Tag Archive | Highgate Cemetery

Taking Tours–Royal Courts of Justice & Highgate Cemetery We Taking Tours: Royal Courts of Justice and Highgate Cemetery West st

Jan21

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

London

I am kicking jetlag on its butt–slowly but surely. Awake today at 5.00 am, I used an hour or so to blog about my doings in the company of my young friend Jonas who has since then been forbidden to leave his bed to join me! Knowing how obedient he is, I feel half sorry that I will not have to contend with Scooby-doo upon awakening. Still, I had a chance to shower, eat my muesli and yoghurt breakfast and rush off to St. John’s Wood Tube station to hotfoot it to 8.00 am Mass at Westminster Cathedral where I was meeting my friend Reshma. She wanted to find out what a Catholic Mass was like and in the suitably awesome interior (recently refurbished to allow the Byzantine mosaics to glow softly), she had her first taste of daily ritual Mass although she felt slightly affronted that she could not receive “the offering”  (Communion). This, somewhat unexpectedly, called for my best explanation for her exclusion. She loved the unique Byzantine design of the Catholic Cathedral (not to be confused with the far more famous Anglican Westminster Abbey down the same road).

Eager to catch up together, we fought the crowds flowing out in reverse direction from Victoria Station where, in Cafe Rouge, we had their 2.50 pound breakfast special: a beverage and a pastry (hot chocolate and a pain au chocolat for me; a latte and a plain croissant for her). As the mother of one of my favorite former students and someone I have discovered a little via email, there was so much more to learn about her–and we chattered non-stop. One hour and one selfie later, we were at the bus-stop heading for Fleet Street to cover the next item on our agenda: A Tour of the Royal Courts of Justice. It was only as we waited on a cruelly freezing morning for the Number 11 bus that took all of 12 minutes to arrive, that she informed me that she had a Law degree from India–although she had never practiced Law and had ended up in banking.

Sunshine flooded the city and Parliament Square glowed as we turned the corner into Whitehall. Alas, we did not have the front seat but we were content to spy some of London’s best-known landmarks: Big Ben, Nelson’s Column at Trafalgar (later in the day,  I would see the grave at Highgate of the man who sculpted him, William Railton), Charing Cross, etc. We were early for our 11.00 am guided tour of the Royal Courts of Justice (given on Tuesdays, must be booked online) so popped into the Twinnings shop on the Strand that has been around since the 1700s. Alas, the tea tasting I had promised Reshma was not to happen as there was a corporate tasting event in session until 1.00 pm. Peeved, we were presented with sample sachets of tea by an apologetic assistance as we left.

Tour of the Royal Courts of Justice:

I might have passed the Royal Courts of Justice hundreds of times and have never known that they are open to the public. But, come to think of if it, in a democracy, courts are indeed open (except, ironically, when held “in camera”). This marvelous confection of turrets, towers, spires, crenallated rooflines and stained glass windows might well lead the viewer to believe that he/she is looking at a fancy palace or medieval court. In fact, it is a Victorian addition to Fleet Street, the architectural work of one George Street, pupil of the famous Gilbert Scott (whose marvelous work I had admired yesterday at St. Pancras Station).

Reshma and I went through Security screening, entered the august Main Hall with its brilliant tiled mosaic floor and grabbed a hold of one of the self-guided tour leaflets. For the next hour or so, we wove our way in and out of impressive chambers and court rooms along spotless marble clad corridors adorned with Gothic arches, casement windows,  winding stone staircases, wooden carvings and panelling, etc.  It was great fun to say hello to some of the greatest icons of the Law such as the “Fire Judges” who had listened to all cases pertaining to the destruction wrought by the Great Fire of London of 1666.  Upstairs, we spent time in the court rooms where judges were actually hearing cases–it is fun to see the regalia that she prevails in British courts: the horsehair wigs, the flowing black robes, the stiff elongated collars. In fact, the reason I finally chose to tour the Royal Courts of Justice that Queen Victoria had inaugurated, was because they are featured in some of the most compelling TV law shows I have recently been watching. The exteriors are also featured frequently in high-profile law cases (such as the Madonna-Guy Ritchie Divorce). It is a wonderful thing for a foreign tourist to do: to get a real glimpse into the working of British jurisprudence for it is like live drama. The judges ask pointed questions, the advocates respond. A clerk is seen recording the proceedings. The court rooms are ornate. There is decoration everywhere. Some have high square tower-like ceilings. We enjoyed it all.

