to the cherry orchard would be starting very quickly. Now none of us had ever been in a cherry orchard before (reminiscent of the title of Chekov’s famous play!) and we decided to wait for the van that would be leaving at 3 pm to take visitors to the trees.

The Enormous Joy of Stripping Fruit off Cherry Trees:
It was easily one of the most interesting things I have done this year and I have to say will count as one of the highlights of my stay in the UK. The cherry orchard was a ten minute ride from the main entrance. We passed by folds of Kentish countryside in which all manner of stoned fruit were planted. We even saw a pack of alpaca lambs in a field—I think the guide said that they were reared to keep away foxes, as foxes are afraid of alpacas!

And then we were in the ‘tunnels’ in the orchard under which the fruit is grown to keep off the rain (which causes the cherry fruit to split) and under light green netting which keeps off the birds. The microclimate created under the tunnels (which is warm and humid) aids in the growth of the fruit which swell up to an enormous size, increase their volume (I swear, gigantic cherries were hanging like bunches of grapes from the trees), pumps up the sugar content and enhances flavor. We received a short introductory lecture on the farming techniques used on this particular farm—he called it the fruitillation technique—and then it was time for us to sample the wares.

The cherries were at their summer best, just ripe for the picking. In fact, tomorrow, a group of Eastern European pickers will arrive to strip the tree of its precious output and we will see this God-given bounty in our farmer’s markets. We chose the darkest and largest specimens from the trees to sample (as instructed by the guide) and had ourselves a feast as we tried cherries with names like Cordia, Sunset Sweet, etc. They just burst upon our tongues, each a dynamo of sweet and juicy flavor that left us craving more. Indeed, they were so addictive that I simply did not want to stop and as we moved from one tunnel to the next, I had my fill of cherries for the season, I do believe.

Then, we were back on the mini-bus and arrived at the main entrance where Cherry and David purchased some fresh strawberries and cherries and two bottles of freshly pressed apple juice—which was absolutely yummy! But, we did not have the chance to linger too long as Cherry had to get home to put together her evening meal. Though she had done a great deal of it earlier, she was busy from the time we entered the house till the time we left. Just an hour and a half later, we left the house again, as they had more interesting plans for us for the evening: a musical performance at their local community theater.

Another Memorable Dinner at Home:
After another glass of wine, we sat down to Cherry’s delicious meal—she had made a giant Cornish pasty, which was filled with minced meat and encased in a potato and flour casing. It was cut into slices and served with a coleslaw that she made with red cabbage, white cabbage and two kinds of onions: red and white. With a mayonnaise dressing, spiced with English mustard and a few poppy seeds, it made a very tasty salad accompaniment. There wasn’t much time to enjoy dessert but Cherry had made an apple pie from scratch. Its crust had a rather interesting texture—more like a crisp biscuit than traditional American short crust pastry but it was very tasty indeed and we did enjoy it very much. I had a very thin sliver just to taste it as I was rather full after dinner and then we were off in the car again headed to the Sheerness town center to the community theater.

Broncos and Beehives at the Sheppey Community Theater:
There in the old-fashioned interior of a place that was once a church, we found our seats and settled down to enjoy a show entitled Broncos and Beehives featuring the Meyrick Minstrels (I presume that Meyrick is a place close by). This motley lot of singers that ranged in ages from pre-teen to mid-70 were a true delight in every respect and I found myself enjoying a really marvelous show. OK, so it wasn’t Broadway or West End quality, but it was charming from the Get Go. The first half featured Country and Western hits such as Johnny Cash’s I Walk the Line and ended with a staggering rendition of The Tennessee Waltz by probably the oldest member of the group—a wispy lady with a totally amazing voice.

During the intermission, we stepped into the café for a soft drink and I was introduced to Mary, a Maltese friend of Cherry, who was a real hoot. She was full of vigor and enthusiasm and we decided between the two of us to step up the applause, which was really lukewarm—not surprising, I suppose, when the audience was so thin. Still, we resolved to show more appreciation and make it vocal this time round.

The second half was just as good as the first and we came away from the show feeling superbly entertained during what had been a tremendously fun evening that included such hits as Sad Movies Always Make me Cry (rendered as a solo by a girl with another staggering voice) and Bye Bye Love, Bye Bye Happiness, not to mention that old Cliff Richard favorite Living Doll. Back in the car, we reached home in about twenty minutes and had a slice of apple pie before we called it a day.

I have to say that much as I enjoyed the day, I really did feel so sorry for Cherry who didn’t seem to have a moment’s rest and worked herself to the bone to give me a memorable weekend.

British Library Manuscripts and Arrival on Isle of Sheppey, Kent

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Friday, July 3, 2009:
London and Isle of Sheppey, Kent

It has turned frightfully warm and I am very grateful for the little table fan I bought way back in September last year which is keeping me cool through these boiling nights. I awoke at 7.00 am—never expected I’d be waking up so late in the summer—and went straight in for a shower. Then, ate my breakfast (cereal and milk) and remembered to shut the boiler off (as I will be away for the weekend).

Back in my room, I did my packing for my stay in Kent with my cousin Cheryl and her husband David who live on the Isle of Sheppey almost by the waterside in the small settlement of Minster. I remembered to take some gifts for them: dark chocolate covered ginger biscuits by Border and a box of Cadbury’s Roses as well as the Bottle of Buck’s Fizz that I am presenting to Mike for his birthday—I will be going to his birthday party on Sunday directly from Victoria Station on my return from Kent. I also had to pack my laptop as I was heading out the door to the British Library where I intended to spend the morning and part of the afternoon checking documents associated with Anglo-Indian settlement in Great Britain.

Checking Documents at the British Library:
When I was all set (my backpack got really heavy with my laptop and my camera and both chargers), I left my flat and took the 63 bus to the British Library. After I stashed my backpack in the lockers on the Lower Ground floor, I took my laptop upstairs together with the Bibliography that I had created. Upstairs in the Asian and African Studies Section, I met a very nice assistant named John who helped me access the manuscripts I wanted through the Advanced Search functions for this specialized catalogue is not available online and I wasn’t able to access it at home. The computer informed me that it would take 70 minutes before my material was ready to be released to me. This gave me time to take the bus back home and pick up my adaptor plug which I had left at home. Without it, my laptop and charger will be useless on the weekend in Kent where I intend to get some writing done.

So, an hour later, with my adaptor plug in my possession and my tube of Moov ointment which I was also silly to leave at home, I re-entered the British Library and went up to the Asia and African Section on the third floor, where I spent the next few hours looking at documents both on the microfilm machines (they tended to give me a huge headache) and then at the documents themselves. I had a particular kick reading the typewritten manuscript of an Anglo-Indian woman dating from 1926, which came with an accompanying album full of photographs from those glory days of the Edwardian Raj.

Unfortunately, I could not finish reading all of it before I had to leave to get to Victoria to catch my train to Sittingbourne, which was scheduled to leave at 4. 42 pm. I did make headway with two major documents, however, and was able to get some extracts from them on my PC. Then, after I had ensured that the rest of the documents would be held for me for the next three days (I intend to get back there on Monday to look at the rest), I was off. It had been a very fruitful and fulfilling morning at the British and I was glad I managed to get so much work done. If I am able to work steadily in this way for the next few days. I would have accomplished my documents checking at the British Library, which is also such an important part of my work and one of my chief reasons for being here in London.

Off to Kent by Train:
I took the No. 73 Bendy bus from opposite the British Library directly to Victoria and was there sooner than I expected. I bought my return ticket (22 pounds—rather more pricey than the National Express Bus which goes only as far as Gillingham) and spend a while at the station eating my Sainsbury’s pilaf lunch (which I had carried with me).

At 4. 30, I boarded my train and was at Sittingbourne at exactly 5.45 pm. David was supposed to pick me up from the station and he arrived in about 10 minutes and drove me off to his home at Minster (a journey of about twenty minutes). Cherry, my cousin, looking really exhausted from all the freelance invigilation work she had done all week, opened the door to welcome me and then went all out for the next 48 hours to give me a truly memorable time at their place.

Dinner at Cherry and David’s:
We spent much of the evening just catching up and sipping a glass of red wine and then enjoying the dinner Cherry had prepared for she is a very good and very adventurous chef. She rustled up a pullao, which she served with egg curry and fish and crab cakes—all very homely and very delicious. For dessert, she had taken the trouble to make me profiteroles, which she knows are one of my favorite desserts—well filled with fresh cream, topped with melted chocolate and served with chocolate sauce—just heavenly!

I retired for the evening at about 11. 00 pm as I was suddenly really tired and sleepy.

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.

Oxford Rediscovered! Random Rambles in a Favorite City.

Jul1

June 30, 2009
Oxford

I awoke way too late today–after 8 am, rushed through a wash and got dressed to join my fellow lodgers at breakfast–which included the very English prunes soaked in cold tea! I said goodbye and thanked Mrs. Longrigg and requested that I be allowed to stash my baggage in her home until the end of the day. Then, I returned to my room, packed up and left for my last day in Oxford. I had intended to spend this day traveling to Kelmscott Manor (home of William Morris) and to the Hidcote Manor Gardens–but both were impossible to get to without expensive taxis, so I decided to stay in Oxford and see the bits and pieces of it that I have never seen before.

Sightseeing in Oxford:
By the end of the day, I was amazed at how much I had never seen before! I started off across the Banbury Road to Woodstock Road where at St. Bernard’s Road, I cut across into Jericho and went in search of The Bookbinder’s Arms Pub, frequent location in Morse films. This brought me to the Church of St. Barnabas, an Arts and Crafts Church, into which I took a peak and discovered marvelous Pre-Raphaelite style mosaics on the walls. More walking in Jericho (now a rather upscale neighborhood, but once a dodgy area that provided cheap housing to Oxford’s working class folks–most of whom now can only afford to live in faraway villages like Witney and Eynsham) took me past small terraced housing painted pleasingly in pale, pastel colors. I nipped into a few enticing shops but found nothing and then arrived at The Freud, a lovely restaurant that was once a church–its Neo-Classical pillars were most impressive. I was also delighted to chance upon the imposing Neo-Classical building of Oxford University Press as my Dad had started his career, many moons ago, as a lowly clerk in the offices of Oxford University Press in Colaba, Bombay.

