Tag Archive | Wisley Royal Gardens

Whizzing Off to Wisley Royal Gardens!

Jul25

Sunday, July 25, 2010
London

On a day that was tailor-made for exploring gardens, I set off for Wisley Royal Gardens…but not before I attended 8.00 am Holy Communion service at St. Paul’s Cathedral with Aidan Colclough, son of mine host, Michael, Bishop of Kensington and his wife Cynthia. Another feeling of deja-vu gripped me again as it was at precisely this service, two years ago, that I had first met Michael and Cynthia who have grown to become such close family friends. The ways of the Lord are mysterious–especially in the manner in which He brought such fabulous people into my life while I lived in London.

After a hearty oatmeal breakfast, I caught the Central Line Tube from St. Paul’s Station to Northholt (the compartments were packed–where was everyone going so early on a Sunday morning?). I’d made plans to hook up with my friend Bash. His funky little silver Suzuki was parked near at hand and off we whizzed to Wisley Royal Gardens which are tucked away in a corner of Surrey close to Woking in a place called Ripley. How great it was to see him again! I’d met him at the tail-end of my year in London but had hit it off with him immediately and not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I’d gladly taken him up on his offer to drive me around to places I wanted to see on my present visit. Besides, he’d never been to Wisley himself (not a very macho thing for a single man to do, he informed me) which made it worth his while.

At 9. 50 pounds entry fee for perusing a garden that goes on for what seems like miles, it was the best bang for its buck, he opined. At the very full parking lot, we realized that loads of people had beaten us to it and intended to spend, what shaped into a gorgeous day, literally smelling the roses. Wisley is well beloved of the local Surrey country folks who seem to spend every summer weekend in its verdant midst.

Bash and I spent the next few hours surveying the vast property which has been brilliantly landscaped to feature a variety of gardens–a Rock Garden, a Rose Garden, an Italianate Garden with a Loggia, an Islamic-style Genaralife garden as seen in Granada, a Cottage Garden, a Cactus and Succulent Garden, a Zen Garden, extensive glass houses or conservatories, a Tropical garden reminiscent of the ones found inside the bio domes of the Eden Project that I’d visited in Cornwall, dozens of herbaceous borders punctuated with striking statuary, sculpture, sun dials and other ornamentation that one finds sprinkled liberally around the gardens of England.

We stopped frequently–to partake of a picnic lunch I’d fixed of smoked ham, Wensleydale Cheese with ginger and apple sandwiches using Waitrose’s excellent walnut bread and fresh apples. We paused for a tea break when we sipped excellent cuppas served in metal teapots as only the English can do and slices of Coffee and Walnut Cake, or simply to rest our feet in shrouded bowers and on shady benches. Even someone like Bash who describes himself as having “brown fingers” enjoyed the romps so very much that he has threatened to bring his sister Zack to the garden the next time she visits London from Lancaster. For those who have never been to this place, it is the last word in serenity and I honestly couldn’t think of a better way to pass a Sunday in summer if I’d put on my thinking cap and wracked my brain for hours! So get you to its website, pronto! And start eating your heart out.

When we’d had our fill of gardens, we drive to Southall, London’s Little India, where we had a nice stroll together along its main artery past shops selling Punjabi ‘suits’, 22 carat Indian gold jewelry, sticky sweetmeats, halal meat, every condiment that the Indian sub-continent produces and packages, mangoes galore ( I bought a box of Indian ‘dusseries’ for Cynthia who adores them), restaurants up the wazoo…it was like walking in Delhi’s Chandni Chowk, only cleaner! I could easily have settled for a meal in Gifto’s Lahori Karahi, but Bash suggested a place called Barrish in Harrow, close to Wembley. So off we went and in a few minutes, we were in another part of London frequented by folks from the Indian sub-continent (desis).