Also part and parcel of this tour is a visit to the Painted Room that adjoins a “Bear Garden”–a misnomer for no bear baiting actually went on there ever. The reference is to Queen Victoria who once visited the place, was shocked by the loud audible discussions of the lawyers and likened the din to a “bear garden”. The Painted Room is spectacular, its paint fresh and crisp as the day it was done. There are cells–holding cells where prisoners are kept, pending sentence but, of course, they are out of bounds of the general public. I loved the idea of being able to wander around at will, watching lawyers in consultation in the corridors (just as in the TV shows), anxious relatives milling around and whispering quietly. This is real-life drama–something we do not see in the flesh daily unless we are part of the legal system of a country. Tours end in the Costume Gallery where we saw legal robes and regalia through the ages in the British Isles. Costume is so intrinsic to the practice of Law globally that it was huge fun to see how much importance it was given as we viewed the most ornate robes ever. A tour of the Royal Courts of Justice is most heartily recommended. It is the perfect thing to do if one has Been There, Done Everything in London. In fact, if one has not done so already, one can wander towards the Inns of Court in neighboring Chancery where more architectural delights await and one can see where the plotting and planning goes on that is then played out among the lawyers and their clients in the Royal Courts. It was a morning truly well-spent. And the tours are free of charge.

Off to Highgate Cemetery for Another Tour:

It was time to bid Reshma goodbye. She had things to do and I had my tour to take, based on the one I had booked online.  I hopped on to a bus going down the Strand, hopped off at Charing Cross from where I bought a Brunch threesome sandwich from M&S Food for my picnic lunch in the park and off I went on the Northern Line train to  get off at Archway. It took me about 20 minutes and deposited me at Archway Station from where I got Bus 210 to Lauderdale Park/Waterlow (as instructed by the Highgate Cemetery website).  It was a very pleasant walk through the park amidst dog walkers and robust dogs, past duck ponds that had the glaze of thin layers of ice on them–truly, the day was freezing. I could not have picked a worse one for my outdoor tour of the cemetery and, by the time it was over, my toes felt frostbitten.

It was time to eat my solitary lunch on a park bench and to take a breather before I proceeded to the gates of the Cemetery. I was early for my tour and able to to wander on to the East Side of the cemetery (where I had been before). Although here you do see high-profile graves such as those of Karl Marx (the most popular) and George Eliot, this is all you see–plus row upon row of Victorian mortuary sculpture featuring angels, urns, crosses. On the West Side (for which you need to book and pay), there is a guided tour given by a member of the Friends of Highgate Cemetery. This happened to be a very elderly woman who moved at snail’s pace, spoke in the softest voice that I had difficulty hearing and seemed out of breath rather frequently as she negotiated the hills of the property. All the time,  she provided information on the  space and its inhabitants. About 194,000 people are buried here in about 78,000 graves. Many graves contain only ashes but even buried ashes are placed in purchased plots that are carefully numbered. As long as one could pay for a burial and was from the Church of England, one had access to this site. Later, the C of E rules were relaxed and as long as you were Christian, you were allowed final resting in this spot.

The most famous recent burial was that of so-called Russian spy Alexander Litvinenko known as Sacha  whose grave is fresh and nondescript but has a small early picture adorning it. As the family had requested that the public not take pictures, we refrained. There was a lot to learn as we trudged up a hill about mortuary emblems, the fact that symbols of one’s profession were sculpted facing downwards (because they will never be used again) and about burial conventions. But the true charm of taking and paying for a tour of the West side (although there are no really prominent names buried here–a clerk had once told me, years ago, “We do not do fame!”), is that you get to enter the Lebanon Circle where you see family vaults and finally get into the catacombs where lead-lined coffins that have worn with age can be seen very easily in the eerie darkness on shelves only a foot away. These, to my mind, are the best part of a visit here. You enter in pitch darkness and with the aid of a flashlight you see these shelves of coffins, some concealed behind a grave stone bearing a name, others exposed for all to see. There is evidence of grave robbing everywhere–not even in death were folks allowed to rest. We could not access some of the more famous graves–such as that of the Rossettis and Elizabeth Siddal who had moddelled for some of the most famous Pre-Raphelite paintings, as the path was too icy and closed off. The tour included tour graves that were crowned with extraordinary sculpture–one of a lion, another of a dog–the stories that accompanied them were just as fascinating. The lion belonged to a menagerist called George Someone, the dog to a bare fist fighter called Thomas Sawyer. They allowed us to pause and take in the eccentricities of the Victorians but, on such a freezing day, I would have restricted the tour to half its length.

Would I recommend such a tour to a visitor? If you do death, yes. If you have run out of things to do in London (almost an impossibility) yes, if you enjoy stories of strange people, yes. But, for Pete’s sake, make sure you choose a warmer day!