Christ Church College Picture Gallery:
When I found myself at St. Giles, I nipped into Sainsbury’s to buy a meal deal–a roasted chicken baguette with a packet of Prawn Cocktail flavor chips and a bottle of Diet Coke. It is intensely hot and humid now and walking on the streets is no longer the pleasure it was a month ago. Everything seems more oppressive in the heat. I found my way to Christ Church College and the Picture Gallery in one of the quads at the back of the main one as it was my intention to see the small but very lovely art collection that the college has accumulated over the centuries. The emphasis was very much on Italian Renaissance art though there were some fine large canvases by Annibale Caracci and some really good Van Dykes. However, it is a small collection and very easily examined and I was then looking for a way to get along beautiful Merton Street (the only cobbled one in Oxford) to the Oxford Botanic Gardens with the idea of picnicking by the water. My ID card allowed me to get into all these places for free, so it was really a boon.

The Botanical Gardens:
Roses are in bloom at the entrance to the gardens but to get deep into the glass houses and by the riverside, visitors need to pay three pounds. I walked directly to the familiar path along the river, found myself a shady tree and sat there to eat my lunch as the punts floated lazily by, a few row boats and paddle boats also joining them occasionally. On Magdalen Bridge, the red buses passed by and garden-loving visitors stepped by examining another interesting specimen. When I had rested for over an hour, I decided to go and check out the garden and was delighted to see the most abundant herbaceous border along one brick wall. I took many pictures of it and have reached the conclusion that the flowers and plants that I cannot name are the ones most suitable for growing in perennial borders–a lesson to keep in mind if I am trying to create border beds in my own garden.

Magdalen College and Deer Park:
Then, I crossed the High Street and arrived right opposite at the Main gates of Magdalen College which my fellow lodger Marnie had told me I should not miss. She had directed me to the back gardens and the Deer Park and that was where I headed, again past some lovely herbaceous borders–but they were nowhere as colorful as the ones in the Botanic Garden. For the first time, I saw hosta make up the bulk of a perennial border–exactly like mine in Southport, where astilbe, hosta and day lilies make up the bulk of our plantings.

Having spent some more time inspecting the gardens, I headed up to the Dining Hall of Magdalen College. It is always a pleasure for me to look upon the faces of first-time visitors to these spaces and see the expressions of wonder and delight as their eyes take in the hammered ceiling beams, the many oil portraits on the walls and the long dark wooden tables at which students normally eat their meals. Then, I made my way downstairs and asked for directions to the Chapel–very similar in design to New College Chapel that I had seen a few days ago on the Harry Potter Tour.

Visiting the Famous Libraries:
My next stop were the libraries and when I passed by the Radcliff Camera which today serves only as the Reading Room for English and Theology, I entered it with my ID card and surveyed the Rotunda and the reading room downstairs. Should future research ever bring me again to Oxford, this is where I will do some of my reading, I decided! I recall, many years ago, this building served as the call room for materials that we students wished to borrow–now with the database going online, students no longer need to look at card catalogues to get books out! How things change!

Then, onward I went to the Bodleian Library as I was keen to get upstairs to see the famous Duke Humphrey’s Library which was used as a location for one of the Harry Potter films and which is strictly out of bounds unless one has an Oxford ID card. Indeed, it is a gorgeous room, the ceiling richly painted with the crests and family coat of arms of the many eminent contributors to the university and each reader sitting in superbly decorated ‘bays’ to do their quiet private reading. I saw so many of them browsing through original manuscripts written in the handwriting of the folks they were researching. This library is only open to senior scholars and researchers–not to Oxford’s undergraduates.

Next, I walked across The Broad (through The Clarendon Building) to get to Park Street where the Indian Institute Library is located in the New Bodleian Library. It was in this library that I had done most of my reading on the works of Kamala Markandaya while pursuing doctoral research. It has all been heavily wired now and security fobs and keys are needed to get anywhere inside…but I went through the steps that got me inside where only two students were reading quietly. Again, were I doing a project that would require me to examine South Asian material, this is probably where I would be seated. It doesn’t have the same reverent atmosphere of Duke Humphrey’s Library but it does have some very lovely view of Oxford’s dreaming spires that jut out into the sky from every surrounding building.

The Turf Tavern:
Across The Broad again, I asked for directions to the Turf Tavern, another common location in Morse films and one of Oxford’s oldest pubs. It is really strange that I do not know where a single hidden pub in Oxford can be found–as drinking was obviously never one of my priorities while I was there. Indeed, the Turf Tavern is very well hidden in a narrow passageway where Jane Morris, wife of William Morris and Pre-Raphaelite Muse often featuring as a model in some of the Group’s best-known paintings, once lived. The Tavern itself is a little medieval gem, built in the 1300s and serving traditional real ales–unfortunately though these are really good, they are never served cold…and on a day like this, I was craving a long cold drink! After taking a few pictures in a watering hole that was supposedly Bill Clinton’s favorite during his Oxford years, I left and walked along The Broad to Turl Street and finally entered Exeter College, which is always rich in wonderful memories for me.

Finally, at Exeter College:
As it happened, it was Open Day in Oxford’s Colleges and all the quadrangles were open to prospective students coming in to check out the premises with their parents. Hence, the ‘campus’ was especially lovely with red geraniums lining the steps leading up to the Dining Hall which was open for perusal. After 22 years, I had the chance to return to the spot where I had eaten so many memorable English meals and puddings–and a really awful rhubarb pie, which was completely lacking in sugar! Of course, I took pictures everywhere and admired once again the artwork on the walls, the glorious medieval wooden ceiling and screen and the dark wooden tables at which we had sat! Lovely memories indeed and I was delighted to relive them all.

Then, I entered the chapel, newly refurbished and cleaned and looking spanking new–several of the statures of saints that encircle the chapel on the outside have had to be fixed–at an expenditure of a million plus pounds (according to the very efficient student guide Tim who escorted me around for a private tour). Inside, the mosaics surrounding the altar have been polished and are glinting brilliantly. Organ practice was on while I was there and I stayed for a few minutes to take in the ambiance in the midst of several other visitors.

Then it was off to the Margary Quadrangle where my room was located and I went off to the second floor to see if my room was open by any chance–which it was not, sadly! However, I did peak into the bathrooms and saw that they have been modernized. There are now modern showers there, which in years gone by were non-existent. Right above this set of rooms, one of which I once occupied, is a new sculpture of a nude man by Antony Gormley–this looks down upon the Broad from the corner of Exeter College that intersects Turl Street.

Overall, it was a deeply nostalgic experience for me to return to Exeter and I badly missed my dear friends who had made my time there so memorable. We have been talking for years about an Oxford Reunion but somehow it hasn’t happened and though three of us have arrived in Oxford at different times, we have never managed to do it together as a group!

Then, I went in search of the Saskatchewan Lecture Room where I will be giving my lecture on July 22. It is an underground basement room , which, unfortunately, was not open, but I did see its location. My next stop was the Fellows Garden at the back and the Library (not open to visitors) and the steps leading to the ramparts of the college that overlook Radcliff Square. I was amazed because I don’t believe this was ever there when I was at Exeter! Or if it was, I had never climbed those stairs for those lovely vantage views of the Radcliff Camera and Oxford’s other best-known buildings including the Church of St. Mary the Virgin .

At the White Horse Pub:
Well, I truly enjoyed my hour of touring Exeter and learning new things about the college. Once I got out and on to Turl Street again, I decided I badly needed something to drink and what better place than The White Horse Pub right next door to Blackwell’s where in honor of Morse and Lewis, I thought I would get myself a swift half of traditional ale. Well, who should I find when I got in there but Marnie, my fellow-lodger from New Zealand! She was waiting to have her very early dinner served to her and as she went through her roast lamb with Yorkshire pudding and vegetables (which she told me was the best to be found in Oxford!), I sipped a very refreshing ale but I do wish it had been colder!

The Holywell Music Rooms:
Well, then after I had spent an hour with her, there were still a few things I needed to see before I took the bus back to London: Holywell Music Rooms, supposedly one of the most picturesque buildings in Oxford (it turned out to be a rather plain white building) with a lovely round music room inside which acts as the setting for the music competition in the first episode of Lewis, the series that is a spin off from Inspector Morse. There were a few people inside but though the place was technically closed, they did allow me to potter around and take it all in. Its interior reminded me very much of the stark colonial Episcopalian churches we see all over New England.

Rhodes House:
Then down Parks Road, I walked in search of Rhodes House, the great institution that arose out of the contribution of Cecil Rhodes who made his fortune in diamond mining in Africa. He set up the famous Rhodes Scholarships that are offered to scholars all over the world. This building was also closed but the Porter who saw me prowling around volunteered to let me in for a few minutes. This gave me to access to the Central Rotunda which is quite beautiful architecturally and to the dining room used for conferences today. The administrative offices of the Rhodes establishment are also housed in this building, which provides a central post for the scholars to meet and get to know each other. The gardens were also lovely and very conducive to quiet contemplation.

The Chapel of Keble College:
One more thing required to be seen: The Chapel of Keble College, which Marnie had told me not to miss. So, a few minutes later, I walked into the magnificent Victorian quadrangle of Keble, a space that is absolutely stunning. It has a rather unusual sunken lawn and again because it was Open Day, there were loads of people filling it and visiting its various corners. I walked into the Chapel and enjoyed its very austere atmosphere. Yes, it is not medieval Gothic in design but full of Victorian excess–mosaics of scenes from the Bible marching around the higher walls–similar to the Arts and Crafts Church of St. Barnabas in Jericho.