Our dinner was very delicious indeed if rather a noisy experience as the place was taken over by a large post-wedding party of boisterous middle-aged males who’d gathered in London from the US, Canada and India. I ate some really interesting Indian dishes such as Chilli Paneer, Virgin (yes, you read that right!) Chicken and King Prawn Masala which we washed down with Bulmer’s Cider. I haven’t yet managed to find Perry (pear cider–which few bars seem to stock) but I will come upon it before I leave.

It was a little before 11.oo pm when Bash dropped me home to Amen Corner and I realized as he departed that I’d left my box of mangoes in his car…shall pick them up from him tomorrow as we are off for the day to Oxfordshire.

I felt exhausted by the time I hit the bed but had to download my pictures from my camera or I will have no room for any more pictures of the Hidcote Manor Gardens near Oxford that I plan to see.

I am so glad that Bash is in cahoots with me in getting “every box ticked,” as he puts it, on my To-Do List. So nice to have a partner in crime!

Tackling my London To-Do List

Jul24

Friday, July 24, 2010
London

I had showered, changed and was ready to hit the road to Litchfield when Michael descended the stairs to inform me that he had pulled a nerve in his back and felt uncertain about sitting behind a wheel for so many hours. Our trip to the Midlands was cancelled and I was left with the equally exciting prospect of spending a truly spectacular day in London on my own.

The thing about London is that no matter how often you’ve been and how long you’ve stayed, there is still always something ‘new’ to see. On a glorious day like today, I was torn between staying outdoors and ticking items off my To-Do List–many of which involved museums. In the end, I chose to walk the tight rope between outdoor and indoor activity and didn’t do too bad a job at it.

So, I left Amen Corner at 10 am after a delicious oatmeal porridge breakfast fixed by Cynthia and Michael in tandem–he provided the bits and bobs (oatmeal, oat bran, milk, water, sultanas, chopped nuts), she stirred and served.

Kensington Gardens:
I hopped into a bus at St. Paul’s, then changed to another on Oxford Street and hopped off at Bayswater, near Lancaster Gate. My aim was to stroll through Kensington Gardens which I’d never seen before (though I have been to Kensington Palace and the Orangery when Chriselle had visited me). I admired the Italianate Gardens though they weren’t in bloom, then walked on towards the lovely sculpture of Peter Pan by George Frampton which featured the boy who never grew up among the fairies and animals he adored. Right opposite is the thinnest thread of the Serpentine and the approximate spot where the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley’s wife drowned herself–heart-breaking.

On I walked towards the Serpentine Gallery which I’d never visited. Hard to believe that I spent a whole year devouring London’s art offerings and had never been to one of its most famous galleries. I seemed to have just arrived in time to enjoy the brand new lipstick red pavilion, the work of Jean Nouvel, that sits near the Serpentine Gallery which was once a tea room. Inside, I caught a striking exhibition of photographs by Wolfgang Tillmans before I spent a while resting my feet in Nouvel’s new creation.

A Triathlon was on in the Park and I walked past groups of sprinters on the Serpentine Bridge before I went in search of the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain where I was delighted to discover that I could kick my clogs off and paddle. What cool relief for my aching feet! Ten minutes later, I was near the Lido Swimming Club admiring the hanging baskets of flowers that filled the pavilion.

It was time to hop on a bus again and as it grew warmer towards mid-morning, it made sense to escape indoors for a bit, so off I went to Leighton House.

Leighton House:
Leighton House had remained closed for renovation, much to my disappointment, during the length of my stay in London. Since it reopened only a few months ago, it made perfect sense for me to make a bee-line to the London home of one of the late-19th century’s best-known artists-Frederick, Lord Leighton, at 12 Holland Park Road. And boy, was it worth the wait! The house, which is absolutely nothing to look at from the outside, was a true stunner within. I was completely floored. My five pound entry fee was waived, thanks to my Metropolitan Museum connection, so in I went after I had lingered in the garden for a bit and enjoyed a brief conversation with a lady who had curated a special exhibit inside entitled ‘Flaming July.’