More Retail Therapy and Meeting Michelle:

Had it been a more pleasant day, I might have lingered in pretty Highgate Village and browsed through its shops. As it was, I could not wait to walk to the bottom of Swain’s Lane (about 8 minutes) from where I hopped into a C2 bus that took me past lovely corners of Northern London: Kentish Town and Camden before bringing me to Oxford Circus where I hopped off and nipped straight into Marks and Sparks for my supply of eats: Battenburg Cake and Fruity Flapjack Biscuits. Meanwhile, on the bus, my friend who conducts Civil Law for the British government, Michelle Misquita, had texted to find out if I had any time free to see her. After shopping, I sure did, because my next appointment was dinner with my NYU colleague and friend, Mahnaz. I finished buying my goodies, jumped back on the Tube to meet Michelle at St. James’ Park’s lovely Art Deco station with its Jacob Epstein sculpture all over the place, and then there I was having a lovely reunion with her and settling down for some hot chocolate at Pret a Manger nearby. Michelle and I were college classmates in Elphinstone College, Bombay, majoring in English, and had a very healthy rivalry for marks raging on between the two of us! It is always a joy to catch up with her and to hear about the goings-on in her life. We parted promising each other a reunion with the third member of our English Honors Threesome, Marie-Lou whome I had just met in Bombay visiting from Chicago, some time soon.

Dinner with Mahnaz:

And then it was time to make my way back to Mayfair to meet Mahnaz, my NYU colleague now on a sabbatical of sorts in London. She picked  out an Italian eatery called Finos on North End Street behind the Primark store on Oxford Street and there she was, sipping a glass of red Vallipocelli as I walked in. She was starving; I had been nibbling and sipping hot drinks all day, but was ready to sink my teeth into a good salad. And that was what I ordered although she went for a gigantic burger. Goat cheese, pine nuts, assorted peppers and pesto adorned my salad and made it very tasty indeed as it was lightly dressed with balsamic vinegrette. A lovely dinner accompanied by a glass of Peroni, Italy’s very light beer. Despite having just passed a semester as colleagues in New York, Mahnaz and I had barely found the time to connect–we have to travel, it seems to other parts of thew world (Florence, Venice, London) to really sit and connect. We talked about future plans for research and publication and about personal issues and before we knew it, it was almost ten o clock and time to call it a night.

We went our separate ways–me, making the delightful discovery that she is a lodger for the next 9 months with Kate Buffrey, the actress who played the female lead in Trial and Retribution, the detective and courtroom drama that Llew and I had recently enjoyed! What a tiny world!

It was another day that was packed to capacity–as indeed all my days in London are. And at 11.00 pm, when I sank into bed, I fell asleep instantly.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!

 

 

 

 

Today Was all About Therapy–Retail Therapy!

Jan20

Monday, January 19, 2015

London

Jetlag still has control over my life; but when it paid a 3. 15 am Wake-Up Call, it was decidedly better than the previous night’s–2. 15 am. I used time creatively once again to update my blog and scour the Web for suggestions on What To Do. My trusted guides for Secret London and Key to London’s Secrets were insistent about a visit to the West side of Highgate Cemetery and having Been There but Done Only The East Side, a few years ago, I was happy to comply. Accordingly, I went online, scored a ticket for the guided tour beginning at 1. 45 today and given by Friends of Highgate Cemetery (as the West side, supposedly the far more interesting one) is only open to visitors on guided tours.

Then, my young friend Jonas, all of seven years, made a 6.00 am appearance in my room, climbed into my bed and promptly suggested we watch cartoons on the giant Apple TV in my room. And thus it was that I became introduced to Scooby-Doo and his friends! All fun cam to an end when his mother walked into our room and shook her head at him disapprovingly. I am afraid I might not be asked to stay again if I deprive her son of his beauty sleep. Uh-Oh!!!

So while he showered and breakfasted, I jumped into the shower myself and at 8. a00, we were out the door, escorting him along Abbey Road to the American School London where he is in second grade. As he ran along, I took the bus to Finchley Road to the giant Waitrose there to buy my favorite year’s-worth of favorite groceries (did you know Waitrose Darjeeling teabags–not available in the USA where they have never heard of Darjeeling–and it is doubtful they have heard of tea–are much cheaper than Twinnings’s Darjeeling and just as good?). I bought myself an almond croissant and sipped a latte as I roamed through the aisles (please Waitrose, if you can be in Dubai, why can’t you be in New York?), then took the Tube at Finchely Road back home for two stops.

When my groceries were safely deposited back home, I had my second breakfast: Waitrose’s Fruit and Nut Muesli with Honey-Vanilla Yoghurt and the,n in half an hour, I was out the door myself and ready to hit the sales.

Disappointments Galore at Posh Stores:

Only I had arrived in London too late this year, you see–all so-called post-Christmas sales ended on Saturday evening, it appears. Arriving at Green Park station, I strode past the Ritz and into Fortnum’s hoping to find some of its famed goodies on sale–only to find Nothing. And I mean Nada. As a 14 came sailing down Picaadilly, on I hopped thinking Harrods has never let me down. But when I inquired inside, Madam was icily informed that the sale ended two days ago! Darn and Blast! Still, I bet there was some dregs still to be had. Somewhat inspired, I asked for the Souvenir section–and as I rode the escalators past all the heads of Nefertiti smiling down on me and spying the new sculpture of Diana and Dodi and the soaring seagull in the basement, provocatively entitled “Innocent Victims” , I arrived at the third floor where my eyes alighted on Christmas Pudding–not just any pudding, mind you, but luxury ones sold in the signature Harrod’s ceramic pudding bowls. Yes!!!! They were heavy as sin and would be a pain to haul across the pond, but still. It had not been a worthless journey.