Back Home to London:
Well, it had truly been a day of superb sightseeing in Oxford for me and as you can imagine, I was ready to drop once I made my way back to Norham Road to pick up my baggage. I walked with it to Banbury Road from where I caught a bus to the City Center–the driver realized that I wished to get to Gloucester Green and took me right by the bus terminus! Once in The Oxford Tube, I relaxed, took off my shoes (my feet were aching) and ate my dinner–the rest of my baguettes, cookies and an apple. I got off at Notting Hill Gate and took the Circle Line back home to Farringdon where I reached at exactly 10 pm.

I spent the last few minutes of the day downloading my pictures and getting set up with wireless internet once again and then I went to bed after what had been an exhausting but deeply fulfilling week in one of my favorite cities in the world.

Exploring the Cotswolds and A Walk on the Thames Path

Jun29

Monday, June 29, 2009
The Cotswolds and Burford

I dreaded awakening this morning to discover that I could not move as my knee had swollen double through the night. Fortunately, nothing of the kind happened and though I awoke very late (at 8.00 am) and rushed to wash and dress and get to breakfast, I was relieved to find that the pain in my knee was much better than it had been before I fell asleep last night.

I ate a hasty breakfast, then returned to my room to continue working on my lecture. I worked steadily for the next two hours, making steady headway and only leaving my room about 11 am. I stopped en route at the Maison Francaise which is at the very beginning of Norham Road to check out the accommodation there as Amanda, the lodger from the States who left yesterday, had told me that their rates were better than what I am paying here. An assistant called Coreen took me around the premises and gave me a rate sheet. The place is very nice indeed—very quiet and the rooms are spacious. There are common baths at the end of the corridor but there is one en suite double room. These rooms are available during the months of June, July, August and a part of September only. A good place to consider if ever I return to Oxford again.

Then, I walked along Bevington Road to St. Antony’s and did finally get my ID card today. Not that I am going to be able to use the library and I am leaving tomorrow—but most of my library research is being conducted at the British Library in London anyway! I can use the card to get into the colleges, though, and that I shall do tomorrow. With my knee not doing too badly, I decided to buy the Stagecoach Daypass again and ride all the way to Burford which is the beginning of the Cotswolds.

Bus S2 came along in about fifteen minutes and took me to Witney where I had to change buses. This gave me a good 45 minutes in Witney to explore. I stepped into a few shops in the main Market Square and left with a fantastic buy—a brand new pair of Bally shoes with matching handbag which I snagged for only a few pounds. I just couldn’t believe my luck! I also found another cup and saucer (Aynsley) to add to my collection at home. Then, I stepped into the Information Center where I found bus time tables and was told again that it is very difficult to get to Kelmcott Manor and the Hidcote Manor Gardens without a car. So, since tomorrow is my last day at Oxford, I shall stay in the city itself and see those bits of it that I haven’t yet explored.

At 1. 20, the connecting bus (233) took me to Burford. It was a single decker, so I could not get the wide reaching glimpses of the beautiful Cotswolds countryside through which we drove. It was frightfully hot and people were frantically trying to stay cool. It was only 7 miles from Witney to Burford, a journey that took less than fifteen minutes and before I knew it, we were there.

Beautiful Burford:
I had never been to Burford though when I was at Oxford, many years ago, there had been a student trip organized to the town. It is really a very tiny village but quite visually pleasing because of the uniformity of the structures—all yellow Cotswold stone and black slate roofing, low ceilings, houses with exposed beams which seem to sag under their own weight.
Burford is constructed down a single High Street from which smaller lanes branch out, lined on both sides by similarly quaint houses and gardens brimful of summer flowers—clematis, hollyhocks, delphiniums, hydrangeas, roses and loads and loads of lavender. The English, as the whole world knows only too well, love their gardens and they lavish lots of time, effort and expense in keeping them pristine, Everywhere I looked, I was enchanted by the abundance of hanging baskets spilling over with petunias and bizzie-lizzies and window boxes full of fragrant blossoms. Truly, summer in England is an endless sensual delight.

Right behind the Main Street is a massive stone church—the Church of St. John The Baptist, which is reached by a short stroll along Church Lane. I explored the church yard with old, graying and moss-covered grave stones and memorials and paid a short visit. I had two hours to kill in this peaceful village, fortunately not yet mobbed by tourists or coach travelers. There were antiques stores and sweet shops, several good restaurants and the inevitable tea room and behind the church, a river with water front benches and picnic tables where I sat for a long while in the shade and watched the ducks and ducklings waddle by. It was much too hot to do anything very exciting and I have to say that climate change and global warming is certainly evident in England. Twenty-two years ago, I remember wearing a cardigan throughout the summer and not a single day saw me in a T-shirt. After two decades, I have to say that it is oppressively hot and humid and I was deeply uncomfortable being out in this weather and I badly missed my shorts and sandals.

Seeing a Doctor at the NHS:
Julie Irving at the Senior Associate Members Office at St. Antony’s College had made an appointment for me with the local NHS facility called the Summertown Health Center so that a doctor could take a look at my knee to make sure there was no cause for concern. Sine my appointment was for 4. 40 pm, I rushed back on the first available bus and reached North Oxford at about 4. 40 pm itself. It took me ten minutes to walk from the bus stop to the Health Center on Banbury Road which I reached from Woodstock Road by cutting across Lathbury Road. And as I walked across it, I spied a blue plaque on one of the gate posts of the houses which announced that Nirad Chaudhuri, Writer (from India, of course) had lived there for almost fifty years of his life. His best-known work is The Autobiography of an Unknown Indian and it is odd that I passed his house as I am in the process of preparing my lecture and have been looking at the earliest Indian Writing in English that came out of the UK and, of course, Chaudhuri features quite prominently in that category.

Well, the doctor did examine me—and in the old-fashioned manner in which medicine is still practiced in the UK as I have grown to realize, he diagnosed my condition right away without putting me through a battery of X-rays and tests. He simply told me that there was no fracture and no torn ligaments and no liquid accumulation in my knee. In other words, but for the trauma suffered by my knee cap at the point where it made impact with the ground, there was nothing more serious and I need not worry at all. He told me that the pain would probably persist for a week, gradually fading away and that the local application of a pain-killing ointment would be helpful. Well, it was a great relief to me and I must say, once again, that I am impressed by the working of the NHS in Great Britain as this is the second time that I have had to seek medical assistance for an emergency of sorts and both times I received prompt expert medical care without spending a penny. For that, I very grateful to this country indeed. Needless to say, in the States, no doctor would touch me unless fully assured that I had the resources to pay for the abominably expensive opinion he would offer at the end of which he would recommend further testing that would take a whole day and cost a thousand dollars!

A Trip to Wolvercote:
I took a bus back home to Norham Road where I set aside the bags I was carrying and took a bit of a rest. Then, realizing that I will be leaving tomorrow and returning to London, I decided to set out and accomplish another goal—a trip to Wolvercote to The Trout Inn, a famous pub on the banks of the River Thames. Only, I decided to take the bus there as I had the Stagecoach Daypass and I did not want to tax my knee too much.

The bus trundled along in about ten minutes on Woodstock Road and the driver put me off at the Turn End in Wolvercote (at the end of Woodstock Road) from where I walked for about 15 minutes, past the village of Wolvercote and arrived at The Trout. It was full of the most wonderful memories for me as I had last been there, two summers ago, when my friend Annalisa was spending a summer in Oxford with her sons, Giovanni and Giacomo, and their nanny Stella. At that time, we had walked from North Oxford, across Port Meadow, along the banks of the Thames and Godstow Lock to The Trout Inn where we had sat and nursed a drink as the sun slowly set behind the gushing weir which provides a musical backdrop to the space.

So, as a tribute to my dear friend, I entered the pub, ordered a Pimm’s with Lemonade, the legendary summer drink of Oxford (served in a tall and thin glass with a strawberry, a wedge of cucumber, lemon and lime slices and crushed mint). It was marvelously refreshing and I carried it to the waterside where I found myself a wooden bench on which I propped myself to read. Because, yes, I had carried my new book The Oxford Guide to Inspector Morse and right there in a spot that was frequently used as a very photogenic location for several scenes in the series, I sat and sipped my Pimms and thought of Morse whose great love for real ale took him to so many of Oxford’s most famous pubs and put them forever on the tourist map. I sat there for an hour and a half, people-watching and duck-watching and enjoying the softness of a light evening breeze as the sun set slowly and another summer’s day in Oxford came to an end.

A Memorable Walk Along the Thames Path:
It was about 8. 45 but still very bright when I got up to leave. I had intended, even up to that point, to walk the 15-20 minutes to the bus stop at Wolvercote and ride it back to North Oxford. But then I derived confidence from the fact that the doctor had told me that my knee was fine and I figured that if I walked for another 20 minutes, I would be close to home.

So, again, I relived that marvelous walk I had taken with Annalisa and Stella and her boys and walked along the banks of the river from The Trout Inn to North Oxford, past the ruined nunnery and the Godstow Lock and the flocks of noisy ducks and the colorful cows and the shaggy horses, all of whom crowded the banks along the Thames Path at different intervals. Oh, I so enjoyed the wild life to be found along this walk and though the crew members and their boats were missing (they had been an integral part of our walk, two years ago), there was the occasional kayaker and on the opposite bank, a couple walking four dogs—a breed called Grahams, very similar to Whippets. When I went through spells where there was no one ahead or behind me and my solitude was complete, I took consolation in the fact that they were on the other bank walking parallel to me and I took courage because they were only a scream away (I guess I have watched too much Morse)! Occasionally, I passed couples ‘snogging’ to use an old-fashioned English term, and a couple of cyclists whizzed past. It was a lovely lovely walk and I am so glad I decided on impulse to undertake it, for I have always wanted to walk at least a part of the Thames Path during this year.

