Tag Archive | Jubilee Walk

Museum of Gardens and Wandering in Wapping

Monday, June 15, 2009
London

I love museums and I love gardens (and gardening); so it was only natural that I should make an attempt to see the Museum of Gardens on the south side of the Thames near Lambeth Bridge. I had wandered, by happenstance, through this spot, a few weeks ago, on the Jubilee Walk and had decided to come back, time permitting.

So, though I spent the morning transcribing an interview I did with Valentine in Wembley, bringing email correspondence up to date, taking a shower and preparing a packed lunch before I left the house at 1. 30pm, I manage to make the time this afternoon to get to the Museum. For some reason, I thought that Lambeth Bridge was really far away–must have been because the last time I had walked to it from Central London, and it had taken what seemed like ages to get there.

Dallying in the Museum of Gardens:
The Museum of Gardens is located in a most unique setting–the former, now deconsecrated, Church of St. Mary’s at Lambeth which dates from the 1500s. It sits right next door to Lambeth Palace (which is probably now used only as administrative buildings). The church was converted into a museum in 1977 when the tombs of the two John Trancesdants, father and son, famous Renaissance gardeners, were found in the churchyard. It was decided to honor their contribution to horticulture by creating a garden and a museum of gardens around their tombstones. These rather faded reminders of their time on earth still stand in the church yard but they are surrounded by a wonderful Elizabethan Knot Garden about which, I am sure, they would be delighted.

My Metropolitan Museum ID card was honored at this spot and I was able to get in for free. It is a really small museum and I don’t understand what can justify the entry fee of six pounds. On the ground floor, there is a wonderful current special exhibition called The Highgrove Florilegium–apparently, this is a horticultural term for an attempt to capture on paper through paint a visual representation of every specimen of fruit, flower and plant available in a single garden. It is a custom, it seems, that has persisted for many centuries. This current one, is an attempt to do the same at the Gardens of Highgrove, the estate occupied by Charles, Prince of Wales, and his wife Camilla, which is close to the town of Tetbury. The Prince invited botanical artists from around the world to his gardens. They created their work (almost all of them quite brilliantly,I might add) and the originals were then printed and bound in two huge volumes that comprise the Highgrove Florilegium. These are both on display in this exhibition–one closed, the other open, to show the exquisite quality of the printed reproductions as well as the marbled jacket design. On the walls, in this small exhibit, are about sixty of the original framed botanical paintings and they are quite superbly done.

My next item of interest was the cafe through which I walked to get out into the Knot Garden. There were several people who had arrived there before me. They found themselves chairs and garden tables and sipped their coffee slowly on what was another glorious summer’s day in London. I found a stone bench placed right beneath an interesting stone sculpture that remembers the contribution of the garden’s founders and munched on my sandwich of blue cheese, parma ham, tomato and lettuce on walnut bread. It was delicious and very satisfying indeed and my view of the garden was superlative.

With lunch done, I walked around the lovely knot garden taking many pictures. Elizabethan Knot Gardens were planned around a complicated formal design formed by yew and boxwood hedges. The spaces left in-between the curlicues of these patterns were then filled with a variety of flowering plants. I was delighted to notice that the flowers that we usually see in the States only in the middle of July are already here in full bloom–lavender (loads of it), foxgloves and delphiniums, hydrangeas, roses, many different varieties of salvia and the loveliest poppies (in vivid red, soft pink and deep purple) that grow tall and stately in this country.

I really do feel pleased with myself that I planned my adventures in London so well. In the heart of winter when it was cold, snowing or pouring chilly rain, I closeted myself in the city’s museums and studied gallery after gallery with the utmost pleasure. Now that the weather is so perfect, I am exploring her outdoor marvels–and since the English love gardens with such a passion and lavish so much time and sweat equity on them, they are always delightful, no matter how simple. In the next couple of days, I will be visiting a few more gardens, each of which is a different example of the types of gardening and landscaping techniques that influenced the rest of the world.

Upstairs, the museum has its permanent collection on display–this is nothing to shout about. It is a random sample of gardening tools, seed packets through the decades and paintings featuring gardens. I was very pleased to see two things: a special stained glass window inserted into the original Gothic tracery of the church window featuring the Transcendant brothers at various tasks in the garden and the original desk of the famous English gardener Gertrude Jekyll who was best known for her color artistry in the flower bed. She worked closely with her friend Edwin Lutyens (architect of New Delhi and landscape designer) to create beautiful gardens during the Edwardian age. This desk was designed by her and used in her study for several decades.

I did browse also around the shop but apart from a few interesting books, there was nothing really to write home about. I left the Museum of Gardens in about an hour and a half and but for the fact that the entry fee is so steep, I would encourage anyone who lived or worked in the area to make the time to simply linger among the scented flowers in the Knot Garden.

Loads of Luck at the National Theater:
The next item on my agenda was a visit to the National Gallery where I hoped very much to be able to exchange the tickets I had purchased to see Helen Mirren in Phedre. Now these are probably the hottest theater tickets of the entire summer season and I had been so delighted to find them on the very last day–August 1 (the show has since been extended for another three weeks, due to public demand). However, since I am leaving the UK to return to the USA on July 31, I could not, of course, use the tickets I had booked. When I had called the theater to find out if they could help me, all they offered was to take them back for theater credit–no money would be returned to me.

I might have given up and simply sold them to a friend…but then I met Matt, my NYU colleague, who is also a press theater critic. He suggested I go personally to the theater and find out if they would exchange them for me. Hence, my mission. I have to say I went there with very slim hopes and a prayer on my lips–not only was I hoping to find tickets that had been returned by someone (fat chance!) but on one of the 2-3 nights only on which both Llew and I would be free and in London to use them.

Well, I guess the theater gods were rooting for me because not only were 2 tickets available but I did actually get them on an evening when we would both be in London together and had no plans already lined up!!! How fortunate was that???!!! I could have kissed the clerk except that he was so forbidding! Well, a few minutes later, I was walking out of the theater with a new set of tickets. So Llew and I will be seeing Phedre together after all and as the Bard would have said, All’s Well That Ends Well!

A Walk in Wapping:
The very first time I had heard of Wapping was on a walk with my former neighbors Tim and Barbara way back in September of last year. They had invited me to join them on a long walk along the Thames Path to the dockside settlement of Wapping for a Chinese lunch at the Pearl River Restaurant that offered lovely views of Canary Wharf across the Thames.

Well, this time I went there with the intention of taking the second last self-guided walk in my book Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London. This one began at the Shadwell Docklands Light Railway Station but I realized that I could also get there on the red buses–and that was what I did. A bus to Aldwych, another one to Aldgate and a third to Shadwell deposited me exactly where I wanted to begin.

I have to say that this was one of the strangest London walks I have taken. For one thing, it took me into parts of the city that were largely deserted, but never scary. I was starting the walk rather late in the day (it was 4. 50 when I began). But then it remains bright until at least 8. 00 pm which left me ample time to do the 3. 5 miles walk.

For the most part, I skirted the Thames Path, winding in and out of the Docks (St. Katherine’s Dock, Tobacco Dock, Oliver’s Wharf, etc.) from where the extensive trading that made Great Britain great was carried out! At Tobacco Wharf, for instance, tea, tobacco, silks, china, etc. were loaded on to ships that travelled far and wide around the globe. The tea that was unceremoniously dumped into Boston Harbor during that infamous ‘Tea Party’ was probably loaded here! Today, the area is completely deserted though two replica tea clippers with interesting figureheads stand in dry dock. I noticed that a lot of the buildings–former warehouses–have been refurbished and converted into offices–there were interior designers and graphic artists with premises in the area…but it hasn’t yet caught on fully as a feasible site for contemporary trading.

I loved the very narrow alleys that ended in Old Stairs and New Stairs that led down to the Thames–because the tide was in, I could not see the golden sand that forms a beach along the banks. However, it was so easy to imagine how busy those alleys and stairs might have been in a previous era when most traffic in London was conducted along the river and not on the roads–the river was faster and far safer. I could so easily imagine women travelers lifting their voluminous skirts as they climbed those embankments that would lead them to their homes after a shopping spree in London.

In those days, these were busy parts, bustling with human activity and commercial enterprise. Pubs and inns dotted the waterfront and remnants of that feverish past are evident in a couple of watering holes that still stand such as the Town of Ramsgate, the Jack Smith and The Prospect of Whitby–the last is the city’s oldest waterfront pub. I had to go inside and check out the unique bar–a stainless steel counter that sits on top of great oak kegs of beer. Outside, from the terrace, you can actually see the gallows with a noose in place that gives a sinister hint of the pub’s less salubrious past. There is a huge Ingelnook fireplace and cubby-hole like rooms complete with exposed beams and a low hung ceiling–this is the kind of place you see in films that recreate the Elizabethan era. There were tables and chairs sprinkled on the waterfront terrace and I ordered myself half a pint of Guinness and took a long rest from my long walk. Nothing could have been more welcome (though I have to say that I was disappointed to find that the female Eastern European bar tender had no idea how to pour a draft Guinness and did not leave it to rest for the requisite 118 seconds to let the head settle before filling it to the top).

Earlier in the walk, I had visited the Church of St. George in the East–a Nicholas Hawksmoor church (he was a student of Sir Christopher Wren and is responsible for a few landmark churches in the city) that was bombed during the Blitz and then reconstructed within the old shell. It is quite ingeniously done, the two bits seamlessly yoked together. As with all old churches, the tombstones have been moved to the periphery of graveyards that have been converted into play space for the neighborhood children (most of whom were Bangladeshi, if one went by their dress and the Bengali language they spoke, for the area is also crammed with apartment buildings and council house developments).

Overall, it was a very interesting walk indeed. The streets are narrow and almost entirely cobbled–this provides the old world charm that makes the place look completely different from anything in Central London. Some streets have the old gas light lamp posts and the aged look of quarters that have known a great deal of history. I would strongly suggest an exploration of these parts. They evoke a time and a world that is so different from our own and are yet so intrinsically a part of this city and its developing fortunes through the centuries.

I was back home at 7. 30, which allowed me to catch up with my email, write this blog, eat my dinner and complete a couple of pending chores.

The Amazing Roman Amphitheater in the Guildhall Art Gallery

May30

Friday, May 29, 2009
London

I am finally getting to the end of The Order of the Phoenix (which is turning out to be the most challenging book I have ever read!). After my morning laptop routine (checking email, proofreading my blog), I had my breakfast (croissants with the last of the preserves in my fridge as I am still in clear-out mode). I showered and headed off to my office at Bedford Square.