Finally! On Carnaby Street:

Back on the Tube , I headed for Soho and the arching signs of Carnaby Street which I had never seen–because I had never been there! Off at Oxford Circus on a particularly chilly day, I was grateful for my layers of cashmere, when my eyes alighted on Liberty of London–another iconic store famed for its pretty cotton printed fabrics and its Tudor design. Well, although I had intentions to buy nothing, how could I resist? It was worth the thrill alone of riding in those linen-fold wooden pannelled lifts alone. So off I sped to the top floor where the last remnant items of their sale are still on display. Slim pickin’s, everywhere, I thought, disappointedly.

A few minutes later, I was striding out the chocolate shop and right on to Carnaby Street and there they were–those arched signed soaring high above the street and saying Welcome to Carnaby Street. I had a wander all the while becoming increasingly aware of the weight on my shoulders for en route, I had also found a Boots pharmacy from where I cleaned out a sale on Dove Silken Glow Body Wash–perhaps the best buy ever in toiletries and the only hand soap you will ever find in our bathrooms back home. With its sophisticated French perfume you might think you had paid a small fortune each time you squirt a bit on your palm. You would be wrong. One Mission Well Accomplished!

More Disappointments in Store:

The idea was to deposit my loaded sack back home on Abbey Road and find transport to Highgate for my 1. 45 pm tour. But although the spirit was willing, the flesh succumbed to jetlag; and still cold-clogged, sleep-deprived me felt a bit light-headed as I left my flat to try to find my way there. Not being so familiar with North London and the network of Tubes and buses there, I made some terrible mistakes as I followed maps (no GPS on my internet once I step out of the house, remember?) and before I knew it, I was at Swiss Cottage trying to find a cab to get me there on time. No such luck! Not a cab was in sight as I trudged along and bus drivers are nowhere as helpful as they once used to be–they seemed never to have heard of Highgate Cemetery and certainly did not know how to point me in the next direction. I was tired and sleepy and frustrated and knew I could not get there on time. It was time for Plan B.

More Retail Therapy on Elizabeth Street:

I had stopped to fix myself a sandwich when home and it was on a Green Park bench back in the city, watched by crafty pigeons and craftier squirrels, that I ate it and gave myself a bit of a rest. Then, I was on the Tube again and headed to Sloan Square and Elizabeth Street to indulge in a treat for which I had waited a very long time–15 months to be precise: being introduced to Jo Loves, the new avatar of my favorite perfumier, Jo Malone. She opened her one and only store exactly one month after I last left  London the last time and the Number One item on my agenda was a visit to her store for an introduction to her new line.

In the able hands of Michael, I had my skin painted with brushes laden with body creme. Strips of card were sprayed with her new works of sensual art: Pomelo, Green Orange and Coriander, A Shot of Sweet Peas, Pink Vetiver (my favorite), A Shot of Thai Lime over Mango. Ceramic Tagines gave me the experience of stepping into a fragrant steaming bath–Jo calls it caviar for the bath tube. Being the expert marketer she is, she would. They went on and on. Inspired by her travels (in Thailand, in New York and by the store next-door, a florist, where she had begun her working life in retail), Michael did a competent job enticing me. I had thought, knowing “Jo” as if she were my best friend or sister, I would absolutely adore them all. But nothing of the sort happened and but for two, I was left not too enthused. Perhaps it will take my nose and my psyche a while to make the transition. We shall see. I was presented with sample strips although no real sample phials were given, and off I went down Elizabeth Street which on a less freezing day would, no doubt, offer more enticements.

Off to King’s Cross:

It was time to touch base with my friend Rosemary whom I know as Roz who was meeting me at King’s Cross for our evening together. The Victoria Line took me directly to the spot she suggested: the Square in front of the station near the Henry Moore sculpture (added recently). I was early, I needed the loo, I decided to wander into the  newly-refurbished Renaissance  Hotel to see the spectacular stairway that a fond long-time Londoner claimed was his favorite place in the entire city (I can’t remember who). Thank you dear Sir John Betjeman for saving this gorgeous building from destruction. It has, despite all restrictions, been artfully converted into a modern hotel. Today, its corridors gleam, its Gothic windows offer views of a busy street that sees hordes spilling out by the minute and bars galore, named suitably The Gilbert Scott (the original Victorian architect) and The Betjeman Arms (after the 20th century poet who saved it) allow the passer-by to enjoy a drink and a sit-down. I used the lovely loo, as intended, before making my way to the square where, five minutes later, I had a lovely reunion with Roz just off work.

Laser Lights Festival at Canary Wharf–Not!!!