When I saw a large number of houseboats moored by the river banks, I knew that I was nearing Oxford. I also saw the spires of the many churches and chapels of the city coming closer within range and in about 45 minutes, I was crossing the curving bridge that took me into Port Meadow, then another bridge that went over the railway track and then I was on Southmoor Road where Annalisa used to live, It wasn’t long before I arrived at Woodstock Road, then along St. Bernard’s Road to Bevington Road and then on to Norham Road. I was hot, really hot, when I reached home exactly an hour after I had started walking from The Trout Inn—it had been a fabulous walk and one I know I will always remember.

Back in my room, I ate a bit of pecan roulade and drank a large cup of coffee while watching the last bits of Andy Murray play a Russian whose name I did not get in what has turned out to be the longest Wimbledon game ever played! It was 10. 45 when the game ended and though Murray made it to the quarter-finals, he was given an amazing run for his money. Played in a closed court, the crowds were ecstatic by his well-deserved win.

I went down to the bathroom to wash and brush and floss my teeth, then I sat to write this blog and get ready for bed. What a day I had and how happily I will recall it!

In Stratford–Shakespeare Found–and the Cotswolds

Jun29

Sunday, June 28, 2009
Stratford-on-Avon and Chipping Norton

I had no intentions to returning to Stratford-on-Avon while I was in Oxford. After all, I had been there the weekend of Shakespeare’s birthday (April 23) with Stephanie and would not have wanted to waste a day in the same venue. But just a couple of weeks after my return from Stratford, my colleague Karen began talking about a new Shakespeare Portrait that has just been unearthed and which is of supreme significance both for the literary and art worlds as it is suspected to be the only portrait for which Shakespeare ever posed during his lifetime. She told me that seeing it with her husband Douglas (who is a Renaissance scholar) was one of the highlights of her year in the UK–and I figured that if it is so special, I ought not to leave the UK without seeing it. I don’t believe that it was on display when I was in Stratford with Stephanie in April—maybe it was, maybe not. But in any case, since I was only 40 miles from Stratford here in Oxford, it made sense for me to take public transport to get there and have my own peek at this portrait.

And so I had ear marked today for this trip. I awoke about 7. 00, read Harry Potter for about 40 minutes, then left my bedroom to wash and get dressed for the 8 am Mass at The Oratory (a Jesuit-run church) on Woodstock Road near St. Giles. When I had passed by yesterday, I had discovered that there was a Mass at 8 am—a Mass that was described as “Old Rite”. I had no idea what this meant but I decided to find out since breakfast on Sunday is only served at 9 am. This left me time to attend Mass and get back in time for breakfast.

Old Rite Mass at The Oratory:
The Oratory is a very historic Catholic church in Oxford. It was established in 1845 which doesn’t make it old by Oxford standards, but it was the venue in which the famous Cardinal John Newman began his Ministry about the same time. I do not know enough about his Ministry (and the internet is not working efficiently enough here for me to get online and find out) but I do know that he initiated a chaplaincy that has resulted in Catholic ministry on every college campus world-wide—all of which are named after him. For example, the Catholic Center at the University of Hawai’i in Manoa, Honolulu, where I had spent a summer and attended Mass, is named the Cardinal Newman Center. These centers usually conduct masses for the Catholics on campus and provide ministerial support. Cardinal Newman was known to be an extraordinarily fine preacher and, no doubt, the pulpit in this oratory was the platform from which he gave his sermons.

The Oratory is famous for another reason: the early 20th century poet Gerald Manley Hopkins who was a Jesuit priest was a Curate in this church. Having studied his poems as an undergraduate student in India, I do remember reading that he was a Catholic priest and one who was especially drawn to Nature in attempting to find his way to God.

So I was very pleased to arrive at the church only to find that it had a strikingly beautiful interior. It isn’t very much to look at from the outside, but the inside is gorgeous, especially in the many beautifully carved saints that adorn the altar. But what amazed me about the church, more than anything else, was the congregation. I thought I had been whisked away in a Time Machine to the early 1960s (before Vatican II) when I used to attend Sunday masses in India with a veil in one hand and a Children’s Missal in the other. Upon entering the church, I would wear the veil on my head which my mother would often pin up as my hair is so silky and it would never stay put.

Well, most of the women in the congregation had veils on—in white or in black! I was stunned. It has been years since I have seen such a sight. Not only that, but the children in the church had missals in their hands and were actually following the service with the aid of these books. I was so struck by their good behavior. I saw no toys, no Cheerios, no books or anything of the kind to distract them (as I see in the churches in America where attending Mass is more playtime than anything else for a majority of the kids. These were old-fashioned children raised with old-fashioned parenting techniques that have gone with the wind. Needless to say, the Mass was in Latin, the priest facing the altar. Communion was distributed the traditional way at the Communion rails (you kneeled down to receive) and it was placed on your tongue and not in your hand! My God, I simply could not believe it! Seriously, one of the things I never thought I would take home with me to the States after my year in the UK was the variety of Christian forms of worship that I have experienced as I have gone to different churches every Sunday, representing various denominations of Christianity and conducted in vastly unique ways. As my stay here comes to an end, I am glad I had decided early in my stay here to do this: to try to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday. It has left me with fascinating observations and experiences and for those I am truly grateful.

Sunday Breakfast at Norham Road and Journey to Stratford:
My three fellow lodgers were already at table when I joined them for Breakfast this morning. Sunday breakfast meant hard boiled eggs (two for each of us). I toasted white sliced bread and make myself tasty sandwiches with my eggs—the sort my mother used to make for me when I was in school! I also ate cereal and drank two glasses of orange juice as I had a long way to go on the bus and wanted to get a hearty meal inside me.

I left my place at 9.45 to catch the 9. 55 bus (Stagecoach S3) to Chipping Norton (via Woodstock). I had found out that a Daypass offered unlimited travel on the bus for 7 pounds which was really a bargain. The bus rolled in about 10 minutes later (at 10. 05) and then we were off. Luckily, the day was gorgeous once again—lovely blue skies and bright sunshine—in fact, it turned a little too warm by the afternoon and I heard on the TV that tomorrow will be even warmer—28 degrees which is close to 86 Fahrenheit. The bus was crowded with teenagers, most of whom alighted at Blenheim Palace leaving the front seat wide open for me to enjoy.

The driver had told me that from Chipping Norton the bus S3 became the 50, so all I had to do was sit on the same bus. He also informed me that we would arrive in Stratford by 11. 20 am. The Daypass was really a bargain as the total distance was about 50 miles. We drove through beautiful bucolic Cotswold countryside passing charming little villages made of the typical honey-colored Cotswold stone for which this area is famed and the black slate roofs that give each village a marvelous uniformity but also a rural quaintness. Front and back gardens were full of summer blooms—dahlias brought vivid splashes of color to flower beds and tall hollyhocks and delphiniums were impressive in their stately height. I have to say that I am truly jealous of the enormous size and quality of the blooms that the English seem to be able to coax out of their soil without the use of expensive or damaging fertilizers. There is no way that we could produce the same results in the States—I am sure it has something to do with the presence of certain metals in the soil which provide those much-needed nutrients.

Arrival in Chipping Norton:
When we arrived in Chipping Norton, I recognized it at once as the little Cotswolds town in which Llew, Chriselle and I had once spent a night during our own tour of the Cotswold more than 10 years ago. Indeed, I even recognized The King’s Arms Hotel in which we had stayed and simply for old times’ sake, I decided that I would stop by there on my way back and explore the town on my own before catching the bus back to Oxford.

As we sailed on towards Stratford in the bus, I enjoyed the passing scenery. Mile after mile of field full of thriving plantings lent striking shades of green to the landscape. Sheep did dot the pastures and occasional farmhouses advertised themselves as being B&Bs while signs announced that “Afternoon Teas” were available in village churches. Next weekend, most of these villages will be having their annual summer fetes and I am sorry that I will be too far away to enjoy them, as I am seriously thinking of attending the sailing regatta at Henley-on-Thames with my friend Amy when she arrives from New York.

Arrival in Stratford-on-Avon:
When we did finally arrive in Stratford, I made a beeline straight away for Henley Street where Shakespeare’s birthplace is located. The Portrait Found Exhibit is in the Shakespeare Center right next door to his house. I was pleased that one could buy a ticket for just five pounds only to see the exhibit without needing to buy an expensive ticket to get into the Shakespearean houses—these I have seen several times before and did not think I needed to see them again.

The Shakespeare Portrait:
Ok, so here’s the reason why I made this pilgrimage to Stratford. In 2006, an Irishman named Alex Cobbe who lived in a grand mansion outside Dublin attended an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London entitled Portraits of Shakespeare. Upon looking at one of the portraits on display there, he was struck by the fact that it looked curiously similar to a portrait of an unknown gentleman that was hanging on the walls of one of the rooms in his house. He brought this fact to the notice of the powers-that-be and the painting in his house was examined and studied. Considerable scholarly opinion has come to the conclusion (led by a Prof. Stanley Wells) that this is a portrait of William Shakespeare and that indeed this might be the only one for which he ever posed during his lifetime!

This means, of course, that all of the portraits of Shakespeare that we have seen thus far were either created by people from memory after Shakespeare had passed away (in 1616 at the age of 54) or that they were copies of this one portrait for which he, Shakespeare, actually posed. One of the reasons why Wells and other scholars believe this to be an authentic posed portrait of Shakespeare is that Cobbe also has in his collection a portrait of another unknown Elizabethan whom he had thought to be a lady (based on her long hair that flows down one shoulder and her rather effeminate face). Scholars who have studied this portrait have come to the conclusion that this is not a woman at all but a rather feminine-looking man who was known to the world as Henry Wriosthesley, Earl of Southampton.