The paperwork goes on despite the fact that I am now officially done for the year. I had loads of papers to print out in connection with expense reimbursements. Next, I spent a good hour trying to get more Anglo-Indians to give me dates for interviews and succeeded with about six more. I badly need about ten more Anglo-Indians to make this research project valid, so if you are an Anglo-Indian and you are reading this blog, I need your help. Please try to get me some more folks who would be willing to speak with me in the next six weeks. I would be most obliged if you would email me and let me know where and how I could contact these people so that my study will become valid.

I had intended to spend one hour in my office but when I looked at my watch, two of them had passed! The corridors at our NYU campus are quiet, almost deserted with all our students having returned to the States. Life seems very different now on campus and the silence is somewhat deafening. I enjoyed working in my lovely basement office with the sun streaming in and watching the rest of the world (and the red buses) go by and I am pleased that I can continue to use this space all summer long.

Off to the Guildhall Art Gallery:
Then I was on the Number 8 bus headed to King Street and Cheapside where I hopped off; but not before I picked up a Meal Deal at Tesco (1 Prawn Sandwich, 1 packet of crackers plus 1 bottle of water at 2 pounds must be the cheapest deal in town!) and sat down to eat on a stone bench facing the ornate Guildhall with other office-goers and pigeons for company. As I gazed upon the Guildhall I realized how similar it is, architecturally speaking, to the guildhalls I had seen in Belgium–both in Brussels and in Bruges. It appears almost church-like but then you realize that there is no cross anywhere to denote any religious significance.

When I had finished eating, I walked into the Guildhall Art Gallery which is free to visitors every Friday. I went through security and then mounted the steps of a building that though built only in the early 1990s blends perfectly in design with the much older Guildhall in whose premises it is located. There is a certain austere grandeur about the Main Gallery which is lined with oil portraits of the Lord Mayors of London who functioned from this building before the new Thames-side one was designed and built by Sir Norman Foster–the oddly-shaped glass cone that feels as if it is collapsing on one side like a misshapen pud!

Anyway, these Lord Mayors are all dressed in their ceremonial robes which include ermine fur-lined cloaks and scepters–almost royalty! It is always great to walk through the centuries through these portraits and to see how fashion changed as time went by–the 18th century folks always distinguished by their elaborately powdered wigs,the 19th century guys with their luxuriant facial hair! There is a rather forbidding Carrara marble sculpture of Baroness Thatcher who looks for all the world like the ‘Iron Lady’ she was nicknamed. The Hall is dominated by a battle scene by John Singleton Copley entitled ‘The Deafeat of the Floating Batteries 1783-91′ featuring the Siege of Gibraltar–which is depicted in several canvasses all over the place. Among the ones I found more interesting than the others was the Diamond Jubilee celebration for Queen Victoria in 1903 in which Her Majesty, splendid in her widow’s weeds and seated in the golden carriage, arrives at the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral where the special service was conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury while all of Victoria’s “foreign’ (meaning European) relatives looked on.

When you descend to the lower floors of the Art Gallery, you come upon some really interesting art work that goes beyond portraiture. There are works by the Pre-Raphaelite School, for instance, and a particularly striking one is by Dante Gabriel Rosseti entitled La Ghirlandata painted in 1873 (of Jane Morris, wife of his friend and fellow Pre-Raphaelite William Morris, with whom he was secretly in love) and a number of really lovely oil paintings by English painters of whom I have never heard. One outstanding one entiteld The Music Lesson by Frederick, Lord Leighton (of whom I have heard, of course) portrayed womanhood in two of its most exquisite forms–through twin portraits of an extraordinarily beautiful woman and an unrealistically pretty child busy with a lute. Their clothing is ethereally Oriental and proof of the impact of the Middle East upon Leighton’s imagination. (I feel sorry that his home in the heart of London is under renovation and will be closed until October of this year. I shall have to visit it on a future encounter with this city!). The gallery is beautifully laid out with most of it constructed underground, so that you descend lower and lower into its depths as you progress into the 20th century. There are also some abstract works in the Modern section.

Making the Acquaintance of Trevor Chamberlaine:
Then, I found myself in a section of the museum where I made the acquaintance of a contemporary British artist of whom I never knew before–Trevor Chamberlaine. He has a retrospective special exhibition going on right now entitled ‘London and Beyond’ and it was quite the most heavenly part of my day. Considering that I have spent the best part of the last year combing every last secret corner of the city and traveling widely all over Europe, this exhibition seemed like the cherry on my sundae (and I said in the Visitors Book). Indeed, Chamberlaine’s unique talent has captured London in its many moods (yes, including times when it is shrouded by mist and sprayed by rain) from ‘Shopping on Old Brompton Road’ (in oils) to ‘Thames Towpath at Richmond’ (in watercolors). Having been to almost all these places, having personally treaded upon the cobbled stones of all these streets, having traversed her riverways and looked upon her infinite variety from a number of perspectives, I was in Paradise as I walked through this Must See exhibition. If you love London at all, if you relate instantly and warmly to realistic depictions of spaces, if you like your art plain, uncomplicated and immediately comprehensible, this exhibition is for you. All I can wish is that I had enough money to take home a little piece of Chamberlaine’s work with me to the States to always remind me of the most marvelous year I have had here.

And it is not just London or other parts of the UK that Chamberlaine has presenged. Indeed, in five rooms, he has taken us on a tour of the world, his subjects ranging from the bazaars of Old Tehran, Iran, to the smaller villages of Armenia; from the Ganges and her ghats at Udaipur to the curlicued wooden buildings of Prague and Krakow. While waterscapes are definitely his forte (and there are many beaches, lakes, ponds, even fountains), Chamberlaine’s perspective encompasses the globe and his curious mind is captured by people in a variety of garb (from burquas and colorful saris to pin striped suits). Get to this exhibition really quickly and take home a clutch of images that will always remain in your heart as I know they will remain in mine.

London’s Recently-Discovered Roman Amphitheater:
So I thought I was going to see some paintings themed around the administration of the city of London. Imagine my shock when I found myself entering the archeological remains of what was London’s long suspected Roman amphitheater–discovered only when the foundation for the Guildhall Art Gallery was being dug! Helllloooo!!!! I mean just imagine the excitement that might have ensued at the time (the early 1990s). A Roman amphitheater in the heart of London! Who Knew???? Here they are imagining they are in the process of building a new art gallery for our times when suddenly they come upon the sand and stones of two millennia ago–with so much of the original circular wall still standing. I bet they were stunned!

So to understand how significant this find is one ought to remember that the Romans conquered England in 43 AD and called their settlement on the rainy island Londinium. By 47 AD, they had established a base here and by 70 AD they had built an amphitheater exactly like the ones that are still standing in Rome (the Coliseum) and Arles (France) and Verona! It was long suspected that Londinium would have had an arena used for gladiatorial combat but nobody knew where this once was located! So this find, I would imagine, would be one of the most significant archaeological digs of the last century in London!

At any rate, the space is now fully protected by CCTV and there are dire warning everywhere that you are not to pick up a pebble if you do not wish to risk prosecution! As you walk deeper into the arena, sound effects automatically emerge (from sensors that detect your presence) and you are transported to an amphitheater complete with blood-thirsty thousands cheering on the gladiators (who, might very likely, have been battling wild animals given the Romans’ penchant for violent ‘sport’). For me, this is such a good example of the manner in which London reveals itself to me wondrously, one layer at a time, so that I often feel as if I am peeling away at the insides of an onion.

Success at the Post Office–At last!
I made it back to the Holborn Post Office at exactly 3 pm (having had Becky make me a few address labels in the morning) to attend to my boxes of books that were still sitting in their premises waiting for my arrival and the labels of which they had run out yesterday. Once again, the same Scots clerk (I LOVE her accent) helped me with the transaction which took all of half an hour!!! Can you imagine? I had to handwrite each address label (though I had fixed printed ones) and Customs declarations forms and then it was done–all 168 pounds of books and printed matter were sent back home to Southport, Connecticut, a total of 30 kilos. I have a lot of files which I have retained as my research will continue in my new flat when I shall spend a lot of time at the British Library (probably accumulating a lot more paper–darn!!!)

Back home, I tried to finish up all my packing as I am taking a joy ride to Calais, France, tomorrow, with my friend Sushil who is making a ferry crossing for some sizeable purchases in France. He has asked me to accompany him and so here finally is my chance to see the white cliffs of Dover once again, up close and personal. I had last seen them about 12 years ago when Llew and I had crossed the English Channel by ferry en route to Normandy where we had spent time with our friends there.

I am amazed at how much stuff I have accumulated in one year. I mean it is just never-ending. The boxes keep filling, my suitcases (all three of them) are full and I am wondering how I could possibly have accomplished this move if it were not for Chriselle’s friend Rahul who will be arriving at 7 pm tomorrow directly from a trip to Amsterdam to help me out and my friend Rosemary who will be lending me the services of her car!!! I mean, how could I possibly have done this? Truly, I have to be so grateful for all the help that has come pouring my way in the past year and I marvel, once more, at the hand of God that works in the strangest of ways. I mean I made contact with Rahul only two weeks ago when Chriselle was here and now I am relying on him to help me move!!!

I was really ready to do nothing more than write (my May newsletter) by the end of the evening and though I went into bed by 10 pm, I did not sleep until nearly midnight as I was still at work on my laptop writing away until the day ended.

Jubilee Walk Complete At Last!

May28

Wednesday, May 28, 2009
London

With only five days to go before I move out of this Holborn flat, the countdown has begun. I spent most of my day packing. In the morning, I made good headway with The Order of the Phoenix (still determined to finish it in the next couple of days!), then proofread my blog. I ate my cereal breakfast while watching TV and then started the arduous task of sorting through all my papers and files with the aim of getting rid of a lot of paper to reduce my moving loads.

It was while I was chatting on the phone with Llew that Robert from the real estate agency walked in with a prospective new tenant, a Chinese undergraduate student. They took a look at the place while I apologized for the mess as there are boxes in every room. However, they were out rather quickly and I was able to return to my packing.

When I was satisfied that I had done enough, I decided to eat an early lunch, then go out and enjoy the lovely day–indeed it was warmer than I can remember and I felt as if I were in Southport in the middle of summer! I grabbed a copy of my Jubilee Walk map and off I went intending to mail out the books I had packed yesterday later in the afternoon.

Because I had to return a book to the Holborn Public Library, I went past Gray’s Inn today instead of taking Gray’s Inn Road as I normally do. The wine pink roses are in full bloom in the gardens surrounding the sculpted figure in the first quadrangle and I couldn’t resist taking pictures because with my charger back in my possession, I can now take photos again. It was when I crossed a passage at the left of the quadrangle, that I saw the spacious Gray’s Inn Gardens and I realized immediately that I had seen this place before, a few years ago, when I had begun my walking tour of Legal London. I had not been able to enter the gardens then as the large wrought iron gates were locked; but today, I could enter at my leisure and spend a while sauntering through the lovely flower beds along with the large number of office-goers who were munching their sandwich lunches on the benches and the lawns. How lovely it is to know that I have these gardens only a few steps away from my home! All this time, living here on High Holborn, I did not know that these gardens existed or that they were so close to my building! Of course, I had to make the discovery just five days before I move out!!!