It was time for a warming cup of tea in the station concourse and before long, we were catching up at Leon over steaming paper glasses–why has London succumbed to such trashy New York ways? Where are the civilized ceramic pots of tea that you could only find in the UK when you ordered tea please? So many changes and some not quite appealing enough!

Then, we were on the Tube headed to Canary Wharf. Roz had been justifiably doubtful about the Lights Show that the Visit Britain tweet had recommended throughout the month of January. But I was the foreigner and she was indulgent. Canary Wharf was not her favorite place, but there were lights and  there was a Carluccio’s, so why not, she said???

Only there really wasn’t very much to impress. Trees still sport their ice-blue strings of lights but I suspect those have been left over since Christmas. That said, if there were lights were wanted, there were thousands–from the soaring skyscrapers that formed a concrete well-illuminated city. In the park nearby, whose ingeniously-designed gushing fountains sported a few floating discs of light that changed color cutely by the minute, there were some lights.  But the laser projections on the building walls and on the river that I had expected were nowhere in sight.

Dinner Time at Carluccio’s:

It was time for some serious eating to compensate for our disappointment and Carluccio’s never disappoints (why Mr. Carluccio, do you not leap over the Atlantic and come to America?). We chose the Primi and Secondi specials for 10.99 pounds each–the kind of deal you can never dream of finding in America. And how well we chose too! We had two starters of caponata that were served bruschetta-style over warmed goat’s cheese and toast points to be laden with chicken pate and the most divine caramelized oinions. Over glasses of red wine, we had ourselves a most decadent first course and being the conscious, careful eaters we are (we talked mostly about food after we had discussed family and work doings!), we seriously wondered whether we could do justice to our mains: polenta with slow-cooked beef ragu poured all over it (delicioso!) and al dente served penne pasta with spicy Italian sausage. Predictably, we enjoyed both courses immensely but could only pick. Needless to say, we skipped on the dolci (my favorite course, always foregone, sadly) and then we were out of the maze that is the malls and the corporate offices and on the Jubilee Line headed home.

I was exhausted and 10.00 pm when I put key through door (I had hopped off at Baker Street and switched to a bus that dropped me right opposite my building instead of having to walk from the Tube station down Grove End Road), it was all I could do to greet my hosts (little Jonas was already in bed) and crash.

Retail Therapy had provided little solace but meeting my friend and catching up with her is always a pleasure and it somewhat made up for the cold, the lack of goodies to take back home and the fact of getting hopelessly lost in trying to find Highgate. The only silver lining was that the clerk at the cemetery had sympathized with my situation and, through a phone call, offered me the tour tomorrow.

Until then, cheerio!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Highgate Cemetery, Kenwood House and A Get-Together at Sushil’s

Jun11

Wednesday, June 10, 2009
London

I decided to visit Highgate Cemetery because travel writer Billy Bryson had raved about it on his video Notes from a Small Island. He had said that it was as good a place as any other to begin an exploration of the history of London as so many eminent figures from her colorful past were buried in this graveyard. Having surveyed Brompton Cemetery at the end of last year and been deeply impressed by the quality of the funerary statuary on the grave stones, I had decided that Highgate would be just as significant and off I went.

Remnants of the Dick Wittington Legend:
I have to say that Highgate Cemetery is not the easiest part of London to get to–for one thing, it involves a long bus ride or a Tube ride to Archway. Then there is a steep climb up a hill that is fatiguing and not considered very interesting. What made it fascinating for me, however, were the many reminders of the life of Dick Wittingdon scattered around the neighborhood. There was the Wittington Stone, for instance, with a black stone cat perched upon it. Carved on the stone were the dates during which Wittington was Lord Mayor of London (four times–in the 1300-1400s).

Just a little ahead lay the Turn Again Pub–the obvious reference being to the Bells of Bow Church which pealed, “Turn Again Wittington, Lord Mayor of London”. And further up, I saw another reference to Wittington at The Wittington Arms Pub. Well, then, my curiosity could not be quelled any longer and I inquired of a female passer-by: “Why all these references to Wittington?” And she responded,, “Well, when he ran away from London, it seems he arrived here on Highgate Hill and sat down on a stone because he was weary. It was at this point that he heard the bells of a church ring out “Turn Again, Wittington, Lord Mayor of London”. So, since it was on Highgate Hill that Wittington was inspired to return home, the place is chocful of reminders of that fateful day. Charming indeed and it made the trudge up that dreary hill on a rather dreary day (it was drizzling almost non-stop) tolerable.

Just when I thought I would be climbing forever, I passed by a stately mansion called Lauderdale House which was, for a short time, the residence of Nell Gwynne, beloved mistress of Charles II (remember the famous line, “Be Kind to poor Nell”–the instruction that the King left on his death-bed to ensure that she would be well looked after following his passing).

