Tag Archive | Osterley House

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

Jun11

Wednesday, June 10, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Osterley Park and House–Another Adam Masterpiece!

Jun7

Sunday, June 7, 2009
Osterley Park, London

The Silence of English Rain:
It was only because I was awoken today by a series of thunderclaps that I realized how quiet really is English rain! I mean for all these months that I have lived in London and for all the dreary, drizzling, dull and dripping days I’ve dealt with, never have I ever woken to the sound of rain–unlike the din that the downpours make in Bombay or the drumming of the drops that come down in sheets outside my Connecticut windows. English rain is silent rain. You see it, you feel it, you taste it, you smell in—but you never never hear it! This fact came home to me this morning when I actually heard the thunder and realized how odd the sound felt and how long it had been since my ears had picked up those deafening decibels.

I turned over in bed, reached for Potter, read about fifty pages, then promptly turned over and fell asleep again–awaking this time about 8. 30. This left me just enough time for a fragrant shower but not time enough to linger over coffee. I fixed myself a breakfast to go (toast with raspberry jam), dressed in layers and a trifle too warmly (as we’ve had a few nippy days and I did not want to feel chilly on the Thames’ tow paths) and was off. I caught a bus from Charterhouse Street, then connected to the 8 on High Holborn, then to the 9 that got me to Hammersmith and then the 419 that took me to Richmond. See? I am becoming quite a pro at this bus route thing!

My friend John was awaiting my arrival at Richmond Station and, at my request, we checked out some of the thrift shops in the area (inspired by Mary Portas who has lent her expertise to a recent feature in Time Out in London magazine on the city’s best thrift shops). It seems the ones in the towns and villages along the Thames (Richmond, Barnes, Twickenham, Putney) are particularly good and since I was in the neighborhood–what the heck! It was worth a dekko, I thought.

Well, I was not disappointed. John knew them all. From Richmond to St. Margaret’s, the little village in which he has a very cute flat, he accompanied me like a trooper. And my sleuthing was not in vain. By the end of my foraging, I emerged with a virtually new pair of Prada shoes and two English bone china mugs that commemorated the wedding of Prince Charles with Camilla–in their original boxes! Needless to say, I got these enviable items at bargain prices but then we were too laden with my purchases and the drizzle continued intermittently.

We decided to abandon our plans to walk at leisure along the Thames; but instead crossed Richmond Bridge (I saw a lovely interpretation of it in Trevor Chamberlaine’s oil painting at the Guildhall Art Gallery recently) and took a bus to Osterley. Our aim was to tour the National Trust-run property that was designed by Robert Adam called Osterley Park and House.

Visiting Osterley Park and House:
Once we alighted from the bus, we had about a ten minute walk to the gate of the property, after which we had to walk another ten minutes to get to the entrance of the house. Once past the gate, the visitor soaks in the wide expansive property on both sides of the driveway–property in which cattle grazed placidly or chewed the cud for the weather kept changing every ten minutes and by the time we reached Adam’s imposing Neo-Classical portico, past the beautiful artificial lake, every raindrop had dried and the sun shone warmly upon us.

We released our coats and brollies and jackets to the safe keeping of the staff at the front door and launched on our discovery of the premises. The best thing we could have asked for was the audio wand that comes free with admission (normally 8. 50 pounds though it was free for me as I am a National Trust member) for this proved to be extraordinarily useful as we flitted from room to room.

But, first things first. Modern-day visitors (i.e. We) do not enter the house by Adam’s intended main door. We use a far more modest side entrance. Why this is so is beyond my comprehension. If the Trust wishes visitors to achieve as exact an idea as possible of what it might have been like to be invited as a guest of the family in the 18th century, they ought to have permitted us the holistic experience! Nevertheless, the entrance was impressive as we were carried up a wide staircase and on to the first floor landing from where we saw a superb ceiling medallion done by none other than Peter Paul Reubens in the early 1700s. Now the original was removed for safe keeping in the early 20th century (during World War II), rolled up and placed in a warehouse on the Channel Island of Jersey–which promptly caught fire so that Reuben’s original work was destroyed. What adorns the ceiling of Osterley House today is a reproduction but it carries none of the subtlety of Reubens’ coloring (as anyone who has seen the ceiling of the Banqueting House at Whitehall would tell immediately).