Once I gave my book in, I walked to Holborn Tube Station from where I began the last bit of the Jubilee Walk–Part 7. Considering that the entire walk is 14 miles long, I walked an average of 2 miles in each installment. The walk today took me into Great Queen Street past the massive Freemason’s Lodge and on to Drury Lane. From there, it was just a hop across into Covent Garden where I found a food market in full swing–of course, I could not resist enjoying a few ‘tasters’–there were all kinds of savory dips and oils and spreads and full scale lunches that could be had for the asking. Having eaten my lunch, however, I only had room for a few nibbles but the majority of them were delicious.

And then on I went along King Street to the Royal Opera House and the side street that leads on to St. Martin’s Lane and then Charing Cross Lane. From there, it was only a few steps to the Half Price Theater Tickets Booth at Leicester Square where I had begun the Jubilee Walk a few weeks ago. Interestingly, the film at the Odeon Theater had changed–it now showed Angels and Demons. I decided to take a different route home and walked along The Strand pausing frequently to window shop before I found my way back to my building.

I have to say that I’ve had the best time on the Jubilee Walk. It became a mission to spot those silver disks set in the pavements and though I never did find the lone golden one that is somewhere in the East End, I was pleased that I had traversed some of London’s most beloved routes and seen some of her most recognizable monuments on this quest. There is one more item can can now tick off on my List of Things to Do in London!

Disappointment at the Post Office:
Then, with the help of Arben, my concierge, who brought me a dolly, I carted my five boxes off to the Holborn Post Office in the Ryman’s stationary shop in my building. The lady who informed me about Global Priority Mail for books and printed matter helped me again today but discovered, to her embarrassment, that she did not have enough labels to affix to my packages! She told me to return again tomorrow when she will ensure that she gets more labels. I returned home with my task unfinished and another item that I will have to complete tomorrow!

Back home, it was packing time again–this time all my closet items went into the largest and roomiest of my suitcases. When almost everything was finished, the doorbell rang. It was Elizabeth from the real estate agency who had called around to find out if all was going well with my move and if there was anything that required her attention. It was nice to meet her finally after the year-long correspondence we have had via email. She did not stay long–just wanted to ensure that I had no outstanding bills and wondered if I would care to give her a forwarding address.

After she left, I felt downcast again–those withdrawal symptoms manifesting themselves rather strongly. I sat down to have an early dinner and watched some TV still disappointed to know that there are a lot of things that have yet to be boxed.

Still, as Scarlett O’Hara put it, “Tomorrow is another day…”

Bloomsbury on Jubilee Walk (Part 6) and Dinner with Friends

May25

Monday, May 25, 2009
London

Holborn was lifeless as May Bank Holiday Monday dawned. I stayed in bed for a long while catching up with The Order of the Phoenix as I am determined to finish it by the end of this month. The trouble with books that weigh a ton, as the later Potter books do, is that they are not mobile–I simply don’t want to carry them around with me anywhere–which means I only read them at home by my bedside. This is why it is taking me forever to finish this one. My blog and my email kept me busy for the next hour and it was only much later, which Holborn continued to remain stubbornly silent, that I ate my cereal breakfast while watching the last bits of The Breakfast Show.

Needless to say, I finally had to get down to the sad task of beginning my packing. I felt oddly lethargic–a clear sign that Withdrawal Symptoms are beginning to manifest themselves at the thought that I will have to leave from her at the end of this week. It was with deep reluctance that I packed up all the clothes I do not believe I will need for the next two months and put them into one of my suitcases. I probably will not need to open this one at all. With my wardrobe pruned down to the barest minimum, my clooset now looks very empty indeed.

Packing up my kitchen things was a lot more challenging. Checking my freezer to find out how best to clear it up, I discovered two lots of plain cooked wholewheat pasta and I realized that I will need to shop for some ingredients so that I can cook them tomorrow and take some cooked food off with me to my new place which I can then place in the freezer there, I hope. I am also emptying out my fridge…so but for milk and my preserves, there is not much else left in there.

I badly need boxes to clear up the rest of my stuff–stationary items, my costume jewelery, loads and loads of paper (how DO we accumulate so much of that stuff?) and a few books that I will need for the months of June and July. Martha and Arben are off today, so I must catch them tomorrow as Martha has promised me some boxes. I am weighing all my books and files as I place them in the boxes I do have with me as the guy at Royal Mail informed me that there is a special rate for books and printed material packed in boxes that are no longer than 60 cms, no more than 90 cms overall and that weigh no more than 5 kgs each (I am making mental conversions all the time as my America digital bathroom weighing scale is marked in pounds and ounces!).

After lunch (pasta with vegetables and a cup of soup–still trying to finish supplies in my pantry), I decided to read some more Potter and felt more lethargic. Before I knew it, my eyes had closed and I was taking a nap–something I haven’t done in ALL these months! (more Withdrawal Symptoms, I guess). Luckily, I awoke within the hour and decided to go out and continue my Jubilee Walk Adventures–Part 6 of them.

Jubilee Walk Adventures–Part 6:
This bit took me through my own backyard, so to speak, as I began at next-door Brownlow Street which, I discovered is no wider than an alley and into a most delightful street called Bedford Row. This one is lined on both sides with typical London Georgian terraced housing and on this delightful spring afternoon, with the flowers from the tress that line it having shed their white petals all along the footpaths, it looked absolutely heavenly. There was a spring in my step as I pranced along and made another discovery–Bedford Street ended on the Theobalds Road side just opposite my friend Sushil’s building–and I would be seeing him in the evening! So, in other works, I found another way to get to his place instead of walking along Gray’s Inn Road. I just love it when I make these sudden discoveries!

I pressed along Great James Street and arrived at a Blue Plaque that announced the residence of detective story writer Dorothy Sayers whose mysteries starring her creations Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, I have enjoyed a great deal on DVD through my Westport Public Library. Sayers had an extraordinary life for a woman of her time and her personal life was fraught with the keeping of a secret–a terrible one in those days (the early 20th century)–of the hiding away of her illegitimate son. Though she did go on to marry, she never openly acknowledged the existence of her biological son (her only child) though she did have a close correspondence with him and made him the sole beneficiary of her estate in her will.

Born to a clergyman father at Christ Church College, Oxford, and to a mother who was rather advanced in years when Dorothy was born, meant that while she was able to study modern languages at Oxford and graduated with an MA (becoming one of the first women to receive the degree through Somerville College), she was also terrified of what her personal scandal would do to them. They died never knowing that she had given them a grand child! Her child was, for all intents and purposes, given up for adoption, his true parentage never made known to her closest family members. It is astounding to me that while carrying this enormous burden she was such a prolific writer and produced some of the earliest womens’ detective fiction of our time. To be able to stand on the very street on which Sayers spent so many creative years of her life and to know that she was married at the Holborn Civil Court just a few meters away (because her husband was a divorcee with two children and, therefore, could not marry in church) was oddly inspring to me and I discovered even more bounce in my step as I continued the walk.

How amazed I was to discover that I had actually walked parallel to Gray’s Inn Road all the while and was soon at the huge red brick facade of St. Pancras Station on Euston Road! And there just a few steps ahead was the British Library. Of course, everything was closed today, but there were much activity on the streets as I spied so many other visitors taking self-guided walks–the various books and maps they have in their hands and the manner in which they gaze up in wonder at buildings to take in architectural details always give them away!

Back through the maze of tree-shaded streets I went, arriving at lovely squares and flower-filled gardens such as Cartwright Gardens and Argyle Square and then I was passing by the Coram Fields Foundling Home Gardens (which adults can only enter in the company of child!–a lovely reversal of regulations) and then Brunswick Square and Gardens where so many folks lay sprawling on the grass taking late-afternoon naps or propping themsevles against tree trunks to read. I thought I really ought to be doing that too–making the most of this glorious spring sunshine by whiling away some time in the city’s gardens reading. I will never stop admiring the ingeniousness of the architectural concepts that led to the creation of these marvelous Georgian squares and gardens that pepper the city of London so liberally and give it such a distinct ambience. The only American city I know that comes close to this in structure and development is Savannah, Georgia, where architect James Orglethorpe created a city in which stately homes and gardens were built to surround a number of squares that allowed more greenery to flourish.

Before arriving at St. Pancras Station, I had passed by a really massive church–the Parish Church of St. Pancras–that has Egyptian caryatids as part of its exterior design , exactly like the ones to be found on the Erectheium near the Parthenon on the Acropolis in Athens. I discovered that Sunday Communion Services are held at this church at 10 am and I shall try to make every attempt to attend a service here sometime.

It was not long before I was leaving Euston Road behind me to walk down Gordon Square where I passed building after building belonging to the University of London (and which reminded me so much of the vast number of New York University buildings that have taken over Greenwich Village in Manhattan) and arrived at the other end where I found the most beautiful honey-toned Gothic Church. However, I could not find its entrance so I do not know its name. But curiosity did get the better of me and I promised myself I shall look it up on the net. Set in a quiet and very pretty square called Byng Square, I had begun to suspect that this church was in the vicinity that Virginia Woolf and other members of the Bloomsbury Group had once called home. In fact, the name Gordon Square began to ring a bell in my mind and I became determined to explore the houses set around the typical green lawn surrounded by wrought iron railings where I spied it: a dark brown plaque at No. 50 that announced that it was in this home and in the srruounding houses that the members of the Bloomsbury Group had lived in the early part of the 20th century. In fact, just besides this house, on the right was a Blue Plaque announcing the residence of Lytton Stratchey (I do love the film Carrington in which his asexual relationship with the artist Dora Carrington, played by Emma Thompson, is beautifully retold) and on the left hand side is a Blue Plaue announcing the residence of economist John Maynard Keynes. Even if I were to live in London for a decade, I would not tire of these facts upon which I stumble so suddenly as I take my walks through the richness of its literary history.

Then, I was skirting the Woborn Gardens directly behind the Birkbeck College building in which I held my afternoon classes all through the year. Cutting through the back of SOAS and the British Museum, I then decided to end my walk and get back home, past the large Sainsbury at Holborn from where I bought fresh vegetables and some cream for the pasta I will fix tomorrow.

Dinner with Sushil and his friends:
And then I was home, getting into the shower and dressed for my evening rendez-vous with some new friends that my friend Sushil had organized. He had sent me an email while I was in Lyon inviting me to dinner at Ciao Bella Restaurant on Lamb’s Conduit Street after drinks at his place at 6.30 pm. So off I went, walking through the Bedford Street shortcut I discovered this morning.