Lord Leighton had a passion for everything Middle Eastern and entering this home is a bit like making a lightning visit to Damascus or Istanbul. His fondness for blue Iznik tiles is evident everywhere–on the walls, the ceiling and the floors–exactly as Llew and I had seen in the harems in Turkey. He was equally enthralled by Roman decorative design, especially the mosaics of Pompeii and I saw a great deal of the motifs I had seen during my visit to Southern Italy. Dozens of his own paintings line the walls as do a huge number of paintings, drawings and sculpture that formed his own personal collection. They range in style from the classical work of Michelangelo to the Impressionist work of Corot. The visitor walks through the rooms which have been recreated to reflect the manner in which Leighton lived in them, down to the finest detail as he was obsessive about getting every element right. Indeed, though the house was designed for him by the architect George Aitchison, Leighton was personally involved in every single aspect of it and his attention to detail is evident everywhere. So smitten was I by the man, his vision and his work that I believe this visit will be one of the highlights of my current travels in the UK.

The Science Museum:
Because the day was shaping up so beautifully, I spent a while lingering on Kensington High Street–I popped into Waitrose to buy some of my favorite goodies–their Walnut Bread, their Wensleydale Cheese with Ginger, their smoked ham–good for the sandwiches I shall prepare for our picnic in Wisley Royal Gardens tomorrow. With a triple chicken sandwich in the bag, I hopped into another bus, this time headed towards the Science Museum which I had never entered before.

You can tell that Science is not one of my passions, though children seemed to be having a whale of a time. I headed straight for the basement to see exhibits on the Home which detailed the history of such familiar household appliances and gadgets as refrigerators and toasters and irons, not to mention the cistern in toilets! I guess a science buff could spend the entire day (or several) in this space, but by then it was almost 5.00 pm and I was dying for a cuppa. The cafe seemed rather too bland for my liking and knowing full well that the superb Gamble Cafe was only a stone’s throw away in the Victoria & Albert Museum, that was where I sped. One large cup of Darjeeling (and a sandwich later) later, I was wading into water again–this time in the circular pool in the museum’s courtyard which was full of fellow paddlers. How delightful to be able to do this sort of thing! I had such a grand time and, of course, my poor abused feet enjoyed the treat as well.

Harvey Nichols and Fortnums:
On the bus again, we rolled in the direction of Piccadilly. When we passed by Harvey Nichols, I realized that I had never been inside this fancy department store–so off I hopped and in I went into another London institution. But, of course, once I was inside, I saw that there isn’t really very much to distinguish one department store from the other, so I took the elevator to the fifth floor and walked around the Food Hall for a while before I rode the escalators down so that I could walk around each floor and admire the Jimmy Choos or the Vivienne Westwoods. On the bus again, I proceeded towards Piccadilly, this time hoping I’d make it there by 7 o’ clock so that I could see Mr. Fortnum and Mr. Mason do their thing when the hour tolled–a tradition about which I had read only after I’d left London.

At exactly 7 o’clock, the two boxes on either side of the clock on the second floor of the store opened and out popped two life-sized figures dressed in the ostentatious garb (wigs included) of the 18th century gentleman. One carried a tray with tea things, the other held a candelabra. They moved smoothly towards each other, bowed graciously, raised and lowered their heads and twirled while the clock played a tune.And when they were done, they turned their backs on us and walked into their wooden boxes as the doors shut behind them. It was a the cutest sight and I was enchanted! To think that I have never left London without visiting this store (it really is one of my favorites) and did not know about this clock!

I’d have loved to have shopped for a few goodies, but I was in a hurry to get to St. James’ Church, Piccadilly, in the hope of seeing the interior, but alas, it was closed for the day. I do so hope I shall have the time to see it before I leave. If and when I do, I shall make sure I go into Fortnum’s as well.