Just a few yards ahead, I saw the tempting entrance to a garden–a green oasis that beckoned. Unable to resist entry, I asked a strolling passer-by if the path through the garden (called Waterlow Park) would lead me to Highgate Cemetery. “Yes”, I was told. “Just follow this path and you will see a gate leading to the cemetery”. A few people walked in the park with their dogs, and toddlers skipped around in their little wellies–despite the bad weather–so I did not feel uneasy about being all alone in a wide open space.

Discovering Highgate Cemetery:
Before long, I was at the gate of the cemetery which is divided into two parts. The Western side (the older part) was closed and can only be visited on a guided tour that is given once a day at noon costing five pounds. The Eastern side (the newer part) can be visited for a 3 pound fee. I paid up at the entrance, received directions from the clerk there, though when I asked if there were any graves that I absolutely ought to see, she replied, rather airily, “Well, we don’t do fame”. She then went on to say, “It was only rich people in the 19th century that could afford to be buried in this cemetery…” She left her thought hanging in the air, but I guess her implication was that all human beings are equal in death and she couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to see the grave of one person and not another.

Well, I was hardly in the mood to be philosophical on a rainy morning and, leaving her to her sense of proprieties, I decided to try to find my own way to the graves of three people:
–Karl Marx
–George Eliot (Mary Ann Cross Evans)
–Ralph Richardson (husband of Vanessa Redgrave and father of the late Natasha Richardson)

There were a few interesting bits of sculpture featuring angels and Celtic crosses right at the entrance which were rather worthy of a photograph. Some of the graves were beautifully landscaped, new roses bringing vivid dashes of color to the cemetery. Then, the lanes curved this way and that and it really was a matter of the lottery whether or not you would actually hit the grave you were seeking.

A leisurely ramble through the rather silent space brought me to the grave of Marx which is unmissable. There is a gigantic bust of the activist-philosopher atop a large pedestal which alone makes it the most prominent grave in the entire cemetery. Not too far away, a simple pink stone obelisk denotes the grave of Mary Ann Evans who had married a Mr. Cross and was known for a while as Mary Ann Cross. Of course, she is better known to us, her literary fan following, as George Eliot (the pseudonym under which she wrote). Her Middlemarch is one of my favorite novels in English Literature and it was more a matter of tribute to the writer rather than just tourist curiosity that took me to her final resting place.

I did not, however have the same luck trying to find the grave of Ralph Richardson and after wandering for a while past many Victorian graves but very few really noteworthy monuments, I returned to the main gate and then departed. I have since learned from my friends, Paul and Loulou, that the western side of the cemetery is certainly worth a visit on the guided tour as the mortuary sculpture is striking and far better than anything to be found in any other London cemetery. So, I shall, time permitting, try to make another trip there to catch the 12 noon tour one afternoon.

Following instructions from the clerk at the cemetery, I climbed another steep hill again that took me to Highgate Village where I caught a bus (the 210) that took me a few steps deeper into Hampstead to Kenwood House which was my next port of call.

The Glory of Kenwood House:
Another Robert Adam masterpiece (I have already seen Syon House and Osterley House, both on the Thames), Kenwood House came into the possession of Lord Guinness, the Earl of Iveagh (pronounced Ivor), in Ireland, who in 1927 bequeathed it to the nation with the clear stipulation that no money should be charged to any one wishing to view the fabulous art collection that he and his ancestors had amassed. Therefore, though it is managed today by the English Heritage, entry to Kenwood House is free of charge to the public. Because it is so close to the city of London and so easily accessible, I was surprised that I did not see more people on the afternoon that I was there.

My exploration of the extensive property that surrounds this marvelous 18th century mansion started at the Brew House Cafe where I ordered a cafe au lait and sat myself in the garden under one of the wide canvas umbrellas and ate my homemade parma ham and blue cheese sandwich and sipped my coffee which was wonderfully warming on the rather chilly day. Though the rain had stopped and blue skies had become evident by this point, it was still rather damp and I was glad I was exploring an indoor space.

And so began my exploration of Kenwood. It is a grand mansion to be sure, its imposing entrance beckoning the visitor with its Neo-Classical columns and a portico. Once inside, the Robert Adam entrance is enchanting and so easy to view as the ceiling is lower than most grand manors. This brought the plaster work almost within reach as also the medallion paintings by Italian Antonio Zucci who worked closely with Adam on these classical interiors.

A tour of the rest of Kenwood involves a leisurely walk through its magnificent rooms that are filled with Adam designed furniture pieces, a plethora of quality paintings featuring the English artistic giants of the era such as Sir Joshua Reynolds (there are loads of portraits by him) and several large canvasses by Thomas Gainsborough.

The Dining Room has the best collection of works centering around a totally charming canvas by Vermeer, one of only five Vermeers in Great Britain, entitled The Guitarist and supposedly a portrait of his 15 year old daughter. His wife had sold the painting to pay household bills and Vermeer was determined to gain it back–confirming scholarly opinion that it was quite possibly a portrait of his daughter that he wished to retain within the family. There is also a superb self-portrait of Rembrandt in middle age which I have seen reproduced a gazillion times in several different places. To see the real thing was for me so moving and the beautiful manner in which it has been lit truly did it justice.