At Sushil’s place, I met Owen who happened to be an Anglo-Indian and a very worthy subject for my research inquiry. Owen lives in Kent and had driven a long way to join us. Just a few minutes later, along came Mike and Nirmala and over red wine, I got to know them a little bit. Owen and Mike were classmates of Sushil at Cathedral and John Connon School in Bombay and, therefore, went back a long long way, They were actually contemporaries of Salman Rushdie and remembered him well during their junior school years at Cathedral. Nirmala’s late brother was Rushdie’s batchmate as was the brother of yet another person I met later at the restaurant, Cecil, who is a physician in Ealing. Cecil arrived with his English wife Ann and we made a very jolly party at the restaurant as I learned more and more about my new friends.

Over shared appetizers (bruschetta and a wonderfully tender Italian salami) and wine and Perroni beer, we made our entree choices: Having had pasta at home at lunch, I kept the carbs off and ordered a Saltimboca which is one of my favorite Italian dishes–escalopes of veal served with pancetta and sage in a mushroom sauce. It was absolutely scrumptious and I finished every large piece on my plate–it was served with the most perfectly done roast potatoes (nobody can do roast potatoes like the English) and mixed vegetables and made a very hearty meal indeed. Little wonder that no one had room for ‘pudding’!

I was kept most amused and entertained throughout my meal by Mike who sat besides me and told me stories about his early life in Bobmay where he had lived until the age of 18, his English parents having found work with a British company called Ferguson’s. He kept lapsing into idiomatic Indian-English so easily and used words as part of his conversation that only an Indian raised in India would understand and appreciate. For instance, he cracked me up when he referred to a man in an Bombay club who arrived there each evening to be surroudned by “his chamchas”. To hear this term emerge from the mouth of a white Englishman sitting right there besides me in an Italian restaurant in London was so hilarious that I couldn’t stop laughing. It became very clear to me then that you can take the Boy out of Bombay but you cannot take Bombay out of the Boy!

We talked a bit about what Owen described as my own “schizophrenic life” over the last 20 years–living in the West with one toe in India. He asked me how I possibly managed it. There was some discussion when I announced that mentally and psychologically I don’t believe that I have ever really left India at all! My connections with the land of my birth are still so strong because of the work I do there, my areas of research interest, my frequent travels to the sub-continent and the strong ties I have continued to maintain with a host of folks–extended family members and friends–out there. While several of them marveled at this fact, they did acknowlegde what I have come to realize–that for most Indian immigrants to the UK, despite the fact that the two countries (India and England) are so much closer to each other (than India and the US) and air fares so much cheaper, immigration to Great Britain meant a virtual cutting off of ties, a complete burning of bridges, as it were. This is something I cannot even begin to conceive of and I recalled Rushdie who has spoken repeated in his essays and to me in person about the strong pull he always feels towards India, no matter where it is in the world that he chooses to make his home.

We returned to Sushil’s place in a gentle drizzle after our excellent meal. It was just a couple of blocks away and over more red wine, we chatted until well past midnight when Owen gave me a ride back home. Bank Holiday Monday had turned out to be perfectly wonderful for me and as I return to more work and chores tomorrow, I hope to start the week on a productive note by doing some cooking first thing tomorrow morning,

Sunday Service at the Church of St. Bartholomew the Less

May24

Sunday, May 24, 2009
London

On a day that led to a crick in my neck from the hours I spent at my laptop, I only set out in the morning to get to Church spending the rest of the day catching up with my blog and French travelogue. A breakfast of skimmed milk and Waitrose cereal with berries got me started and from then on, I was basically handcuffed to my computer.

Checking John Betjeman’s City of London Churches, I found out that the Church of St. Bartholomew the Less had a service at 11 am and that was the one I decided to attend. I have visited this church before on one of my self-guided walks, so it was its proximity to home that made my decision for me–I did not want to venture far away on this rather busy day nor did I have a bus pass that would allow me to take a long ride somewhere.

At 10. 45, I left my flat and walked briskly on what turned out to be a rather warm morning towards the Church. I arrived just as service was about to begin and found myself in a rather small but very sweet church which had just 10 people in its congregation. The vicar, one Ben, was waiting at the front to start conducting the service with the assistance of a female priest. I was warmly welcomed by a very attractive lady (whom I later learned was called Rosemarie) who pressed a service sheet and hymnal into my hand.

Every church service is different but this was most unusual in that the congregation remains seated throughout. Being new, I took my cues from those around me. The interior had been newly painted and the gilded decoration on the ceiling seemed spanking new. This contrasted quite vividly with the old monuments on the wall.

The Church of St. Bartholomew the Less is located in the grounds of the great Hospital of St. Bartholomew that surrounds it and serves as its parish. Was it because it was a holiday weekend that so few people had made it to church? Or is this customary, I wondered, as service began with a hymn. The organ at the side of the church was played at hymn time by a lady who seemed to have trouble reading the music. Few people sang and responses were barely audible. Unlike the rather grand churches I have been visiting for the past several months, this one seemed very subdued indeed.

After Communion, we were invited to coffee at the back of the church. I had a chance to chat with the Vicar. People have always been very welcoming at theses churches and I am repeatedly struck by their warmth. I understand now why the best way to make friends when you are a stranger in a community in England is to make a beeline for the local church–someone or the other will befriend you there and before you know it, you will have worked your way into the community.

At coffee, I met a number of rather interesting people such as the young man who called himself Nicholas and then proceeded to tell me that he was a fellow academic who taught English as a Foreign Language to foreign Law students at Queen Mary College of the University of London. He also turned out to be a history buff and a great lover of art and next thing I knew he was recommending all sort of places that I could go and see–such as the Thames Barrier (which I had been planning to visit) and the Main Hall of the adjoining hospital building which has a large painted roof by William Hogarth. One of my self-guided walks will be taking me to Chiswick where Hogarth’s House is on the route; but I figured it would be best to start off by taking a look at this painted roof.

It turns out that Hogarth once used to live in the neighborhood and worshiped at this church. He donated his work in the Main Hall, not charging a penny for his pains. I later found out that though the Hall is not open to the public, a hospital volunteer such as Rosemarie could get me in with her badge. We exchanged telephone numbers and have made tentative plans to visit it together on Wednesday–an outing to which I am very much looking forward.

Nicholas’ Dad, who was also present, is also a Tube buff and we spent a while talking about the Hogarth collection in the John Soanes Museum–his series entitled The Rake’s Progress is quite the most interesting collection in that fascinating space. Nicholas told me the story about Soanes’ sons who made fun of him through an anonymous article they wrote in a contemporary newspaper. When Soanes found out that it was his sons who had written so derogatorily about him, he disowned them, passing on his entire collection of architectural fragments to the City of London instead of disbursing his wealth among his sons. Good job he did that–this museum is one of the most amazing I have ever seen (and what’s more, you get double value for money as you actually walk through the rooms of Soanes’ own home and get to see how the moneyed gentry lived in the Victorian Age–which, for me, at least is a matter of undying interest). Soanes, by the way, was the architect of the Bank of England whose museum has also been recommended to me by a reader of this blog–and which I hope to get to really soon.

Of course, all this conversation occured over coffee and a chocolate biscuit–how very civilized! Before I left, another member of the congregation who happened to be from New Zealand, suggested that I visit the Church of St. Cuthbert’s in the Barbican. This was the church in which John Milton, the poet, was married. I promised to look it up on the internet. I have also passed by it on the Jubilee Walk and I was curious about it–except that it was closed and I could not peek into it at the time. I know where I shall be going next Sunday for church service! What a great time I am having seeing these churches and talking to the local parishioners.

Back home, I returned to my PC and worked steadily all day at my writing. It was about 9 pm when I had everything I wanted to remember about my travels in France and my impressions of the Chelsea Flower Show uploaded on to my blog. Time for a relaxing shower, a bit of dinner, some TV (I really enjoyed a show called Coast on the Blighty channel which took us to the east coast of Yorkshire to such beach resorts as Scarborough and Whitby–places which I have not visited but have heard James Herriot rave about in the book he wrote about the attractions of Yorkshire). It was great to learn about Whitby Jet–a kind of shale that is harvested from the hidden caves and grottoes by the water and which has been made into jewelry since the age of Victoria when she took to wearing it after the death of her beloved Albert. This led to a huge demand for the jewelry–who said it was Diana who set trends first? It seems the avid public has always allowed its fashion tastes to be dictated by royalty!

It was after midnight when I finally fell asleep with that annoying crick in my neck–a result, I am told, of stress!

I am sorry that this will be my very last week in this flat. I have adored my time here in Holborn and every second of this coming week will be precious to me as I have a heightened consciousness of the fact that I will probably never again have this incredible experience of having a London flat all to myself right in the very heart of the city. I am now determined to spend the coming week living completely in the moment savoring every second so that I can call them all to mind when I am far away and whenever I wish to think happy thoughts.

Sunday Service at All Hallows by The Tower and NYU Farewell Luncheon

May17

Sunday, May 17, 2009
London

For almost two weeks now, I have been waking up at a decent hour–which is to say, after 7 am. I am delighted that I am finally sleeping enough but sorry as it is robbing me of precious and very productive time. I have hardly made any headway with The Order of the Phoenix and I had hoped to finish it before I left for France–which is tomorrow. Still, I suppose I can’t have everything.

Today, I awoke at 7. 30, proofread my blog, checked my email and discovered that it was 8. 30 before I knew it. I had half a mind to get dressed quickly and go to St. Etheldreda’s for the 9 am Mass, but then I remembered my resolution–to discover a new London church every Sunday. So, off I went to my bookshelf from where I plucked out The Churches of London by Sir John Betjeman and browsing through the ones that I thought sounded most interesting, I finally zeroed on the Church of All Hallows By the Tower. A quick check on their website informed me that they had Communion Service at 11 am on Sundays and after eating a cereal breakfast (I tried a new Waitrose cereal full of berries that I do not care for at all) and taking a shower, I left my flat at 10. 30, walked over to Fleet Street from where I hopped into a Number 15 bus and made my way towards the Tower of London.

Sunday Service in London’s Oldest Church:
All Hallows By The Tower is simply the oldest church in the City of London. Indeed, there has been a church on this site since the year 675 AD when it was founded by the Saxon Abbey of Barking. An original arch from that church still survives and is embedded with Roman tiles. A very helpful usher pointed these out to me at the end of the 11 am. service which I attended.

Being so close in proximity to the Tower of London, the church dealt with numerous beheaded bodies such as those of Sir Thomas More, John Fisher and Archbishop Laud. Thomas More is known to have preached from its pulpit.