Be that as it may, the audio wand told us the story of the inhabitants of this house at this stage in the tour. The house was built by James Child in the 18th century to a design by Robert Adam who was recognized as the greatest architect of his era specializing in the creation of the English country estate. Child had inherited his fortune from his ancestors who were Directors of the East India Company and had made their money a century previously trading in tea, cotton, silks, spices and, yes–it must be said–slaves! In 1763, he married a woman named Sarah who gave him one child, a daughter named Sarah Anne. The family lived for at least 30 years in Osterley Park at the time when most of the interior decoration was undertaken by Adam.

The tour wound us through the exquisite taste and grandeur of Adam’s aesthetic. If you have seen Syon House (or any one of the other stately homes for which he is responsible–see my blog on my visit to Syon House written last October), you will see a uniformity in his designs–his use, for instance, of symmetrically formal arrangements inspired by classical motifs in the Palladian style–such as urns and pilasters, columns and Greek key designs on moldings, the lavish use of white plaster of Paris embellishments contrasted against the matt backdrop of what has come to be called Wedgwood blue, green, teal and puce (because it was in the same era that Josiah Wedgwood was imitating the classicism of plaster of Paris interior decoration on his ‘Jasperware’ pottery in his factory in Stoke-on-Trent in the Midlands).

Apart from this, Adam’s most striking signature feature, there are paintings galore in the house, executed directly on ceilings or as panels on the walls of each room or as framed canvasses then used to decorate them. Collections of fine European and English porcelain, marquetry work on furniture. impressive sideboards and other occasional seating pieces (a Robert Adam-designed bed is the most stunning centerpiece in the master bedroom) and other accoutrements make up the bulk of the house. Special mention must be made of the Tapestry Room whose walls are lined by Tapestries whose four center medallions are woven interpretations of a series of paintings by Francois Boucher called The Seasons. This work is so finely executed that were the visitor not informed that it was tapestry on the wall, he would well have believed he was looking at paintings. These tapestries were made in France by the famous Gobelin factory and they must be among the most valuable things in the place. Downstairs, visitors walked through enormous kitchens in which prodigious amounts of food were cooked and conveyed by a stealthy series of staircases and concealed doors for the gastronomic pleasure of the family and their privileged guests. Overall, not too bad an ancestral pile at all!

The audio guides were superb in pointing attention to each of the features of the rooms as well as providing a wealth of historical, artistic and architectural information to further enhance enjoyment of the visual feast. What came home to me on this visit was that the Neo-Classical architect needed to combine the genius of three varied disciplines in the execution of his work: as builder, engineer and artist. Indeed, all these elements combined to make this one of the most enjoyable tours of a country estate that I have ever taken. Though Osterley lacks the ostentation of, say, Vanbrugh’s Castle Howard near York, it is a magnificent building and one that I was very glad John accompanied me in visiting.

Tea in the Stables:
Our visit had rendered us ravenous and we were glad that sustenance awaited not too far away–in the picturesque Tea Rooms that extended out into the Tea Garden–a brick-walled enclosed garden with wrought iron furniture and green canvas umbrellas. We settled down to cups of steaming Darjeeling and a cheese scone and how welcome was that treat! Truly, if it was the East (China and India) that bestowed the habit of tea-drinking upon the English, it was they who gave to the rest of the world that charming meal called Tea-time. I often wish it were not the issue of the tea tax that had led to the loss of the thirteen North American colonies. It was probably out of defiance that the American colonists rejected the delightful customs of tea-time–which explains why we do not pause for tea at 4 o clock in America while the people of every former British colony everywhere else in the world do!!! Or maybe Anna, the Duchess of Bedford, who is credited with having started the delightful custom of tea-drinking by surreptitiously calling for the drink with a snack in her boudoir had not yet initiated her habit by the time the colonists dumped that shipload of tea in Boston Harbor!