The Robert Adam Library is really the high point of the house as is the Music Room, both of which have a clutch of high quality paintings and some really fabulous furniture. Everywhere, the collaboration between Robert Adam and Josiah Wedgwood was clearly evident as Wedgwood was so completely inspired by Adamesque interiors that he made his famous Jasperware in imitation of Adam’s look and for those of us who cannot have Robert Adam decorate a room, well, there is always Wedgwood pottery that can be purchased to replicate the feel of it!

Kenwood House also has a large collection of 17th and 18th century paintings of aristocrats close to the monarchy during what was its most turbulent time–The Puritan Overthrow of the Monarchy and its subsequent Restoration. This collection, known as the Suffolk Collection, is beautifully exhibited in a series of rooms and each of them has also been brilliantly curated. This allows the viewer to make a study of each one and receive a composite idea of the history of the period and the doings of its key players.

There is also a fascinating collection of 18th century shoe buckles–an accessory that played a very functional role, as well as a decorative one, at a time before laces came into vogue. Indeed, there are a series of paintings of the period that depict ladies and gentlemen wearing them on their high heeled, velvet-lined shoes, just as the presence of genuine old Turkish carpets are placed right beneath paintings in which they have been depicted. Called Lotto Carpets, they are named after the Italian Renaissance artist Lorenzo Lotto who usually portrayed his subjects standing on such Turkish gems and was able to replicate their intricacy so perfectly in his many works.

A word about the gardens: They are widespread and natural in the Capability Brown style–vast manicured lawns punctuated by occasional clumps of trees and the requisite lake not too far away. There were flower-beds filled with briar roses as well as the hot house varieties and large tall hedges formed out of rhododendron bushes that were blooming mauve the afternoon I visited. However, I was tired and unable to roam through the gardens though it was blissful enough to admire the property from the porch of the house.

So do go to Kenwood House if you can. I am surprised that I waited so long to get there. Though I have been meaning to visit this stately home for years, somehow I kept putting it off and how delighted I was that I finally did get to traipse through those marvelous rooms and see for myself how the other half lived in a bygone era.

A Get-Together at Sushil’s:
It was a long way home on the bus but I had enough time for a shower. I tried to get partied up as I had to attend a get-together at the home of my friend Sushil at Holborn on Theobald’s Road. Stepping into my new Prada shoes, I realized what a long time it has been since I have worn any kind of heels–my plantar fasciitis having forced me to live in flats! I was a little wobbly on my feet and rather nervous but the shoes were very comfortable indeed and despite the fact that I had to walk to the bus stop, jump into a bus on a day when the Tube strike was going strong and the crowds at the bus stops were chaotic, I did manage to get to Sushil’s which was just three stops away.

I had a great evening as the gathering featured folks I had met before and folks I was meeting for the first time. I had a long chat with two lovely girls named Isabella and Helen who have been friends of Sushil for a long time and share a flat in Greenwich. They were friendly and very interesting and we did hit it off quickly. My other new friends Mike Anderson and his wife Nirmala were there too as was Cecil and we had a good time as we remembered Sushil’s brother Romesh (whom I did not know) who passed away exactly a year ago. The get-together was a way of remembering his life and celebrating it and I felt privileged to be invited.

Sushil had been slaving for days to cook and clean and get his flat ready for the gathering. The red and white wine that Sushil had picked up on his “booze trip” to Calais, to which I had accompanied him several days ago, flowed copiously. There was rice and his signature beef curry, a dry fish fry, some fried chicken, a lovely delicious raita and a salad. And I realized how very long it has been since I have eaten Indian food on a regular basis. Funnily enough, I do not miss it at all. Indeed, my palate has become so cosmopolitan that unlike most Indians who simply cannot adjust to eating Continental food on a regular basis, I have taken to it almost without a thought. I realize that the only reason I eat Indian food at home in Connecticut is because Llew cannot do without his rice and curry. I, on the other hand, am more than happy with good Italian pasta, toasted sandwiches, hearty soups and salads and indeed that has become very much a part of my regular meals in London.

It was my friend Owen’s brother Matt who was driving back to Kent who gave Isabelle, Helen and myself a ride back home–they to Greenwich, me not even a mile away in Farringdon. When I got back home about 11. 30 pm, I discovered that Loulou and Paul had arrived sometime during the evening. We said a quick hullo and though they had a very early start, we made plans to meet over supper.

Brompton Cemetery, First Snowdrops and Yet More National Gallery

Jan16

Friday, January 16, 2009
London

A cemetery is not a place in which you want to get lost–and certainly not on a dull sunless day! So I did feel quite edgy at Brompton Cemetery this morning as I examined the grave stones and admired the sculpted statuary. I had first heard about Brompton Cemetery from Bill Bryson’s video version of his famous travel book called Notes From a Small Island and when I passed by its gates while in a bus, a few weeks ago, I decided that I would explore it when I could.