The church survived the Great Fire of London in 1588 which started in Pudding Lane just a few hundred yards from the church. In fact, it was from its tower that Samuel Pepys viewed the extensive catastrophe wrought upon the city together with his friend Admiral Penn (the father of William Penn, founder of the American state of Pennsylvania) . William Penn was baptised in this church in the magnificent marble font that is crowned with a stunning wooden carving of two cherubs clinging to corn sheaves and branches of hops–which Betjeman describes as the most exquisite church carving in the city–no marks for guessing that it is the work of Grindling Gibbons which I am now able to recognize as easily as the back of my hand and which I have grown to love deeply.

John Quincy Adams, sixth President of the United States, was married in this church and the museum in the undercroft holds the original church register turned to the page on which the sacrament is recorded. He married Louisa Catherine Johnson on July 26, 1797. This museum is superbly maintained and just as I have been struck repeatedly in the past by the manner in which the British have preserved every last artifact that they have unearthed over the years, so too in this space, I marveled at their gigantic love for history and their determination to pass on their legacy to the coming generations.

Also rather remarkable about this church is the uncovering of a Roman floor distinguished by a mosaic that is fainty visible. Restoration work is due to start shortly on this section of floor that is approached through the museum entrance.

As with all the churches of London, this one too suffered extensive damage during the blitz which left only the outer walls intact. These are easily evident as they bear all the scars of age–they are grime ridden and blackened with time, but, as Chriselle pointed out, they are deeply moving because they proclaim their history so effortlessly. This cannot be said of the pillars that support the nave of the church that are far newer. In fact, it was through the efforts of Vicar “Tubby” Clayton who managed to bring American support and money to the reconstruction of the church, that it was rebuilt and declared open by the late Queen Mother in 1948. The lamp of the Toc H movement that he founded can be seen in the Lady Chapel together with his effigy and body that rest in the church. This church is also notable for the grand organ upon which the famous Bach recordings by Albert Schweitzer were made–a fact that might thrill lovers of classical music.

With all this history behind me you can imagine how delighted I was to take my seat in one of the front pews this morning only to find that the pad on which I would cushion by knees was embroidered with a great big yellow crown and with the words “ER II–Golden Jubilee 2002”! I wondered if this was the very kneeler that Her Majesty might have used during one of her visits to the church–but probably not. It was just embroidered by a parishioner to commemorate the occasion. Still, I was thrilled to be accidentally assigned such a hallowed kneeler.

Imagine my surprise when the preacher turned out to be a fellow-American, one Jim Rosenthal, whose sermon had all the ingredients that make these Anglican sermons a sheer pleasure to listen to. It was amusing, thought-provoking and, as always, superbly delivered, filled with topical cultural allusions such a references to the lyrics of John Lennon (“All You Need is Love”) and Andrew Lloyd-Webber( “Love Changes Everything”). The entire service was almost word for word identical to the Catholic masses which I usually attend except that it was far more absorbing and interesting.

After the service, there was coffee and biscuits and time to socialize and I am very pleased to say that the Vicar , a Frenchman named Bertrand Olivier and the Associate Priest, one Jennie Hogan, both sought me out, recognizing that I was a stranger, welcomed me warmly into their midst and invited me to come back again. It is these personal touches that are totally lacking in the Catholic churches and that have endeared me very much to Anglican practices in this country.

I left the church at 12. 45 and caught one of the old Routemaster buses to make my way back home. I switched to a 17 that then brought me right up to Fetter Lane. It is amazing how at this stage too, I am learning about bus connections and changes that can bring me closer and closer to my ultimate destination. Indeed I have become so adept at making my way around London that Chriselle was deeply impressed by the ease with which I hopped in and out of buses as I combed the city with her.

Off to NYU’s Farewell Faculty Luncheon:
Then, I changed into something more summery–a dress after a very long time indeed–and thrilled that the morning’s rain had become history and that the sun was out and warm and cheering, I caught a bus and left for Bedford Square Gardens where our NYU Faculty Farewell Luncheon started at 1 pm. I arrived there about 1. 45 to find a sprinkling of familiar faces and some whose names I actually know. As always, I gravitate towards folks I have met at past faculty meetings and with a glass of white wine in my hand, I started to circulate.

It was not long before Yvonne announced that lunch was served–a nice variety of finger foods and “things on sticks” as Hyacinth Bucket of Keeping Up Appearances would describe them and and I spent the rest of the afternoon nibbling away in the company of some of my new faculty friends. I simply could not believe that the year has passed so quickly–it seems only yesterday that the Director was welcoming us to a new academic year at an orientation dinner at the Radisson Edwardian Hotel on Great Russel Street! It is just madness, the way time seems to pass faster as we grow older and the more fun we allow ourselves!

At 5 pm, after we had plied ourselves with one more last glass of champagne, we did disperse and I made my way home, only to have to return again to hand deliver my grades as I had forgotten to carry them with me. Since I am leaving for Lyon, France, tomorrow morning and will not be back till next Saturday, I did need to hand in my grades before my departure for my trip. I felt awfully sorry to say goodbye to so many of my colleagues, but I take consolation in the fact that I will see some of them (especially the administrative staff) during the months of June and July when I shall continue to use my basement office as my research continues.

Finally, I have to say that I am so enjoying my new oak desk and am pleased to be able to watch the world go by outside my living room window where I have placed it. It is the perfect height for my laptop computer and allows me to catch glimpses of the passing of life outside. I see people disappearing down the stairwell leading to Chancery Lane Tube Station and emerging from it; I see red buses (both the bendy and the tall ones) pass me by; I see a camera right outside my window (one of those thousands now sprinkled all over the city–Big Brother is watching our every movement in this city and it is rather unnerving); I see the coffee shop (Cafe Nero) and the Salad Bar (Chop’d); and, of course, I see the black and white exposed beams of the Tudor Staple Inn Building with its red roof and its tall chimneys and I think to myself, “Ah, This is England!” No doubt, tomorrow, when weekday life returns to High Holborn, I will see much more of the daily frenzy that characterizes life among London’s busy legal community, even in these rather depressed days. And I am glad I went with my gut feeling or impulse or whatever you want to call it and bought his darling desk in a cobbled street in Hampstead that I have grown so quickly to love.

One light dinner later (Stilton and Broccoli Soup, Pasta with Tomatoes and Sainsbury Tiramisu), I was ready to call it a night–but not before I set my alarm for 6 am for my 7 am departure for Victoria Bus Station for my National Express ride to Stanstead airport.

National Trust Houses in Hampstead–and Buying a Vintage Bureau/Desk

May16

Saturday, May 16, 2009
Hampstead, London

When I awoke this morning at 7 am, I thought it would be a weekend day like any other–I did not think I would end the day with a really valuable purchase. Of course, I had heaps of things to deal with, not the least of which was completing my grading and entering my grades into the sheets as I would like to hand them in tomorrow. I brewed myself a cafetiere of good Lavazza coffee and climbed back into bed which has become my favorite place to work in partly because this flat came without a desk of any kind. I had considered buying one in the very beginning when I first moved in here in August, but I always wondered how I would carry it home to the States and the item of furniture just simply never was purchased.

I also booked my tickets to get me to Stanstead airport on Monday for my flight to Lyon and then my return ticket for the trip from Gatwick next Saturday. I ended up buying one ticket on National Express, the other on Easybus as that was most economical!

More morning tasks involved downloading, editing and captioning the 145 pictures I took while Chriselle was here–all of which ate into my time and made me miss her terribly. My flat seemed curiously empty without her lively presence and I know I will always cherish the extraordinary week we spent together.

The sun peeped out, then disappeared, then peeped out again–all morning long. Every time it shone full upon the earth, I considered going outdoors to enjoy it and then the raindrops would fall and I would reconsider!

Finally, at about 1 pm, I finished most of the tasks on my To-Do List and decided to shower and step out. The day seemed too good to waste, so what the heck…there were a few walks left in my book that I wished to complete. My idea was to get to Hampstead Heath to see the properties run by the National Trust as I do have an annual Royal Oaks Foundation Membership (the American equivalent). But God, what a time I had getting there! There was some march on; so no buses were running along High Holborn. I walked to Holborn only to find that there were no buses plying along Kingsway either. I had no choice but to take the Tube–I had preferred not to as I have a bus pass and it is, by far, the most economical way to travel around London. Well, I reached Bond Street and was all set to transfer to the Jubilee line when I heard announcements stating that the Jubilee Line was not in service this weekend. Darn! Well, then I started to think of the most creative ways to get there, and long story short, I reached Hampstead Heath at 3. 15 pm after making at least 3 bus changes!

Heavenly Hampstead:
Deciding not to waste any more time, I headed straight for Fenton House which is run by the National Trust. It is reached by a very easy uphill climb from Hampstead Tube Station. By the afternoon, the weather which seemed not to be able to make up its mind had cleared completely and the sun shone beautifully upon one of the prettiest parts of London. I do not know any other capital city (well, maybe Paris) where you need travel no more than ten miles to find yourself in the midst of bucolic rustic lanes and carefully cultivated gardens–so that the urban landscape seems far away in the distance.

Hampstead hasn’t changed at all since the 1700s when it first attracted the elite, thanks mainly to its views. During the Victorian Age, the grand red brick buildings proliferated, bringing a stately elegance to the maze of narrow cobbled streets that fringe the vast expanses of the Heath–an open park-like space that offers arresting views of the city including, far away in the hazy blue yonder, the outlines of the London Eye.

Fenton House and Garden:
Fenton House is a 17the century brick home with classic lines set in a stunning formal garden.
I left my rather heavy bag at the door and began my exploration through one of the most heartwarming properties of the National Trust that I have seen so far. The house has a complicated history but it derives its name from James Fenton who owned it in the late 1700s. His portrait hangs at the entrance as if sizing up every visitor–and I heard from one of the guides that there are 15,000 per year that come through that impressive porch. They have been doing so since 1952 when the Trust took over the House–which has resulted in frequent changes of the carpeting!

The home is very tastefully furnished in the style of the 18th century. Minimalism is the order of the day and despite the fact that the house is a receptacle for some of the most beautiful collections I have seen in recent times–mainly keyboard instruments and porcelain–they are so skillfully corralled in a variety of vitrines, wall units and cabinets that there is not the slightest sense of ‘clutter’ to mar the visitor’s enjoyment of the domestic space. I have learned a great deal from these visits to old English country homes and I am determined now to take some of these lessons in interior decoration home with me to Southport, Connecticut, and to incorporate them into my own domestic decor. I have always loved the English country style, of course, and our Southport home is decorated very much in that vernacular…but I feel I have miles to go.

Here, dark furniture, large occasional porcelain pieces and china accessories, oil paintings and subtle watercolors lend their charm to the rooms. John Fowler (of the English interior decorating firm of Colefax and Fowler) is responsible for the decoration of one of the rooms–his signature yellow is evident on the walls as are the floral drapes and sofa upholstery. There is also a John Fowler wallpaper design that climbs the main stairwell that goes by the name of Prickly Pear! Now, how very English is that!!!