A quick look at a film in the former stables and a browse around the shop and it was already 5 pm and the park was closing down for the day. John and I walked past the lovely lake, took some pictures together to commemorate our visit and then were walking along the rural pastures that had made agriculture such a lucrative pursuit for the 18th century aristocracy–it was not for nothing that they were called the landed gentry! If you could only see the endless acres stretching all the way to the horizon that surround this house! It wasn’t long before we said our goodbyes, parted at the bus-stop and went our separate ways.

I have begun to master the routes to Charterhouse Street and in an hour and a half, I was home. I had almost an hour-long conversation with Llew on the phone before I stopped to eat my dinner (a rather light one of chicken noodle soup and toast with chocolate praline ice-cream for dessert) as that scone still stood me in good stead.

It was soon time to write this blog, get ready for bed and go to sleep, my appetite entirely whetted for the feast of country estates and gardens that await me on my proposed tour.

Seeing Samantha Bond in Stoppard’s Arcadia and Liberty of London

Jun6

Saturday, June 6, 2009
London

In keeping with my resolution to always get substantial work done before I goof off, I awoke at 7. 30 am, read some Potter, proofread my blog, caught up with my email, then stopped for a spot of breakfast–make that a whole cup of coffee and some toast with preserves. I am trying to finish up all the odds and ends of food stuff left over from my pantry supplies as I do not want to take any of it back to the States. And time is flying…

Then, it was back to the drawing board for me as I began transcribing an interview I did with Gerry in Wembley. This neighborhood is quiet, quieter than Holborn, if that is at all possible. While Holborn did carry the occasional screech of tyres up to my third floor window even on weekend mornings, I do not hear a squeal here at all–the better to get my work done.

It was while I was hammering away at my PC that the email came–offering me free tickets to see Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia. This is a play I had toyed with the idea of seeing for a while–not only do I think Stoppard is quite the most brilliant living playwright in England (I speak here with knowledge of The Real Thing, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and, of course, his unforgettable Oscar Award-winning screenplay for Shakespeare in Love)–but the play stars Samantha Bond whose performance in Distant Shores I had loved when I saw her play the very feisty wife of a physician (played by Peter Davison) on a PBS channel in the States. So, when the offer of free tickets fell into my lap, I grabbed it. A few calls on my cell phone and I found company–my buddy Rosemary agreed to drop all her scheduled cleaning chores to go with me (I didn’t have to do too much arm-twisting!) and we decided to meet at the Duke of York Theater at 2. 15 pm. This gave me enough time to have a relaxed shower, get back to my transcription, dress, and leave the house at 1. 15 pm to pick up tickets outside Covent Garden at 1. 45 pm.

I have yet to figure out which bus stops are closest to my new roost, which routes they serve and how to make connections–but I am sure all that will be sorted soon. What I did find when I set out was that the entire Smithfield Market area was barricaded. Apparently, there were to be some major bicycle races there in the evening. I did find an odd Number 11 stop by (all buses were re-routed) and hopped off at Covent Garden and, against all my expectations, made it there on time to pick up the tickets.

London is just crawling with tourists right now and the attractions are buzzing with buskers. It is difficult to cut through the crowds and though, at most times, I do enjoy the travel energy associated with these folks (God knows I have enough of it myself!), I have to say it was annoying this afternoon.

However, I did pick up the tickets and a hearty ham and mustard sandwich from M&S Simply Food which I munched en route to the Theater on St. Martin’s Lane which kept the hunger pangs at bay.