Now, not only is this Alex Cobbe a direct descendant of the Earl of Southampton (which is why the portrait has come down to him) but this Henry Wriosthesley was also Shakespeare’s fond patron and the one to whom, for a very long time and even today, his Sonnets are believed to have been dedicated (“To Mr. W.H.”)—the initials deliberately inverted by Shakespeare in order to keep his identity unknown.

Now, if we know (and it can be proved by genealogical data and records) that Alex Cobbe is a direct descendant of this Mr. W.H., then it is also easy to see the connection between Shakespeare and this newly ‘discovered’ portrait. For Mr. W.H. might well have paid the money to an unknown artist to have his dear friend’s portrait painted—a portrait that he wished to retain in his own possession. In his later years, Mr. W. H. fell badly out of royal favor for his involvement in a plot to destroy Elizabeth I and was imprisoned in the Tower of London. We do have another portrait of him created at this phase in his life (which is also at the exhibition) and when you look at the two together –of the younger Mr. W.H. (which is very decidedly androgynous) and the older one, you do see a distinct resemblance that leaves you in no doubt that the two portraits are of the same person made several decades apart.

When Mr. W.H. died in disgrace, his possessions (including his paintings) passed into the hands of his next-of-kin and all the way down into the hands of Alex Cobbe who simply did not know that the unknown Elizabethans whom he gazed at daily in his home were Shakespeare and his patron Mr. W.H. So the discovery of this portrait is significant because if Shakespeare had posed for it then it is the closest likeness we could ever have of Shakespeare—though of course, being dated as having been painted in 1606 (by X-rays, tree ring dating and based on the rich and very expensive garments he is wearing in the portrait, particularly the style of lace collar around his neck), we think that the artist flattered the poet who at the age of 46 years in 1606 could not have looked quite so young and unblemished of complexion as he appears in it.

The controversy (like so many associated with the life and times of Shakespeare) will continue endlessly until we can prove without any shadow of a doubt that it is actually Shakespeare–through some incontrovertible documentary evidence. Meanwhile, whether we are convinced that it is Shakespeare or not, we can all delight in the superb quality of the painting and its marvelous state of preservation. For the other portraits of Shakespeare (also in the same exhibition), supposedly based on this one original, newly unearthed portrait, are such poor imitations of the original as to seem almost amateurish.

For all of these reasons, I was glad I read everything about the exhibition and spoke at length to the guide who explained things to me in great detail. Since the two portraits (of the young Mr. W.H. and of Shakespeare) have been loaned to the Shakespeare Trust for only a limited period and since Mr. Alex Cobbe will be taking them back to his Irish estate in September, I was very pleased indeed that I had the chance to see it and to understand the complexity involved in its discovery and its provenance. So I am grateful to Karen who told me all about it.

Back to Oxford—and a Bad Fall in Chipping Norton:
I took the 2. 20 bus back towards Oxford (having spent quite a while lazing by the river and watching the world go by). On impulse, I got off at Chipping Norton and decided to walk around the town a little bit retracing my footsteps as I remembered them. It was here that I had a fall. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to stay on the bus to Oxford or get off and see the town. I needed to find out what times the buses run (as they are few and far between on Sunday) and while I was checking the timetable at the bus stop, the bus started to move. Attempting to run after it to board it, I fell over the pavement and hurt my knee badly where it made impact with the hard surface of the road.

Well, after I was able to get up, I decided to go out and find the church we had visited ten years ago and which I remembered clearly as well as the neighboring Alms Houses( all rather picturesque and reminiscent of illustrations in story books). Unfortunately, most shops had closed for the day and the town seemed rather deserted.

An hour later, I returned to the bus stop and took the 4. 10 bus back to Oxford but decided again on impulse to get off at Woodstock in order to return to Blenheim Palace to buy two postcards as I had left the ones I had bought a few days ago in the loo on my way out the other day! Well, I have to say that my knee seemed to be carrying me fine through the ten minute walk to the shop and the salesgirls were good enough to give me replacements postcards without my having to pay for them again—because they remembered me from the other day!
Then, I was boarding the 5. 30 pm bus back to Oxford. I got off near Bevington Road on Woodstock Road and it was only about 10 pm that my left knee started aching really badly. I got myself an ice pack (on Llew’s advice) and rubbed some Moov on it and after writing this blog, went to bed, hoping that I will not be completely incapacitated tomorrow.

Morse-ing Around Oxford

Jun27

Saturday, June 29, 2009
Oxford

I wasn’t making too much progress with Harry Potter, so I was pleased to wake up at 7.00 and be able to read the novel for an hour. I thought breakfast would be at 8 am as usual but when I went downstairs to wash and dress, I found everything so quiet and there wasn’t the delicious aroma of toast that has woken me up on recent mornings. Because no one seemed to be stirring, I thought it was a great time to have a shower and that I did—and how much I enjoyed it!

Back in my room (which I just realized is right above the car port in a sort of addition to this rambling stone house), I checked the Breakfast Timings as printed in my room and realized that on Saturdays, breakfast is served at 8. 30 am. That left me ample time to get dressed and start working on my lecture on ‘Post-Colonial South Asian Literature from Great Britain’, which I have been invited to deliver at Exeter College, Oxford, on July 22. I worked very steadily and when I heard voices coming from the dining room, which is not too far from my room, I joined my three fellow-lodgers who were already at the table and spent the next 45 minutes eating a large breakfast—cereal with milk, toast with butter, orange juice and coffee. I knew I would not have much time for a big lunch as I had the ‘Inspector Morse Tour’ to take at 1. 30, so I decided to have a breakfast large enough to keep me going until at least teatime.

I spent the next couple of hours working steadily on my lecture and made good headway though I was rather disappointed that my inability to connect to the wireless internet in this house in North Oxford makes it impossible for me to back check facts when I need to footnote my lecture. However, I also enjoyed sitting in my room in this house in North Oxford and working. I thought our home in Southport, Connecticut, was quiet on weekend mornings and then I started to stay in the loft in Farringdon in London—and boy, is that quiet! And now here I am on Norham Road off Banbury Road in Oxford where the silence is so complete. There was not even a bird twittering in the trees and it wasn’t until noon that the cobalt blue door of the house on the opposite side of the street opened and the family went out for a spin in their silver grey car. I am finally staying in a place in which I can actually feel a sense of community with my surroundings—and I am really enjoying it!

Off to Discover Morse’s Oxford:
When I had mentioned to my fellow lodgers that I was out today to see ‘Inspector Morse’s Oxford’, the Japanese chap had remarked, rather cleverly, that perhaps this would mean a pub crawl because all Morse does is drink in Oxford’s various pubs! Well, he was not far from the truth!

At 12 noon, I set out first to St. Antony’s College to find out if by any chance I had dropped my credit card there when I was over yesterday—as I am missing it! No such luck! So I walked briskly towards St. Giles, all the time praying that it would have been found in Blackwell’s coffee shop (Café Nero) where I had met Philip Imray for a coffee and a chat yesterday. En route, I saw a number of books on Morse and Oxford and thought that I should buy one of them as I need to find out more about the Oxford backdrop of the series.

Upstairs, I could have kissed the waitress who served me yesterday. Yes, she had found my credit card, which had fallen out of the pocket of my jeans as I was leaving and had shrugged into my hoodie. What luck someone had found it and just put it back on the table and hadn’t made off with it, as I am pretty sure would have happened in the States. That weight off my mind, I called Llew to inform him that my card had been found as he was very upset yesterday on the phone when I told him that I had misplaced it.

Crossing the street, I arrived at the Oxford Information Center where I saw a large crowd gathered for the start of the tour. I was shocked at the large numbers of people who wished to follow in the footsteps of dear Inspector Morse. Amazing how many people love the series and have made it their business to find out more about it. The crowd, comprising mainly English people, though there was a fair sprinkling of Americans, was then divided into three smaller groups and I chose to attach myself to a rather nice-looking older man with a booming voice and a twinkle in his eye called Alistair Lack dressed in a rather dapper beige linen suit. The other two group leaders were women. I hoped and I prayed that he would be better than the one who gave the ‘Harry Potter Tour’ yesterday which had been a huge disaster for me.

Well, I sure lucked out today! Let me tell you that Alistair Lack was just wonderful and the tour was splendid. There was so much I learned about the series—both the book series and the TV series. In addition, I learned a great deal about the creator of the character of Inspector Morse, Colin Dexter (who also lives in North Oxford, not too far from where I currently live), about the late John Thaw (who lovably played Inspector Morse in the TV series), about Kevin Whatley who played his side kick Sergeant Lewis, about Julian Mitchell who wrote the screenplays, about the late Academy-award winning Anthony Mingella who produced the earlier shows (until Kenny McBain took over) and about Barrington Phelong (whose music composition, I have always thought, simply makes the series). I learned that the crew filmed 33 episodes that were filmed and viewed over 13 years–an average of 3 shows a year. The show attracted 30 million viewers at its first screening and, 13 years later, had the exact same number watch the final episode–this meant that one in five people in Great Britain watched the episodes as they aired!

Not only had Lack read all the books, he had watched all the episodes and he had actually met Colin Dexter several times as well as Kevin Whatley. He brought all these anecdotes into his commentary which was extremely interesting and very succinctly delivered, interspersed as it was with jokes and that typical wry brand of British humor (which I know I will sorely miss when I return to the States). Because Lack is an Oxonian himself (he graduated from University College where he had read History eventually becoming a History teacher at the Scindia School in Gwalior, India, for a short while before joining the BBC in Delhi), he also told us a great deal about the history of the colleges and the university and about the educational system that prevails in this hallowed institution. But everywhere he stopped he brought his comments back to Inspector Morse. He led us through the Town versus Gown conflicts that have persisted for centuries and showed how they were worked into the plots and the scripts. He took us to hardware stores and clothiers from The High and Turl Street to the Broad and everywhere he brought Morse and his romantic interests into his own script.