As it turned out, the cemetery was deserted. But for a few dog-walkers and cyclists who studiously ignored the signs posted everywhere that said “No Cyclists”, there was no one around. The sun was conspicuous by its absence and while I was in the cemetery between the two gates that flank Brompton and Old Brompton Roads, it actually started to spritz–thankfully this spray lasted only a few minutes.

Brompton Cemetery, designed by Benjamin Baud, is one of the finest Victorian cemeteries in the UK. Several well-known Londoners are buried here such as the suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst and there are walking tours given by “The Friends of Brompton Cemetery”, twice a month on Saturdays. The grounds are laid out in a formal style and there is a chapel, built in Neo-Classical design, in the center that is surrounded by private family tombs. Though it is still a working cemetery, most of the burials were carried out from the mid-1800s to the mid-1900s.

What I found most interesting is the fact that Beatrix Potter is said to have taken the names of many of her animal characters from tombstones in the cemetery as she lived in a nearby complex called The Boltons. Without a map it was impossible for me to find the prominent Victorians buried here, so you can imagine how delighted I was to discover that when I paused to take a picture of a particularly well designed gravestone of an artillery officer who died in World War I, I found myself bang in front of a tombstone of a certain Mr. Nutkins! Other characters in Potter’s work, such as Mr. McGregor, Tod and Jeremiah Fisher also have namesakes in these burial grounds. Though this is hardly the kind of venue that might be considered a tourist site, I found myself enjoying the peacefulness of my surroundings and it was hard to believe that I was in the midst of Earl’s Court in the bustling village of Kensington.

It is easy to understand why Potter was inspired by this space for in the absence of human beings, there were a large number of furred and feathered friends keeping me company. Fat squirrels with bushy tails followed me everywhere, pink (yes, pink) pigeons were perched on angelic gravestones and I even saw a raven right besides a grave that had been freshly decorated with a bouquet of very brightly colored flowers.

And talking about flowers, I was so delighted to come upon my first ever snowdrops, the tiny little white flowers whose drooping heads are so-called because they bloom even in the midst of blankets of snow. In the United States, these flowers are rarely seen (I have certainly never seen them except in pictures). When I found them ringing the periphery of a gravestone, I gasped, then bent down closely to examine them before I took pictures to immortalize this moment. Snowdrops are also said to be Nature’s first sign of the arrival of spring and if that be true, then it won’t be long before other more colorful flowers will bloom everywhere.

It wasn’t long before I caught a bus that brought me to Trafalgar Square where I spent the afternoon examining the work of Dutch painters of the 17th century including Rembrandt. I took a much-needed rest at the computers where I have been trying to find the locations of the paintings cataloged and explained by Homan Potterton in his Guide to the National Gallery. When I finished this task, I started my exploration through the galleries and was especially struck by the work of Franz Hals and Vermeer. And, of course, I paused for a very long time to admire my favorite painting in the entire gallery–Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Deflt. Though this is only a small painting, I find it exquisite in its portayal of detail. The ordinary life of middle-class Dutchwomen during the 19th century is so evocative that it never fails to hold me spellbound every time I feast my eyes on it.

By 5 pm, London was draped in a dark shroud and it was time to get back on the bus home. I paused at Foyle’s, perhaps London’s most famous bookshop, on Shaftesbury Avenue and browsed through some of their current titles, then stopped off at Sainsburys to buy a few groceries, before I made my way home to write this blog.

I am still waking in the wee hours of the morning (4. 10 am today) but I forced myself to return to sleep and then awoke at 5. 45 am only to discover that I still did not have Internet connectivity. I was on the phone with an Indian call center assistant who called himself ‘John’, who informed me that my connection was rather weak and that I should call again after 8 am. This time, I spoke to an assistant with an Afro-French accent who apologized and told me that the technicians at Virgin Media are aware of my problems and will try to fix them as soon as possible. Since it was still early in the day I sat down to tackle my Scotland scrapbook and by 9.30 am, all my pictures were mounted in my album. Now all that’s left is captioning of the photos and I will be done.

I then turned to the designing of my South Asian Civilization course as an independent study module and had a great deal of fun working out challenging assignments for the 2 students who will take my class through occasional tutorials and a monthly ‘lecture’ style meeting. This took me over an hour to accomplish, so that by the time I went in for my shower it was past noon. I only got out of the house today about 12. 45 pm which left me with only four hours of daylight to play with. That’s when it occurred to me that a visit to Brompton Cemetery might be the best thing to do–and off I went!

It was a rather unusual way to spend an afternoon but I have no regrets. Now all I have to do is visit the other famous London cemetery, Highgate, and that I shall do when it gets a little warmer.