Rosemary was waiting for me in the lobby. It wasn’t long before we found our seats and chinwagged until the curtain went up. She had bought a program while awaiting my arrival and I was glad she did. Not only did it have an extraordinary amount of information on the actors, but it was full of notes about the history of landscaping in England as the play is themed around the changing fashions in English garden design from the classical to the naturalism of Lancelot (Capability) Brown to the Picturesque style that followed. Hannah, in the play, speaks of Brown who was influenced by Claude Lorraine (French landscape painter) who was, in turn, influenced by Virgil (Italian medieval poet). She says:

“English landscape was invented by gardeners imitating foreign painters who were evoking classical authors. The whole thing was brought home in the luggage from the Grand Tour”.

These have to be among the most striking lines in the play and a perfect example of Stoppard’s erudition–and this is only one example. . Of course, those of us who have kept up with the trends beyond the 19th century know that in the 20th, English garden design continued to evolve with Gertrude Jekyll and Edwin Lutyens collaborating to create the concept of Garden Rooms–a venture in which they were joined by the redoubtable Vita Sackville-West who presented us with her famous White Garden at Sissinghurst.

I know I digress when I say that perhaps it was fitting that I should see this play the very weekend I am beginning to make plans for a week-long tour of the Grand Country Estates and Gardens of England. This is another one of the items on my List of Things To-Do before leaving England and since June is possibly the best month to visit English gardens, I can think of no reason to waste any more time. Besides, my friend Loulou in whose fabulous loft I am currently staying, was just telling me only a few days ago that she has to get her garden ready for a local garden club that is about to visit her estate garden in Suffolk. For she is a dedicated gardener and if her home (whose en suite spare room I am currently occupying while she spends most of her week in Suffolk) is anything to go by, her garden must be ethereal! I can’t wait to take her up on her offer to visit her there and see it for myself. By comparison, I am sure that my Connecticut garden, a tour of which is on my website, must seem like a blooming traffic island!

So there was I familiarising myself with the vocabulary of English landscape design from ‘hermitages’ and ‘hahas’ to ‘gazebos’ and ‘wilderness’ as much as I grappled with the more esoteric aspects of the script that derive from mathematics about which, I have to admit, an abiding ignorance–one of the characters deals with chaos theory and utilizes it to help figure out the grouse population on the estate. Infused into this rather abundant pastiche of allusions are those from literature–from Lord Byron (who is central to the plot) and Lady Caroline Lamb, to Mrs. Radcliff and Robert Southey–so that the creative arts constantly intersect the sciences. Newton is thrown in for good measure as are Euclid and Fermat and Carnot. Stoppard is nothing if not intellectual, so go prepared for a cerebral roller coaster ride in the theater.

After you have stopped gasping at the verbal and conceptual pyrotechnics of this play, you will have a chance to be swept away by the engaging performances especially of Bernard Nightingale (played very energetically by Neil Pearson whom we have all seen in the Bridget Jones films among other things) and Bond herself (who brings to this role the same mixture of sensuality and physicality I had grown to love in Distant Shores). The set design lends itself perfectly to the juxtaposition of two different eras (the early Romantic Age and our own early 21st) and the comings and goings of historic and more contemporary characters who waltz around each other literally and figuratively on the stage. Prepare to be enchanted.

Inside Liberty of London:
When the play was over, we went our separate ways. Having equipped myself with a map and bus guide, I found my way to Liberty of London which is on Great Marlborough Street just off Regent Street but closer to the Oxford Circus (not the Piccadilly) end. And what a building it turned out to be! Just charming! I mean, I had seen pictures of this store and was prepared for a Tudor building. But how cleverly the space inside has been employed. It is simply stunning. I have yet to read up a bit about the history of the building. Is it a genuine Tudor building? Or a Victorian masquerade made in imitation of the Tudor idiom? God knows…and I will find out, I know, soon enough from the garrulous Web. But for the moment, I have to say I was delighted I stepped in.