And yes, he did talk about all the pubs that Morse frequents in the series—from The Bear on tiny medieval Magpie Lane to the rather touristy Trout Inn in Wolvercote from The Booksbinder’s Arms in Jericho (which he recommended highly) and which he said is one of his own favorite Oxford pubs to the White Horse right next door to Blackwell’s. He also talked about the cinematic role played by Morse’s pub-crawling, which I thought was rather interesting. Every time the director wanted a quiet bit in the plot, he took Morse to a pub. Thus, scenes of murder and mayhem are followed by a swift pint of finest ale. Having had a Pimm’s myself at The Trout with my friend Annalisa, a few years ago, I can say that there is nothing more enjoyable than a drink overlooking the river as the sun sinks low in the west on a summer’s evening and the muffled roar of the weir reaches one’s ears. I am hoping I will have a chance to do the walk along the banks of the Isis again to Godstow Lock and on to Wolvercote to The Trout before I leave from here.

Throughout the tour, we were kept enthralled and engaged. The only downside (and that is not something for which we can blame either the guide or the Oxford Information Center), was that we were unable to enter any of the colleges as they were all closed as it is the very last day of the academic year. Students are leaving, their bag and baggage littered all over the quads as they move out. The last few remaining ones who were still taking the last final exams today could be seen walking or cycling along in their examination gear (as Oxford has a strict dress code for exam days—black gowns and mortar board caps with a red carnation pierced into the button holes of both males and females alike). He particularly wanted to take us to the quad of Exeter College where Morse actually has a heart attack and dies in the last episode, The Remorseless Day. Since I know the quad of Exeter College well (having spent endless hours sprawled on its green lawn in my youth), I was sorry that we were unable to enter it or indeed to see the beautiful chapel with its Edward Burne-Jones tapestry on The Adoration of the Magi and the lovely medieval mosaics that glint and shine in candlelight. Still (once I get my ID card, hopefully on Monday morning), I can enter any of the colleges and their libraries—which I hope I will still find the time to do.

I was also pleased to see that the rooftop of the Margary Quadrangle where my own room was located and which faces The Broad has been adorned by one of Anthony Gormley’s nude males—these look very similar to the casts of his own body that I had seen on Crosby Beach near Liverpool and the three male nude figures that adorn the lawn in my friend Loulou’s farmhouse home in Suffolk—only she had told me that though they looked like Gormley’s work, they were not.

The Tour ended in two hours, i.e. at 3. 30 pm. It is certainly one of the highlights of my year here in the UK and I do so wish that Llew was with me as I am sure he would have loved it as much as I did as we have watched all the Morse TV episodes together over the years and he remembers the plots much more than I do. I guess I am so focused on the locations, the music and the interaction between Morse and Lewis, not to mention the brilliant acting and directing, that the plots are of the least interest to me, really. But, I guess I can convey to Llew a great deal of what I learned this afternoon. Though it was a very warm afternoon, I did not mind the heat or the endless standing (we did not get a chance to sit anywhere) because the material was so absorbing.

The Rest of my Evening:
I then took a bus to Headington from Carfax as I wanted to check out some of the thrift shops there; but this took me less than an hour. I did not find anything except for some cold cuts (roast beef) at Waitrose, which I brought home to make myself a sandwich dinner with a croissant (which I had put aside at breakfast).

Once I got off the bus on The High, I walked quickly towards Blackwell’s to buy myself a copy of The Oxford of Inspector Morse by Bill Leonard, a hardbound book that was being offered at a 50% discount. I intend to use it as a companion piece when I watch the series again—as I had bought the whole lot at Christmastime and had sent them back with Llew. I look forward very much to the pleasure of seeing them all again on the new large screen TV that we intend to buy as soon as I reach Connecticut

Evensong at Christ Church Cathedral:
Left with just enough time to walk briskly to Christ Church College, I was let in easily when I said I wanted to attend Evensong in the Cathedral. I found myself a seat right near the choir and looked forward to a lovely one-hour long service. The Evensong I had attended at King’s College in Cambridge is another one of the highlights of my year—funny how I am now enumerating all the highlights as my year is coming to a close.

The service was as solemn and uplifting as I had imagined, though I have to say that the Cambridge one was more atmospheric because it was conducted in candle light which lent a golden glow to the plain gray granite walls of the towering nave of the chapel.
Just as the service ended and we made our way out of the Cathedral, it started to rain—great large drops filtered through the bright sunshine! It was so odd! We sheltered in the porch near the Porter’s Lodge for a good long time until the worst of the shower had passed; but all the way back home to Norham Road, I was dogged by spells of intermittently heavy and light rain that soaked me pretty thoroughly before I reached my front door.

Settling down for the evening, I changed out of my clothes, and then fixed myself a roast beef sandwich dinner and a pot of lovely tea with lemon—I drank two steaming cups. I ate my dinner while watching a British TV channel that offered old reruns of game shows—I saw something called Mr. and Mrs. followed by Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (British version) before a new TV comedy called Mumbai Calling starring Sanjeev Bhaskar (husband of Meera Syall) came on. I was keen to see it because of my own Bombay connections and because I had heard about it a few weeks ago on BBC’s Breakfast Show when the stars of the show were interviewed. As it turned out, I found it terribly lame and not even remotely funny.

I have to say that I am rather enjoying my summer days here in Oxford and am very glad that I have returned to this most beloved of cities. As a student I had stayed in Exeter College, which at that stage in my life was such a novel experience. Now that I am in, let us say my mature years, it feels great to be based in North Oxford where most of Oxford’s dons have homes. These are solid Victorian stone affairs with beautiful high steps leading to wooden front doors. The driveways are pebbly paths with pale pink roses spilling over stone walls and lavender borders fragrant with blooms that lend a purple tinge to the pavements. The occasional car drives lazily past and often I see couples stroll by, hand in had, dressed in formal evening clothing. This being the last week of classes, there have been parties and formal dos galore, followed by fireworks at night that I can hear in the distance. Students are out in their formal best creating the sort of memories that will stay with them for the rest of their lives even if they never see each other again.

Though I am a mere observer of the life I see around me, I feel like something of an intruder in the lives of these young folks. I walk along these honey toned streets thinking constantly of the scenes from Brideshead Revisited, that great great Oxford novel that so epitomized and romanticized for me the undergraduate life of this university town and I wonder how many of the beautiful students I see around me will carry forever in their hearts and minds the indelible scenes that Evelyn Waugh’s novel and Colin Dexter’s stories created in my own mind and heart to dwell there forever.

Pottering in Harry’s Footsteps

Jun26

Friday, June 26, 2009
Oxford and Witney

I guess the great weather had to come to an end sometime and that happened today. I awoke to the drumming of raindrops on my windowpane and though my curtains were drawn and didn’t allow me to see the falling droplets, I could hear them. I awoke at 7. 00 am, read Harry Potter for about 45 minutes, then got up to wash and dress and start breakfast at 9 am. It was a Continental affair again with a new face at the table—a girl from Johns Hopkins whose name I did not catch. We had a companionable breakfast and then it was time for me to get dressed and get to St. Antony’s College to pick up my ID card.

But great disappointment awaited me there as the card had not arrived (stuck somewhere in in an inter-office mailbag) and since today is Friday, I cannot expect to get it until Monday morning. Needless to say, I was annoyed as I walked towards The Broad. I had an 11.oo am appointment with an Anglo-Indian called Philip who had agreed to drive up to Oxford to meet me as he lives in nearby Bicester (pronounced ‘Bister’–bizaare!). The rain had stopped but the rain-washed scent of fresh summer flowers wafted towards me from the passing gardens along Woodstock Road with each step I took. The air was fresh and clean and despite the lack of sunshine, it was warm and rather humid and I had to pull my hoodie off.

An Interview with another Anglo-Indian:
Philip was already at the Blackwell’s Bookstore coffee shop when I arrived there. Every time I need to meet someone in Oxford, this has become the spot for our rendezvous—being opposite the Sheldonian Theater, it is very easy to spot—though as Philip pointed out to me, there are two or three Blackwell’s Bookstores in town. Over a café latte, Philip answered all my questions very patiently indeed. I found a great deal in him to admire especially his dedication to fund raising which allows him to help destitute Anglo-Indians in India. Our conversation was very interesting with never a dull moment. As always, the stories of these individuals inspire me deeply and make my fieldwork really stimulating.

The Harry Potter Tour:
It was almost 1. 30 by the time we left Blackwell’s. I crossed Broad Street (The Broad) to get to the Oxford Information Center but found that the folks who wished to take the Harry Potter Tour had already gathered outside the store. I joined them, produced my ticket and was introduced to the guide who would start to lead the tour in a few minutes. There were 20 people on the tour, of which at least half the number were children between the ages of six and eleven. The tour began with an introduction outside the store and from then on, it continued for two hours, the bulk of which I found deeply uninteresting.

In fact, I believe that this tour is a real misnomer. It merely cashes in on the Harry Potter hype and left me felling deeply disappointed. As the tour guide stated at the outset, “This is a tour about Oxford with a little bit of Harry Potter thrown in”. Granted I have only seen the first Harry Potter film, but the fact that I have read all the books (and recently at that) ought to have made it fascinating for me. Instead of which, I found myself bored stiff for most of the tour. The commentary was slow and lack luster and just very monotonously delivered and I found the kids just wilting with boredom. I doubt many of the adults were deeply stimulated either.

The group was led to just three spots associated with the Harry Potter films: the Divinity School where we were told about one of the scenes (when Harry is in the sanatorium in Book Four—The Goblet of Fire) and then we were shown pictures of Duke Humphrey’s Library where a part of the first film was shot. But we were not allowed into the library. When I asked the guide why he weren’t taken there, he said we’d have had to pay more. But we had already paid over 10 pounds for this tour! It wasn’t inexpensive, so why wasn’t Duke Humphrey’s Library included? Such a rip off!!!