Of course, for a lover of porcelain like myself, there can be no more breathtaking space than a home that includes the work of every prominent European factory including Chelsea and Meissen. There were human figurines, animals, cottages, tableaux–each of which told a story–birds, flowers, fruit. You name it, George Salting collected it, then bequeathed his collection to his niece, Lady Katherine Binning, who added to the collection. The end result is a marvelous treasure trove of painted and fired delights that stirred my imagination and thrilled me no end. The depth of color and the quality of the glazes were superior and proclaimed their price–and at the lower end were the Staffordshire animals that were once mass produced and given away as prizes at country fairs then used to garnish the mantelpieces of humble rustic cottages. These too found a way into Lady Binnings’ heart and were accumulated with pleasure.

For the musician and historian, the gaggle of keyboard and stringed instruments would be equally enthralling for there was a spinet, a virginal, a harpsichord, a lute, a hurdy-gurdy and other old world pieces that are valuable not merely for their historic significance but for the decorative touches that distinguish them.

The rooms are superbly laid out and seem almost lived-in–yes, that’s what I most loved about this house. I did not feel as if I was in a museum but in a real home that had once been inhabited and loved by real people. Everything about this house is worthy of a visit–indeed a second visit and perhaps I might return as I do love Hampstead dearly and I fall in love with it a little more each time I visit. I have the happiest memories of solitary walks taken along its serene streets and of sitting on benches on Parliament Hill as lights fell softly over the city at dusk.

After I had explored the three lovely floors of Fenton House, I stepped out into the garden that includes a beautiful apple orchard, rows of gently waving catmint in full blue bloom and, in the heart of summer, fragrant lavender bushes. There are neat topiaries shaped into curvaceous orbs and fanciful pyramids…and benches everywhere, coaxing the visitor to sit awhile and take in the quiet splendour of these surroundings. I was completely enchanted and it was with difficulty that I tore myself away to go on and explore the second property that is close at hand and also owned by the National Trust.

The Goldfingers’ Domain–Modernism at 2 Willow Road:
But much as I wanted to linger, I did want to get to 2 Willow Road, another National Trust property that is located just a ten minute walk from Fenton House. It pays to remember that though the closing time at these homes is listed as 5 pm, last entry is 4. 30–so I had to tear off in a massive hurry to make the deadline!

I knew nothing about these homes before I set foot in them, which is what made my rambles in them even more adventurous. Willow Road could not have been more different from Fenton House. This is an example of a Modernist home–one that went on to influence a great deal of the homes that were subsequently built in London. Owned by Budapest-born architect Erno Goldfinger who made London his home following his marriage to artist Ursula Blackwell (an heiress of the famous Crosse and Blackwell English pickle company). They had met in Paris early in the 20th century, fallen madly in love, and spent the next fifty odd years together in this interesting home overlooking the Heath. And yes, Ian Fleming (who was known to Erno) did name one of his James Bond novels after this extraordinary man.

Of course, for a traditionalist such as myself, this home was fascinating only in the most academic sense as I simply do not identify with this aesthetic. It is basically a glass and concrete block with little exterior embellishment to catch the eye. Indeed, it sits rather incongruously in a block of pretty homes and appeared from the outside like a primary school building.

However, it was interesting to learn (through a film) about the vision and life of this couple who shared artistic inclinations and created a synergistic relationship that was manifested in the company they kept in Hampstead among other artists and writers and in the unique home they created together.

Here too, three storeys take the visitor on an engaging journey into the heart of a marriage. The Goldfingers raised three lovely children in this home and garden–they are interviewed in the film and they speak candidly of their lives as children with their visionary parents for company. The house is also filled with contemporary paintings as Ursula had trained in Paris and knew a few of the artists who became big names as the century marched on–such as Max Ernst and Frank Leger. There are Henry Moores in the house as Moore was a good friend of the couple as were Barbara Hepworth and Ben Nicholson who also started their careers in Hampstead before they moved to St. Ives in Cornwall. Much as I took in everything I saw, I found it difficult to connect with the space–though I have to say that having lived for almost a year in this small, minimalist London flat with its stark white walls and Ikea style furniture, I do see the virtue in living with little. Even Chriselle who lives in a crowded one-bedroom apartment commented on how serene my flat made her feel mentally. Yes, there is a great deal to be said about fighting the urge to accumulate–a virtue that my sister-in-law Lalita has mastered. There is certainly much of my Connecticut clutter that will disappear when I get back home at the end of the summer. When I am not writing, perhaps I shall spend the coming fall de-cluttering!

‘Mystery in Hampstead’ Walk:
After 5 pm when the house closed, I turned to the ‘Mystery in Hampstead’ Walk in my book 24 Great Walks in London and followed it through some of the most delightful lanes such as Flask Walk and Downshire Hill, all of which skirted the Heath. I passed by a home that was once lived in by John Constable who, when he left his beloved Stour Valley in Suffolk behind to earn a livelihood as a portraitist in London, made his home in Hampstead.

Everywhere I walked, the air was fragrant with the scents of a million wisteria petals that hung in copious bunches from grey vines. Rhododendrons are beginning to bloom in a variety of hot, torrid shades from magenta to purple. The lavish fronds of the chestnut plumes are beginning to fade away but I have had my fill of them over the past several weeks and am ready now for the coming attractions of summer–such as deep red roses that I have started to see climbing stone walls and waving at me from gate posts. I cannot wait for the full-blown flowers of the summer.

I passed the homes of more rich and famous people who over the centuries have added to the varied landscape of Hampstead’s intellectual life from Daphne du Maurier’s theater manager father Gerald to John Galsworthy to Admiral Barton who, on the roof of his three storyed home, built a quarter master’s deck and fired a canon to celebrate royal birthdays–an occurrence that led author P. L.Travers to base Admiral Boom’s home in Mary Poppins on this fanciful property.
Of course, Hampstead is synonymous with the name of my favorite poet John Keats but since I have visited his home before–the one in which he composed my favorite poem of all time (Ode to a Nightingale) and fell in love with his next-door neighbor, the lovely Fanny Brawne, to whom he became engaged but could not marry as tuberculosis claimed him prematurely in Rome. Through all these quiet country lanes, as you pass by the grave-filled yard of a stone church or peek into the flower-filled front garden of a rectory, you will fancy yourself a Victorian or Edwardian maiden who picks up her parasol and lifts her skirts gingerly as she traverses the pathways of her home turf. It is only when you venture a little outside London and explore these country lanes that you realize why walking was such a favored activity in the old days. It is my great love for walking (among a host of other things–not the least of which is my fondness for keeping a diary!) that convinces me that in a past life I must have lived in England at the turn of the 20th century!

Spying a Vintage Desk in Flask Walk:
Then, just when I was homeward bound, at the end of the long walk, I happened upon a narrow cobbled lane and decided on impulse to explore it–Flask Walk is peculiarly named but is quite charming indeed. It was then that I spied it–the most beautiful oak bureau-desk with a pull-down lid, a warren of cubby-holes within and three narrow drawers in the base. I stopped dead in my tracks thinking, “This is exactly the kind of desk I have been looking for all year long!” Just as my mind was racing ahead wondering how I could possibly transport it home, I noticed that the dealer, a brusque woman named Jackie who was smoking like a chimney, was packing up for the day.

The desk stood rather forlornly all my itself and I simply could not pass it by. I did not dare to ask for the price as I expected it to be in the hundreds of pounds. When I did pluck up the courage to approach the dealer for the price after gazing at it longingly for a few minutes, I thought I had misheard her. I asked her again and when she told me the price, you could have knocked me down with a feather. She was almost giving it away as a gift!!! I wasted no time at all in telling her that I would have it. I was so afraid that she would change her mind. It was then that I asked if she could hold it for me until I made arrangements to have it picked up.

“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Holborn”, I said.
“Oh, just put in a black cab, darlin”, she said.

I began contemplating my choices, when a man stepped forward and said he would take it home for me. Mind you, it was only later when we were chatting in his car on the way to my flat that I discovered that Matt did this for me purely as a favor as the ride had taken him right out of his way since he lived in Hampstead and not in the city as I had assumed. This was surely my lucky day, I thought, as we agreed on a price for delivery, the bureau changed hands and was placed in the trunk of his van. He took me home and helped me to load it into the elevator in my building and brought it inside my flat for me. All the way home, we talked about places that would be able to ship it home for me to the States. I guess I have my work cut out for me in the next few days as I figure out the best (and least pricey!) way to get this marvelous piece home.

Oh, and I forgot to say that what sold me on the piece was the linen fold carving in the front panels–the same linen-fold panelling that is all over the walls of Hampton Court Palace and Sutton House in the East End (which I have talked about in an earlier entry). That and the acorn-shaped pulls on the drawers did it. I simply had to have the piece–it would be my big England purchase and one that I will always remember as I sit and write the rest of my life away.

I spent the evening pruning through my books and files. There are several I am going to leave behind in London and tons of paper I will need to toss as I start to pack for my end of month move. Since the bulk of these items will go as Printed Material by Royal Mail at a special rate and the majority of my clothes will be carried in my suitcases on the flight back, I am hoping I will have enough shipping allowance left to transport my vintage bureau home. It may not be a hundred years old (and, therefore, not technically an antique) but it is certainly antiquated (probably dating from the early 1930s) and at the price I paid for it, I could not have gone wrong.

I was tired when I sat to eat my dinner (alone, after a long while) as I watched the Eurovision contest on BBC 1–a huge European cultural event and one about which we hear practically nothing in the States. By the time I wrote this blog, it was a little after midnight and I was ready to hit the sack very pleased with myself indeed about where serendipity had led me this afternoon.

London Pass with Chriselle–Day Three

May10

Sunday, May 10, 2009
London

Both Chriselle and I awoke around 7 am today having had difficulty dropping off to sleep. Still rather jetlagged, she was groggy in the morning. Knowing, however, that I did want to catch the 8 am. Communion Service at Westminster Abbey, she was quick on the uptake and within a half hour, we left my flat for the short walk to Fleet Street from where we took Bus 15 to Westminster Abbey while the rest of the city was still sound asleep.

Communion Service at Westminster Abbey:
The service was quick, quiet and rather sparsely attended. What made it special, however, was not just the female celebrant (a rather unusual sight for Chriselle though something I have become accustomed to in England) but the fact that the church was just splendidly decorated with flowers in breathtaking vignettes, each of which depicted a creative theme. We discovered, at the very end, from the female vicar, that it was the result of the work of the members of the National Association of Flower Arrangers who come in once a year to transform the Abbey entirely. At any rate, it made a magnificent backdrop for Chriselle’s first church service in the UK and I was glad she had a chance to see this sight.