It really is a London institution and I cannot for the life of me explain why I haven’t been in here before! Why is it that I have always visited Harrods? Why is Selfridges always on my list of stores to sample? Well, better late than never—so I guess I can say Been There, Done That to Liberty to London and tick another item off my List. Needless to say, everything was screamingly pricey, but then what did I expect if not sticker-shock? And this is perhaps the very first store in which I have ever browsed where every possible precaution has been taken against those endowed with sticky fingers. I mean as if the CCTV thing (such a fixture in London) were inadequate, there are locks and long telephone coil-like extensions attached to all the big label items! Watch out Winona!

Nor did I walk out empty handed. Indeed I was presented with some pretty nice samples–Dr. Perricone’s skin care products for face and eye area–the deep penetrating night creams, said to work wonders in two weeks. I’ve seen the good doctor peddle his wares on the box in the States but never have I seen his range in a department store. Well, try them I will. Hopefully something lovely will come out of my gallivanting into Liberty!

I had half a mind to undertake one of my walking tours in the St. Paul’s Cathedral area but then it had turned nippy and I wasn’t adequately dressed (nor did I have the right walking shoes on) for a gad about the graveyards of the East End. I decided to get home instead and finish transcribing my interview as I have another full day ahead of me tomorrow (a Thames-side visit to Osterley House and Park), so I figured I’d better conserve my stamina for the hike that lies ahead.

The area around Smithfield Market had been transformed. Crowds had gathered to cheer the cyclists on and provided me with the opportunity to take a few pictures as the competitors warmed up. I do not believe that this sports meet has a name yet, but the commentator kept raving about the fact that it is becoming more popular each year and poised to take its place soon as one of the capital’s most exciting events. Well, if that ever happens, I will be able to say that I caught the races while the event was still in its infancy. For I did stand around and take it all in and then I continued to stay abreast of what was going on as the commentary floated up to my loft home while I ate my dinner.

Yes, indeed, back home, I ate an early dinner (chicken noodle soup out of a packet and pasta with Chocolate mousse out of a pot) and I returned to my room to continue my transcription. When it was all done, I stopped to brush and floss my teeth, get ready for bed and write this blog.

I’d say it was rather a productive Saturday, wouldn’t you?

June 8, 2009:
PS: Did have a chance to read up a bit about the history of Liberty of London and this is what I have found out (Courtesy of The English Home magazine):
Liberty of London was founded by Arthur Lasenby Liberty in 1875. “The creation of a recognisable look for the shop was always a conscious aim of its founder and his most shrewd move was the building of a Tudor shop, which was completed in 1924. This addition meant that the building itself became the shop’s trademark and a symbol of its founding values”.

I would also agree with writer Harriet Paige who says, in the same magazine, that:
” And it is perhaps the buildings themselves–Liberty’s timber-frame structure, Fortnum and Mason’s eccentric time-piece and Harrod’s Edwardian frontage–that has ensured Britain’s great department stores have become true London landmarks”.

I mean, I think this is absolutely true. Other than Macy’s which does have an iconic building all its own on an individual block at 34th Street and Sixth Avenue, none of the New York department stores stand out in any way in terms of their buildings. Each one looks exactly like the other–there is no character, no individuality, indeed no imagination whatsoever that has gone into their making. This is what, I suppose, has always made England so enthralling to me and the States…well, so blah!

Interviewing another Anglo-Indian near Osterley

Jun3

Tuesday, June 2, 2009
London

Waking up in this new place feels rather strange to me. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. It was 6. 45 am when I awoke and since I wanted to get to Osterley (close to Heathrow airport) in time for a 10. 30 am appointment, I showered really quickly, ate my cereal breakfast, made myself a ham and cheese sandwich and left at 8.30 am. I had to find out where the nearest bus stops are as well as the routes that serve this area. I guess I will have it all figured out in a few days.