Next, we went to New College where, in the cloisters, we were shown the spot where Malfoy is turned into a ferret under the shady branches of a spreading oak. Inside, in New College Chapel, we were shown the Joshua Reynolds stained glass windows and an El Greco painting of St. James–but there were no further associations with Potter.

The third location associated with the film was Christ Church College where we taken up the stairs with the spectacular fan-vaulted ceiling (where Prof. McGonnagal greets the new freshman students to Hogwarts) to the Great Hall (which was the inspiration for the Hall in the films—I repeat, this was the inspiration for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, but the film was not shot on location here.)

So, basically, we were taken into Christ Church College to see the Hall and the Cathedral (both of which we could have done on our own without joining a Harry Potter Tour). Needless to say, I was deeply irritated with the entire tour, which I thought was a complete waste of money. I certainly hope that the Inspector Morse Tour which I am taking tomorrow will be more interesting and will have a younger and livelier guide and one who can make the commentary more humorous and more absorbing.

My Tour of Christ Church Cathedral:
I have to say that I found the tour of Christ Church Cathedral very interesting (but it had nothing whatsoever to do with Harry Potter). In fact, the guide had left us by this point and said goodbye, so we wandered around on our own. I have never been in here before and have decided that I will try to attend Evensong here tomorrow at 6 pm. Christ Church Choir is world famous (like King’s College Choir in Cambridge) and one of the highlights of my stay in England had been the opportunity to listen to them last December when I was in Cambridge.

Christ Church College has a rich and unique history. Not only was it founded by Cardinal Wolsey who began building it with his own colossal fortune (which explains why the symbol of the college is a Cardinal’s hat) but when he fell out of favor with the king, construction was abandoned until King Henry VIII took interest in it once again, called it King’s College for a while and later called it Christ Church College.The foundations of what were intended to become the cloisters can still be seen around the quadrangle. These were never completed. It is a Cathedral because it contains the seat or chair (‘cathedra’ in Latin) of a bishop. Thus, it is both a cathedral as well as a college chapel—the only one of its kind in the UK. It was used during the Civil War by Charles I as a refuge until he tried to escape from Oxford, was caught and led to his execution. It has some beautiful stained glass windows by Edward Burne-Jones done in the distinctive style of the Pre-Raphaelites. I found all of this material much more interesting than anything I saw on the Harry Potter Tour.

A Trip to Witney to Meet A Friend:
I hurried out of Christ Church College to try to find a bus that would take me to Witney where I had made plans to meet an old Oxford friend, Stan Fuller, once Hall Stewart at Exeter College when I was a student there. Stan and I have stayed friends over the years only through letters and the annual Christmas cards as he does not use email. Over the years, on my many trips to Oxford, I have met him for a cup of coffee and each time, I have found that his health has deteriorated some more. In recent years, he has become practically disabled with a knee injury that had rendered him bound to a wheel chair at home (he is now 77 years old). Though he does walk about with the aid of a walker, it is very difficult for him to move about.

I would have been pleased to have seen him in his own home, but clearly he did not wish to have me over in his house in Eynsham (pronounced En-shim). He suggested we meet in Witney Market Square and I took the Stagecoach S1 from Gloucester Green to meet him—a lovely journey that took about 45 minutes, given the rush hour traffic. I had a lively conversation on the bus with a lady who pointed out very interesting things to me along the way as the bus wound through the patch work quilt of the fields, past the little picturesque, typically English villages of the Cotswolds and a multitude of animals—horses, sheep and dappled cows were all in pasture .

Stan was waiting for me and I have to say that I was shocked to see how much he has aged since we last met—which must have been about eight to ten years ago. He has put on an enormous amount of weight (probably from lack of exercise) and he has black bags or pouches hanging under his eyes which I do not recall seeing before. My heart went out to him and I was so saddened by the manner in which he has aged. Given the hardships he had encountered to meet me, I was deeply touched by the effort he put into our meeting.

I suggested we get to a pub for a meal and that’s where we ended. Witney is a small medieval market town with its little market square, its stone shelter, its clock tower, its village green abutting a church with a brown stone turret-like spire. There is the sprinkling of shops and pubs in the market square and it was in one if these that we settled down for a natter. I ordered a half pint of cider for myself and a ginger ale for Stan who chose fish and chips while I had the steak and ale pie. There was rather a lot to talk about and Stan was eager to tell me everything about his family—his wife, his children and grand children. His interest in British History is very impressive and he always fills me in on valuable local historical information when we get together. He told me, for instance, that Witney used to be the center of the wool blanket industry—sadly, the last factory closed over ten years ago. He also told me that the native Americans were very partial to Witney blankets and that they once averted a massacre by using Witney blankets that they knotted together to shimmy down a ravine while the US Cavalry settled down for the night intending to attack them the next morning. I thought it was amusing that Stan referred to them as “red Indians”—a phrase that we used to use for native Americans when we lived in India. It has been a long time since I have heard that phrase!

Twenty-two years ago, it was a much younger and more vigorous Stan who had driven my friend Dr. Firdaus Gandavia (then a young doctoral student like myself) and me to Boar’s Hill to Matthew Arnold’s field to see his “dreaming spires of Oxford” from the vantage point at which he had sat and composed his famous poem The Scholar Gypsy. I still have a picture that I had taken then as I had perched on a wooden stile that protected the field from straying cattle. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since that lovely summer’s evening, so many years ago, and these memories were very much on my mind as I recalled how much local history Stan had introduced us to then. If only we could stop the Hand of Time from marching on in its destructive fashion, robbing us of our vitality and energy and leaving us to nurse wounded shadows of ourselves in our old age. All these thoughts made my meeting with Stan very poignant indeed and I am very glad that I made the effort to get together with him. Who knows, but the next time I return to Oxford, Stan might no longer by able to meet me anywhere!

It was finally time to say goodbye to Stan at 8. 20 pm when we stood together at the bus stop to wait for the bus that would drop him off at Eynsham and take me on to Oxford. It was while we were at the bus stop that he broke the news to me that a famous singer had died last night,. He could not get his name and asked the young girl sitting at the bus stop, “Who was the singer who passed away last night?” and she replied, “Michael Jackson”. You could have struck me down with a feather! Of course, I have no access to news media of any kind…so I had no idea anything of the sort had happened. Needless to say, I was speechless and when I finally did receive the details, the young girl told me he had died of a heart attack.

I have to say that I was still reeling with shock when I got off the bus at Oxford and walked on the Banbury Road to my place.

I spent the evening typing this blog and chatting with Llew and then getting ready for bed as I was suddenly very tired indeed.

Blenheim Palace and Wandering in Woodstock

Jun25

Thursday, June 25, 2009
Woodstock, Oxfordshire

Ah, the supreme joys of awaking in Oxford! It was not a minute before 7. 45 when I awoke with a start and realized that breakfast was at 8am. There was not a moment to be lost! I jumped out of bed, gathered my toiletries and clothes together and padded downstairs to my basement bathroom. At exactly 8 am, I heard voices coming from the Dining Room and on getting there at 8. 05, I found that three of my fellow lodgers, academics all, were already at breakfast!

We spent the next few minutes getting introduced: a New Zealander named Marni, a Japanese named Atsushi and an American named Andrea from Seton Hall in New Jersey! The first two are long-term guests and will be staying for several weeks more, the last is only here for a night. She is on a year-long Sabbatical at Somerville College and hopes to move into her own flat soon. Breakfast was Continental (no full English–bummer!!!–I was looking forward to some scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon!) but over muesli with milk, toast and hot rolls with marmalade and a selection of jams, we ate well. However, I did not linger too long as I had a
9. 35 am bus to catch on the Woodstock Road and I did not want to miss it.

So I grabbed my things and left at 9. 15, and was at the bus stop at 9. 20. I thought so much of my friend Annalisa and her boys as I passed right by the school that her little one Giacomo used to attend when she had spent the summer in Oxford, two years ago. I had visited her then and we had walked to the school together to pick him up. The bus was late and I began to despair and while I waited, I called my parents in Bombay and told them I was in Oxford and we caught up. Then, my bus came along and I was off (five pounds return ticket to Blenheim Palace–Stagecoach Bus Number S3). The journey took exactly half an hour and I do so wish I could find out which public bus would just take me winding through this beautiful network of Cotswold villages as it had done in Cornwall. From the bus stop to the Palace gates, it was a ten minute walk but it turned out to be another spectacular morning and I could not start complaining so early in the day!

The ticket granting admission to the park, gardens and house is a pricey 17. 50 pounds but I was fortunate enough to be able to avail of a pass that is valid for a whole year at the same price! Well, I might not return to Blenheim (pronounced ‘Blen-um’) ever again (though I have now learned never to say never–I remember, as a graduate student 22 years ago, I had thought that I would never return to Oxford and I came back so many times over the years!) but I figured the card would make a good souvenir–so I had my mug shot taken and was presented with a lovely gold printed laminated card!

Thus began my forays into one of the world’s most magnificent homes, the handiwork of the famous John Vanbrugh, who, unbelievably never had any architectural training whatsoever–he was a dramatist by profession. Yes, he is the same one who created Castle Howard, another architectural masterpiece in Yorkshire which Llew and I had visited last August. Upon arriving at the main entrance (I was, by the way, the first visitor to enter the palace today!), we were informed that a bonus free tour of the garden would soon be conducted by Karen Wiseman, garden historian, and we could take that if we chose. Our tour of the house could begin after that.
Tour of the Gardens:
Well…naturally, this was too good a chance to pass up and sign up I did. A few minutes later, Karen did arrive and led us past the gravel terraces to the vast spread of green parkland (the handiwork, of course, of the renowned Capability Brown). She told us a little bit about the history of the house at this point and then about the gardens. She did encourage questions and several visitors did ask very sensible ones. They were obviously all enthusiastic gardeners themselves and I thoroughly enjoyed the tour. She also pointed out the flag that was flying to indicate that John, the current 11th Duke of Marlborough was in residence today.