A Visit to Westminster Cathedral:
Then, because we were so close to it, I suggested we make a visit to Westminster Cathedral, the Catholic church down the road whose Byzantine style architecture, both inside and out, make it quite stunning indeed. Mass was almost ending when we walked in, which allowed us a few minutes to pray quietly for my mother (since it is Mother’s Day today in the USA). Chriselle did think the church was special and completely different in style and structure from the Gothic Westminster Abbey from which we had just emerged. It is becoming increasingly astounding to her, as we traverse the city, how brilliant is the architecture of each structure we pass and she said to me, just this morning, “Mum, I see what you mean. Every time we round a corner, my eyes feast upon yet another striking building that I feel compelled to explore”. I think she is slowly beginning to understand why I have always nursed such a passion for this city.

A quick visit to Starbucks saw us emerge with mocha lattes that were superb in our empty stomachs until I made an idiot of myself by dropping a large quantity of it all the way down my grey cashmere cardigan while in the bus on the way home. Fortunately, we were only a few meters from home and I was able to rush to my sink and get the worst of it off within minutes.

It was during breakfast that Chriselle wished me a Happy Mother’s Day and presented me with a truly beautiful card whose words were deeply moving primarily because it seemed as if she had written the printed words in them herself. Ever since she has been a young teenager, Chriselle has managed to find me cards that have seemed deeply relevant to that special phase in my life and this year, with me spending so much time away from her in London, the words in the card reflected perfectly well her feelings at being so distant from me. It was a poignant moment indeed and I was close to tears–both at the depth of her feelings and her candid and very lovely expression of them. I thank God for her and bless her and feel profoundly enriched by her presence in my life, especially since I have spent most of the last year on my own. Indeed, if I was delighted to have Llew with me at Easter, I thought it was superbly significant that I had Chriselle with me on Mother’s Day and I felt as if a very special Providence had brought us together at this time.

The Tower of London:
With breakfast done (toasted rolls with Boursin cheese and coffee), we set out on our adventures for the day, heading again to Fleet Street to catch a bus to the Tower of London. To our great good luck, one of those lovely old Routemasters came trundling along, allowing us to climb to the upper deck on those old-fashioned spiral steps (as in the Bombay buses) and take our seats in the front. It was not long before we got off at the Tower, but not before I pointed out to her the remains of the old Roman Wall of what was called Londinium.

The lines at the Tower were daunting but we were relieved to discover that London Pass holders could go directly to the entrance where we joined one of the Beefeaters (Yeoman Guards) on a guided tour of the main attractions of the vast complex that comprises the Tower. As usual, we were informed and entertained by these well-trained folks who took us through some of the most important and grizzly parts of British History as we moved from one courtyard to the next. Highlights, of course, include Traitor’s Gate (through which so many political prisoners accused of treason were led to the Tower), The Tudor courtyard in which the ravens with trimmed wings are plentiful (folklore has it that when the ravens have all flown away, the White Tower will collapse), and the block upon which so many historical figures including Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey were executed.

When I had last visited the Tower, 22 years ago, the original wooden block had remained in position evoking an eerie sense of the gruesome executions that had taken place upon the spot. On this visit, we found a sculpture by Brian Catling with a lovely few lines engraved all around a glass disc that said:

Gentle visitor, pause awhile
Where you stand
Death cut away the light of many days
Here jewelled names were broken
From the vivid thread of life
May they rest in peace while we walk the generations
Around their strife and courage
Under these restless skies.

A rather lovely way, really, of remembering those personnages from history who, in most cases, met an unjust death.

It was time then, for us to join the eager hordes queuing up at the entrance to the Tower that contains the Crown Jewels. Walking through the many rooms that took us deep into the chamber with its steel reinforced doors where the most precious Jewels are kept, we saw three short films, all of which depicted the occasions upon which the jewelled signs and symbols of the British monarchy were used. Everyone gasps, of course, when they see the Cullinan Diamond in the sceptre and the Koh-i-noor diamond in the crown of the late Queen Mother. But there are emeralds and rubies and sapphires the size of small eggs that are just as stunning and in beholding the magnificent workmanship of these items, we felt as if we had received our money’s worth.

A visit to the Princes Tower showed us more crowns and scepters and maces and trumpets and all such other items associated with the coronation of England’s monarchs. Chriselle,whose knowledge of British history, is rather hazy, is slowly beginning to put them in chronological order as she discovers bits and pieces of their colorful lives. It is a great deal to drink in at one go but she is slowly processing it all and asking me a lot of very relevant questions.

The last thing we needed to see at the Tower was the White Tower itself, one of the oldest parts of the building which is currently playing host to a special exhibit on Henry VIII rather appropriately entitled Dressed to Kill. We saw a large amount of contemporary armor but I was disappointed as I had hoped to see some of his courtly robes–none of which have survived, I suppose. Still, over all, we saw a variety of items in the Tower that could easily have allowed us to spend the entire day there if we had done the tours at leisure.

The Tower Bridge and Exhibition:
A call home to my mother in Bombay to wish her for Mother’s Day punctuated our day after which we sat on a bench eating our lunch time sandwiches as we were starving again. Then, having rested our rather aching feet, we set out in search of the City Cruises Pier to catch the next ferry to Greenwich. When we discovered that the next one was due to leave 45 minutes later, it was Chriselle who suggested we use the time to walk over Tower Bridge.

The London Pass allowed us to enter the Tower Bridge Exhibition and we then treated ourselves to the next half hour learning about the ingenious engineering that went into its design for the Bridge needed to satisfy the sense of aesthetics of the Victorian cohort that was involved in granting the commission for its construction as well as the ability to sustain human and vehicular traffic while opening up to allow for the passage of tall ships. A tall order indeed!

When construction began, teams of divers dug into the soft clay that is the base of the River Thames and the construction of the two posts began. Two short films that we saw before and after crossing the east and west walkways, 142 feet over the river, introduced us to the intricacy of design and scientific precision that allowed for its construction as well as the creation of the mechanism of the drawbridge. From the walkways, we had views of the city stretching all the way down the curving Thames to the glass and concrete skyscrapers of Canary Wharf and the O2 stadium at Greenwich as well a the domes of Sir Christopher Wren’s National Maritime College. It was truly a marvelous tour and we are so glad we found the time to take it. The tour also included a visit to the Engine Room but we were worn out and needed to make our way to the boat in order not to miss the next sailing.

Thames Cruise to Greenwich:
We did not have the best guide on our way to Greenwich. I have taken this cruise before (in September with my students) when I had found the commentary quite compelling. Still, Chriselle who listened carefully, laughed a great deal at his jokes and found him amusing. What made the cruise special for me was the incredible weather–indeed we could not have asked for a better day to mess around on a river! The last time I had taken this cruise it was cold and rainy and miserable and today, it was spectacular. We bought ourselves a cold beer on board and split the bottle as we enjoyed the sail and when the domes of Greenwich came into view, we made our way down to the pier to be able to get off as quickly as possible.

Our first stop was the National Maritime College which allowed Chriselle to take in the grandeur of Wren’s architecture and notice his indebtedness to the classical structures of Greece and Rome. In this space, I made sure she saw The superb Painted Hall by Thornhill where the frescoed ceiling and walls are supposed to be second only to the work of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel. Right opposite is the Chapel where the plasterwork on the ceiling is so stupendous that it is reminiscent of the Jasperware produced by Josiah Wedgwood in his factories at Stoke-on-Trent. Chriselle loved every bit of these buildings and took a number of pictures. By this point, however, she was feeling rather beat having been on the go for three whole days and not quite having recovered from jetlag.

The Royal Observatory and the Prime Meridian:
Still, she decided that we should bravely press on and pass the Queen’s Palace in front of the Park where the Royal Observatory is located. We were struck by the tourist crowds everywhere though a lot seemed like local folks enjoying a Sunday in the Park with their Kids! At the Royal Observatory, we made a bee-line for the Prime Meridian and had to take some funky pictures which standing astride it with our feet in alternate hemispheres. We decided to skip a look at the vast variety of clocks that were on display here and take a breather instead in the park were we spent a long while resting and relaxing and massaging our aching muscles while watching picnicers enjoying their strawberries and cream, their pasta salads and chilled beer.

When we felt ready for the next bout of walking, we set out again–this time we nipped into the National Maritime Museum as I did want Chriselle to have a look at the uniform of Lord Nelson which became bloodstained at the Battle of Trafalgar where he was wounded and passed away. Having seen this exhibit, as well as Lord Frederic’s gilded barge, we made our way outside and basked again in the golden sunrays.

At the pier, Chriselle had a horrid experience having stopped to sample some spreads and condiments from a market stall. She picked up what she thought was a sun-dried tomato only to discover that it was a pickled jalapeno pepper that had her hyperventilating though she spat it out almost as soon as she popped it into her mouth. The fortunate part was she had asked me only a second before if I wanted to share it with her and I had declined! What a good job I did! The next thing I know I was plying her with chocolate that I found in my bag and ten agonizing minutes later, she returned to normal!

We took the stairs then that led us to the Greenwich Tunnel, passageway that runs under the River Thames, another remarkable feat of late Victorian engineering (built in 1902) that I wanted her to experience. Over on the other side, after a short ten minute walk, we took the elevator up hoping to catch the Docklands Light Railway to Green Park where we had Afternoon Tea reservations at The Wolsley Hotel–we thought it significant that since it was Mother’s Day, we could have Tea together in this grand place.

Only by this stage, Chriselle felt seriously out-of-sorts and we decided we would perhaps abandon our plans. What finally nixed it for us was the dislocation of the rail network that closed the DLR down, put us on the Tube (Jubilee Line) at Canary Wharf where we discovered that we could only go as far as London Bridge and, what was worse, the Piccadilly Line wasn’t running either. That was it!

Dinner with Tim and Barbara:
We got off at King’s Cross and took Bus 45 and got back home where Chriselle crawled straight into bed and went off to sleep. Two hours later, after I had dealt with my email and tried to reschedule my visit to Paris, we dressed and went over next door to my neighbors’ flat. Chriselle was keen to meet Tim and Barbara about whom she has heard so much–both from me and Llew! In keeping with his reputation for hospitality and generosity, Tim opened a bottle of Harrod’s bubbly and passed around grilled and marinaded artichoke hearts–delicious! It wasn’t long before we were invited to stay for dinner–pepperoni pizza and steamed asparagus, the latter impeccably seasoned with lemon juice and sprinkled with grated parmesan. It went down a treat. With chocolate cheesecake, Tim’s own homemade strawberry sorbet and fresh strawberries, we had a truly fine meal and the company of two of the most interesting friends I have made in London. As always, Tim and Barbara entertained us with their jokes and stories and it was with difficulty that we tore ourselves away from their flat and called an end to the evening.