Getting out of Theobald’s Road and arriving at Holborn Station takes the longest time in the bus what with all the traffic snarls and the peak hour rush. Despite changing three buses, I arrived at Osterley Tube Station earlier than I expected and called the Anglo-Indian gentleman who had agreed to speak to me. He picked me up from the bus stop in his car and took me to his home where we settled down with a glass of water that I requested. His wife was also supposed to speak to me as part of my project; but I sensed her reluctance right away and when she agreed to answer some questions only and did not sign the agreement giving her consent to the interview, I politely declined. In the end, I spoke only to the husband who had rather interesting views which he shared very frankly with me. He told me later that his wife had completely conflicting views and did not wish to air them in front of him as they differ widely on the subject of their decision to emigrate to the UK and the manner in which life has treated them since they arrived in this country 20 years ago.

Still, despite his misgivings, it is impressive that three of his four children are university educated and that too in the cream of the country’s institutions of higher education such as Cambridge, Oxford and UCL. Their last daughter is taking her GCSEs this year and is also headed towards what we, in America, would call an Ivy League school. This man was so different in attitude and behavior from the couple I met yesterday. Thus, though I have spoken to over 35 Anglo-Indians already, I do not find my work repetitive as each of them tells me completely different stories and has inordinately different views.

A Visit to the Museum of London:
Back in the City, I went straight to NYU to settle the last of my utility bills and then I was on the bus heading to the Museum of London. This one, together with the London Transport Museum, is still on my To-Do List and I decided today would be a good day to go out and explore it. It is located near the Barbican and has a very interesting architectural design. Built in close proximity to the old London walls (the base dating from Roman times), they make the perfect backdrop for a place that traces the evolution as this city from 43 AD to the present date. The only misfortune is that the entire lower level is under refurbishment and closed to the public (which means I shall have to make another trip to London sometime to see it!) but the top floor contains interesting artifacts that span several centuries right up to the Great Fire of 1566.

I watched two rather short but fascinating films—one on the Great Fire, another on the Black Death (the Plague) that ravaged Europe throughout the Middle Ages. Then, my exploration of the contents began. Among some of the most notable things I saw (and not necessarily in any order at all) were:

1, 2 Roman leather bikinis that would have been worn by dancers—it is remarkable that they have survived despite being made of leather. There are only 3 Roman bikinis in the world and 2 of them are here in this museum.
2. A set of Roman gold coins, excavated in a single hoard, featuring the heads of every one of the most significant of the Roman emperors. This must have belonged to someone very wealthy who buried his treasure hoping to retrieve it someday but never got back to it.
3. A fragment of a marble tablet on which for the very first time the people of London have been named as Londoners (Londiniumvernis, I think it said).
4. The very first fire engine ever used in England.
5. A spectacular Roman mosaic floor found intact in a house in Bucklersberry near London in the late 1800s.

I did not finish seeing all of the museum. I have yet to see the exhibit on the Great Fire of London which was crowded with a school group, leading me to postpone my visit there.

I took the bus and returned home to Denmark House to find that my friends Paul and Loulou had arrived there from Suffolk to spend a night as they do once a week. It was great to see them again but we did not have a chance to spend a whole lot of time together as they were off to a party and will return late tonight. I tried to set myself up once again with the wireless connection but failed. Will try again tomorrow. Hopefully, Tim will be able to walk me through the process.

I ate my dinner while watching a program called Come Dine With Me—in which four strangers are thrown together to cook for each other and put on a complete meal for the other three. It made rather interesting viewing but because it was an hour-long show, I saw only a part of it as I wanted to get back to writing my journal for my blog.

I was pleased before I went to bed to review the comments in the evaluation sheets left for me by my students and to discover that they were very complimentary indeed and said a lot of very positive things about the courses I taught them this past semester. I am very pleased that the year I spent teaching in London was beneficial to them and that they enjoyed my classes.

I also began the next novel in the Harry Potter series: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince which I hope to finish in the next couple of weeks so that I can start the last and final one and return the last two books to Barbara who lent them to me. When I have finished all of them, I can cross out yet another item on my To-Do List: Read all 7 Harry Potter novels in London!