In a nutshell, Blenheim has been around for so long (since 1705) and has been in the hands of so many well-known gardeners starting with Robert Wise (none of whose work exists today). Each left his particular mark upon the property and the end result is, like Cliveden, a series of separate gardens each with a distinctive style and aura. We started at the Italian garden with its neat yew hedging, classical statuary and water fountains, then went on to the Rose Garden (quite lovely at this time of year with every flower in bloom and loads of buds on each bush).

Our next stop was the Duke’s private Italian garden which was also quite lovely though very formal. Visitors are not allowed into it though we could glimpse it from the edge. The last stop was at the Secret Garden, quite the most beautiful of them all with a Japanese style bridge fording a small lyrical stream and a variety of flowers such as deep blue irises and maroon day lilies bringing patches of color to the space that alternated between shady spots and brightly lit ones.

By this point, we had already trekked through the property for an hour and my feet were beginning to ache. My sneakers are not very comfortable and I have started to develop corns, so I should get myself some medication right away as I know I shall be doing a lot of walking during the next few days. When we got back to the house, I was told that we should start our tour on the ground floor with the special exhibit on Winston Churchill who was born at Blenheim Palace as his father Randolph was the brother of the then Duke of Marlborough.

The Winston Churchill Exhibition:
Having visited the Churchill Museum and the Cabinet War Rooms at Whitehall in London, I have to say that I did not expect too much on this tour; but let me tell you that this was one of the best exhibitions I have ever seen. It is quite brilliantly curated and takes us right into the very room in which Churchill was born. There is a letter framed on the wall from his father Randolf to the doctor who attended the birth, thanking him for his pains and paying him the fee of 12 guineas (I have no idea how much that would translate into modern currency).

The exhibition then wound us through the early years of this man who turned out to be one of the finest statesmen England has ever known and about his poignant connection with Blenheim. He wrote somewhere: “Two of the happiest things in my life happened here–I was born here and I asked my wife Clementine to marry me here”. As it turned out, Karen had taken us to the Temple of Diana, a classical folly in the garden, and to the marble bench on which Winston had proposed. It was a supremely happy marriage and one based on a good solid romance.

We saw so many of his early letters to his “dear Pappa” and “darling Mamma”, written when just a lad of eight and then whilst a student at Harrow and then from the front where he served himself with the Hussars together with his cousin, then Lord Blanford (who became the 10th Duke of Marlborough). All the time, we could hear recordings in the background of some of his most stirring war-time speeches and, believe, me, the quality of the oration and the passion and the conviction with which they were delivered brought tears to my eyes that ran down my cheeks, much to my embarrassment! It was just too moving for words! Possibly because I expected so little, I was overwhelmed and my response was just as impassioned! How marvelous it was to walk through the most significant milestones of “Winnie’s” life and to realize the forces that shaped him into the steely man he became– a hedonist with a healthy love for the best things in life as well as a clear head and a determination to overcome.

But I suppose for me the most amazing thing of all (as this year for me has been, among many things, a matter of art education of the highest quality) was that Churchill was an accomplished painter (who knew??!!) and that so many of his oil paintings that I saw were based on his years at Blenheim to which he was a regular visitor. Indeed, he said, “When I die, I will spend the first one thousand year in heaven painting so that I might get a sense of exactly how it is done”. Such colossal talent in this most Renaissance of men and such modesty too!!! His paintings are truly good and were actually exhibited at the Royal Academy to which he submitted entries under a pseudonym so that no one could accuse him of being favored! If for no other reason than to achieve insights into the life and times and paintings of Winston Churchill, one ought to visit Blenheim!

Guided Tour and History of Blenheim:
At the end of the Churchill exhibition, we were joined by a guide who gave us a brief history of the Palace. Blenheim Palace came into existence after the Battle of Blenheim which ended on August 13, 1704, when the French commander Tallard surrendered to the English John Churchill bringing glorious victory to the British troops. John Churchill scribbled the news of the victory on a French tavern bill he had in his pocket and dispatched it to his wife, Sarah, requesting her to inform the Queen (Anne) of his triumph. The Queen was so delighted, she gave him 1000 gold guineas as a reward and about 12,000 acres of land in Woodstock. She also gave him the title Duke of Marlborough and John Churchill became the first one!

A year later, in 1704, John and Sarah chose John Vanbrugh to build them a magnificent house. Vanbrugh used Nicholas Hawksmoor as his assistant and with the contribution of the inimitable Grindling Gibbons who was in-charge of the stone carvings, work began on the Palace. Hence, it is incorrect (as the guides kept saying) that John Churchill was given the Palace as a gift for his victory at Blenheim by Queen Anne. In actual fact, he was given the land and the money–he built the Palace with it…the Palace did not exist prior to the Battle of Blenheim–so it is a typically 18th century piece of work with its emphasis on symmetry and balance and a nod to the achievements of Classical Antiquity–the true hallmarks of the English Baroque style. It was finished in 1713 but poor John Churchill only lived for a few years to enjoy it. He was dead by 1718 when the Dukedom and the Palace passed into the hands of his oldest daughter Henrietta as he had no male heirs. Clearly, there was an exception made in England’s then normal rules of inheritance that allowed a female heir to inherit both the title and the property. A series of Dukes followed, some more profligate than others, each bringing his own stamp to the residence and gardens and making Blenheim what it is today.

The American connection comes in with the 9th Duke who finding himself bankrupt and wanting to keep the house within the family rather than letting it fall into the hands of the National Trust or English Heritage, decided to marry for money rather than for love. He consented to an arranged marriage with Consuelo Vanderbilt who was only one of the richest women in the world. Her social-climbing mother, not content with being a Vanderbilt, wanted a title for her daughter and was thrilled when she became a Duchess. Consuelo and the Duke were bitterly unhappy though she bore him three children and brought gazillion millions as her dowry into the marriage. This saved the Churchill estate but it did not bring any personal happiness to either of the spouses who could not stand each other. They were subsequently divorced and Consuelo remarried a Frenchman. The current Duke of Marlborough is in his 80s, recently remarried for the fourth time (his wife is at least half his age) and has four children: two by his first wife, two by his third wife (and he has two step-children). Of these, the one with whom I am most familiar is Lady Henrietta Spencer-Churchill who owns an interior decorating company, has written several books on interior design (all of which I own) and has a Woodstock-based shop called Woodstock Designs. It was easy for me to see where her love for interior design and decoration was nurtured, as I toured the home in which she grew up and where she is a still a frequent resident.

All this history was made known to us through a tour of the State Rooms of the House which we took in the company of another very good and very humorous guide. Needless to say, he paused to explain the history of the people depicted in a number of paintings and of the grand accoutrements of the rooms. In particular, he pointed out the Boule furniture in the last room which is the best example of French Baroque. The tour ended with what must be one of the most spectacular rooms I have seen thus far in my travels–the Long Library, whose plasterwork ceiling and walls are entirely the work of Nicholas Hawksmoor. It is simply exquisite, combining pastel peach shades with white ivory ornamentation. A really massive marble sculpture of Queen Anne, great patroness and close friend of Sarah Churchill, graces one end of the room while a massive organ is present at the other end. There is really no part of this staggeringly beautiful home that I would want to miss.

Then, drooping with fatigue, I sat on the grand steps outside the Palace and ate my picnic lunch: Roast Chicken baguette from Sainsbury and a bottle of Diet Coke. This allowed me to admire Vanbrugh’s design and the special honey color of the walls all made of Cotswold stone quarried nearby! The second session began upstairs where I undertook a self-guided audio-visual tour that was very interestingly done. It takes another 40 minutes but was so worth it as it took us once more through the history of Blenheim and its colorful occupants through the centuries. This bit ended in the Shop where I spied the most darling porcelain spoons in exactly the same design as the Herend porcelain tea and coffee service that Llew and I had purchased from Budapest, Hungary, a few years ago. I had to have them and, a few minutes later, the attendant was packing 8 little spoons for me in bubble wrap and Blenheim Palace tissue paper!

Wandering in Woodstock:
Then I was hurrying out of the Palace and cutting across Capability Brown’s landscaped lakeside to arrive at the village of Woodstock which is so picture perfect I simply could not stop clicking. I entered a number of shops and found two perfect little cut crystal whisky glasses in a thrift shop for just two pounds each and which I could see as votive candle holders on my dining table! I did browse through Lady Henrietta’s shop, Woodstock Designs, but I have to say that I was so dead by then that I simply had to get back on the bus and return to Oxford. Woodstock is so pretty and being located on the very edge of the Cotswolds, it is the ideal spot to visit in case travelers have no time to see the rest of the more renowned villages. It has superb antiques shops, interior decorating places, tea rooms and all sorts of other enticing enclaves in which to browse as well as a collection of extraordinarily pretty stone churches, buildings and cottages.

Christ Church Meadows at Last and the Oxford Union:
I alighted at Oxford City Center and made my way to the Broad Walk at Christ Church Meadows to complete the walk to the River Thames’ banks that I wasn’t able to do yesterday. It was very warm today though and I settled on the grass to watch crew members row in unison down the river as more relaxed kayakers breezed alongside. The cows were in the meadows and in the distance, I could see some of Matthew Arnold’s “dreaming spires”. All was well with this bucolic little world and I felt deeply content.

On my way back home to Norham Road, I made it a point to stop at the famous Oxford Union, the place that is renowned for its weekly debates (Benazir Bhutto was the first female President of the Oxford Union). Since this is Week Nine, only a few students are still on campus; (most of them are finishing finals this week and leaving) but a few stragglers were sipping beers at the bar and in the garden. I poked my head into the various rooms and discovered that as a member of St. Antony’s College, I could become a life member of the Oxford Union for 180 pounds (a bargain if you ask me!). Then, since I was fairly collapsing with fatigue, I walked straight home, took a shower, made myself a cup of tea, ate the other half of my sandwich, wrote this blog and went to bed.

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