We promise ourselves a less strenuous day tomorrow but are pleased that we made the best possible use of our London Passes–something that we would recommend without hesitation to anyone planning a visit to London for the first time.

Welcome Chriselle! And Jubilee Walk–Part 5

May7

Thursday, May 7, 2009
London

After a whole week of glorious sunshine, it felt kind of odd to wake to a grey day–thankfully, not a rainy one. Most of my morning was spent cleaning my flat–and a thorough job I did of it too, even if I say so myself. Between scrubbing my sink and my granite counter tops, washing the bathroom and vacuuming the whole house, I had the whole place shipshape in a couple of days and sat back to enjoy the glow!

Email and the editing of another chapter for the anthology on Anglo-Indian Women took up the rest of the morning. I stopped for lunch briefly, then returned to finish the editing and revision of the piece before I curled up for a short nap.

When I awoke it was almost four and I decided to take on Part 5 of the Jubilee Walk. Hopping into the 55 bus that ran along Clerkenwell Road, I got off at Old Street, then made my way on foot to the Museum of London where I resumed the route. Today’s segment took me through parts of the city I have grown to know very well and love very much from St. Paul’s Cathedral and Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street where the memorial plaque to Edgar Wallace was very moving indeed. Past a couple of old churches I went, turning right on to my own Chancery Lane of Bleak House fame and then presto, there I was on my own street–High Holborn–with my building staring at me across the road. I am so delighted to know that the Jubilee Walkway goes right by my road–it feels special to live on a road that is considered important enough to be placed on this historic route.

Then, I cut right through Red Lion Street to arrive at Theobald’s Road–this, of course, is my own stomping ground and parts of the city that I know like the back of my hand. This was a good time to nip into the Holborn Public Library to see if I could find Lonely Planet’s France to carry with me to Paris next week. And yyyessss! It was there! With it safely under my arm, I walked towards Bedford Square to my office on campus where I managed to photocopy a great deal of the book that will be of use to me. Unexpectedly, I met my colleague Karen who shares my office and I sat chatting with her for a while before I remembered that I had to rush off to pick Chriselle up from Heathrow airport.

Back on the bus I hopped, got home, had a shower and then I was off. I took a couple of buses as far as Hammersmith and changed to the Tube from there arriving in Heathrow bang on schedule–only to discover that the flight had come in early and that she had cleared Immigration is no time flat! Chriselle had reached the Arrivals area already where we had a loving reunion before I whisked her right off into the Tube for the ride into the city. Needless to say, we chatted non-stop on the one-hour long ride to Holborn from where we walked home.

Chriselle loved my flat and the quiet sense of serenity that fills it. She says it looks to her “like a hotel that feels like home”–which is really the best compliment she could pay me. Despite her long flight across the Pond, she was full of beans and had so many stories to share with me.

Then, because she was hungry, she decided to eat some of my home-cooked pasta and a salad that I fixed for the two of us. She tried to get online using my wireless system but was unable to log on and that made it impossible for her to get a bit of work done as she had intended to do. Giving up for the time being, we shall try to see how she can get online tomorrow.

It was well after 1.00 am that we finally decided to go to sleep–still leaving a great deal to talk about tomorrow. ..

‘Brief Encounter’ Gresham Lecture and More Jubilee Walk

May6

Wednesday, May 6, 2009
London

Phew! What a busy (and very productive) day I had! I am trying so hard to get as much work out of the way before Chriselle arrives tomorrow so that I can devote all our time together exclusively to her. I read about 25 pages of The Order of the Phoenix in bed as soon as I awoke at 6. 15 am, then checked and responded to overseas email (a lot of mail has arrived from India even before I am awake and a great deal comes in from the States towards the end of my London day) before I washed and ate my breakfast while watching Breakfast on BBC!

At 8.00 am, I transcribed my interview with Florence Daly, then revised my chapter for the new anthology on The Anglo-Indian Woman which, I have just heard from the publisher Blair Williams, is to be co-edited by my friend Margaret Deefholts and her daughter Susan. And a better editor than Margaret it would be hard to find, so I hope Blair knows how fortunate he is that she has agreed to take on this monumental task–because only a writer knows how much work an editor has to put into getting an anthology out!

When that was done, I graded a bunch of papers on ‘Issues in Contemporary British Politics and Culture’ and truly enjoyed reading my student’s responses to a lot of the topics to which they’ve been introduced during their year in London. By then it was almost noon–time for me to stop for a shower, a light lunch (pizza and cheesecake–OK, not so light!) and then I left for Gresham College to attend another free lecture.

This one by Roger Parker, Gresham Professor of Music, was on the film Brief Encounter and the recurring role played in it by Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number 2. Now I had seen this movie only a couple of months ago and had found it charming but awfully dated. I was curious to see what Parker had to say and in the few extracts he showed from the film and his very enlightening commentary, I learned to ‘look’ in a rather different way at the film–through the eyes (and ears) of a musicologist. I found him a very engaging speaker indeed with a delightful sense of humor to boot and I was sorry to hear that this was his last lecture for the season because he seems to be a much-loved member of the lecturing cohort. Darn! I so wish I had gotten to know about these lectures earlier.

It wasn’t long before I caught the 341 bus from Gray’s Inn that took me to Fleet Street from where I hopped into the Number 15 and off I sailed to the Tower of London to resume the Jubilee Walk. To my good fortune, it was one of those old Routemaster buses which, when I get to ride in them, I always consider an unexpected bonus. It was going to be Part 4 for me and I felt curiously energetic.

The Jubilee Walk Part 4:
This bit took me through a part of London I had never seen before–the East. It is the very heart of London’s Financial District (its Wall Street, I guess you could say) and at the very start of it, I passed by Monument, the 201 foot tall pillar whose height is of much significance. You see, the Monument was erected to mark the horror of the Great Fire of London and its height is exactly the same as the distance from the bakery in Pudding Lane where the fire is said to have originated in 1666 destroying most of the city and reducing it to a heap of ashes. The only upside of this disaster was that the plague was finally eradicated from the city as the carrier rats were drowned in the River Thames in their attempt to escape the flames.

Recently refurbished, the monument glows with a sort of inner light that is hard to describe. The beautiful bas-relief at its base has been stripped of centuries-worth of dirt and grime and the crowning ornament at the very top of the pedestal is glowing with the new coating of gilt that it has recently received. It is possible to climb the 311 steps to the very top to receive stunning views of the city–which today I was sorely tempted to do as it was such a clear day. But I decided not to get sidetracked from my goal (which was to traverse a good part of the Jubilee route) so perhaps I shall keep this challenge on hold until July when my friend and travel companion Amy Tobin is intending to come from the States to spend a few days in London. We had climbed the 500 odd steps to Brunelleschi’s Dome in Florence in March of last year–so I guess we can try to repeat that feat this year at the Monument–if I can twist her arm to do it with me!

Then, I was tramping the pavements again following those silver disks and arriving at the crossroads where The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street aka The Bank of England made her imposing presence felt in the center of a traffic island. It is here that a very striking structure marks the Jubilee Walkway. A conical shaped marker provides the information that I am standing in one of the busiest parts of the city of London. Each day, I read, 350,000 people commute into this area to work. And at night, there are only 5000 residents left here. That explains why on the Bank Holiday Weekend, this area was as dead as the dodo! There was just no one here! I was astounded. I mean, can you imagine, up there in all those countless offices are 350,000 people hammering away at their computers and keeping the (rather sluggish) wheels of the economy turning!

When I finished marvelling at that fact, I turned my attention to the Neo-Classical edifice that is the Bank of England. Ever since I worked at the Reserve Bank of India (following my dad into the institution in which he worked for 40 years) when right out of college and while reading for my Masters in English at the University of Bombay, I have wanted to visit the Bank of England. Little did I know that I would have to wait for so many years, nay decades, before that dream could be accomplished. But no, I did not go inside. I had to content myself with an exterior visit and a few souvenir pictures before I set out again, this time arriving at the equally imposing Guildhall.

It was here that I introduced for the very first time to the Guildhall Art Gallery. I had no idea that such a place existed. And when I popped inside, after I had taken in the medieval building that for a moment made me think I was back in Bruges in Belgium, I discovered that entry was free to “residents of the City”. Now since I live on High Holborn, I am a resident of the “City”; but, of course, I wasn’t carrying anything on me that would proclaim this fact. I mean who goes around carrying any kind of document that contains one’s address? Well, OK, maybe if you drive a car, you might have your driver’s license with you. But otherwise, I can’t imagine that many people might have such a document in their wallets.

At any rate, the security guard, a fellow-Indian from Poona, who was delighted to discover that I was originally from Bombay, informed me that after 3. 30pm entry was free. He suggested I visit the Clock Museum on the opposite side of the quadrangle for free and then return in 15 minutes time. I had, by then, decided that the Guildhall Art Gallery probably deserved a visit all its own and resolving to push off, I made a mental note to return–perhaps on a rainy day!

So I set off again, this time following the route towards the Barbican which I discovered is a mammoth complex that has been created in the midst of a glass and concrete jungle that can be terribly perplexing if one doesn’t have a good map. Indeed, I was in a part of the city that I had never seen before surrounded by modernist architecture–all towering skyscrapers and glinting window panes–that were not my cup of tea at all. It was rather thankfully that I found my way out of the maze. By then I was tired and spying a Waitrose tucked away in a corner of Beech Street, I nipped in for some rum and raisin ice-cream and decided to look for a bus to take me back home. It was only a few minutes before I spied both a bus stop and a 55 that came trundling along to take me along Clerkenwell Street which I recognized immediately from one of the self-guided walking tours I had taken a few months ago–and then, presto, there I was at the intersection of Gray’s Inn Road and only a few yards from home.

A nice cup of Earl Grey (make that several!) with lemon and a touch of honey and a slice of Victoria Sandwich Cake and I was ready to grade the rest of my papers and transcribe yet another interview with John Stringer who is easily the most fascinating Anglo-Indian subject I have yet interviewed in England. Not only did he have extremely unconventional views which he expressed with a delightfully wacky sense of fun but he had the privilege of meeting both Mohandas Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru in his lifetime and he told me about these with the utmost animation. When that was done, I returned to some more email correspondence which is flowing in copiously as my students are sending me the outlines of their final research papers for approval.

I had started working at my computer at 5.00 pm and it was after 9 .00 pm when I stopped to eat my dinner (Chicken Kiev and a salad) while watching New Tricks on the Alibi channel. By 10.30pm, I was in bed, having brushed and flossed my teeth, hammering out this blog and getting ready for my last night alone at home before Chriselle joins me.

Tomorrow at this time, Inshallah, I shall have picked her up from Heathrow and brought her home to my flat. I am counting the seconds until her arrival.

Rochelle's Roost

Welcome to Holly Berry House!