It was time to get on the bus and head back to Ludgate Hill. I felt very proud of myself because I remembered the bus routes so well and barely needed to consult my map. Still, some things have changed for the worse–the construction (‘road works’)outside Tottenham Court Road has diverted the 6, 25 and 251 buses. I reached Amen Corner at about 8 pm really tired and ready to relax though I was simply too stuffed with all the food I’d eaten and decided to skip dinner.

I fixed some sandwiches for a picnic tomorrow and can only hope that the weather will hold up for my day outdoors with my friend Bash!

London is all A-Buzz!

Jul24

Friday, July 23, 2010
London

Amy and I raced off to Thetford where our friends Cynthia and Michael were meeting us. We arrived almost on time and I continued with the Colcloughs on their onward journey by car to London. The time just flew as we caught up on our lives.

By the time we reached London it was 1. 00 pm (time for a quickly rustled up lunch of toast and scrambled eggs). I was shown up to my room in a–get this–Christopher Wren home. The master architect designed this new block of terraced housing in 1670 right after the Great Fire of London in 1666. The rooms are huge and the interiors, beautifully detailed–marble fireplaces, ornamental plasterwork on the ceiling, tall sash windows, wide sweeping staircases, grand landings, a full apartment on the third floor reached by a separate servants’ staircase–in other words, a home after my own heart! Who would ever have thought that one day I’d be living in a Christopher Wren home? How’s that for having a dream come true? How do I know the history of this home? Because last year when I was in the Geffrye Museum, this block of housing was featured in it as one of London’s earliest examples of post-fire grandeur. Gone was the timber that had gone up in flames. Brick and stone would be the new idiom of the New London. And Wren got it right–after all these years…no centuries, it is holding up splendidly, though Cynthia apologized to me about the aged plumbing and the need to have the bathrooms modernized–which should happen right after my departure. I, on the other hand, found everything fascinatingly old-world.

I drew the curtains in my room and guess what? I discovered that my windows overlook the great big dome of the Old Bailey. The Goddess of Justice holds her weighing scales in her hands in superb gilded splendour! And every hour and half hour, I hear the tolling bells of St. Paul’s Cathedral reminding me that Tempus Fugit! Dreams, dreams, dreams, do come true….

The Colcoughs have made me very comfortable indeed. They are gracious hosts and are including me in everything though I have assured them that I am an old London hand and know it like the back of my…well.,.hand. After I settled in, I set off alone to cover the remaining items on my To-Do List and it was at Covent Garden that I began. It was a gorgeous afternoon–perfect English summer weather–dry and cool unlike the oppressive heat we have on the North Atlantic coast and in Canada at this time of year. Covent Garden was simply crawling with tourists and the buskers (street entertainers) were attracting large crowds (I felt such a strong sense of deja-vu as this was exactly the London Llew and I had encountered when I first came to live here, two years ago).

I headed straight for the London Transport Museum (which is one of those I hadn’t covered earlier) and spent the next 2 hours there. I have to say that I was disappointed. I have certainly seen better museums. It failed to evoke in me the sense of bygone London no matter how hard I tried to capture it. Not worth the 8 pound entry fee, but that is just my personal opinion. No doubt, if you are a kid, this is paradise.

I walked around Covent Garden and wished I had more time to visit my favorite old haunts (Carluccio’s for its superlative citron tarts and Hope and Greenwood for artisinal chocolates)–but I had to press on as the Colcloughs had invited me to a barbecue party in St. Paul’s Gardens. I did mange to buy a citron tart from Patisserie Valerie, however, and I munched it on the bus back to Ludgate Hill.

Spent a really glorious evening meeting a variety of lovely people as Cynthia introduced me around. By far, the most interesting was a jolly white-haired man who was a personal friend of author Vikram Seth–we had so much to talk about as he was very up on Indian Post-Colonial Literature. During our very absorbing discussion, I discovered that he was once Governor of Hongkong and Master of a Cambridge college and was on back-slapping terms with the Nobel Prize winning economist Amartya Sen–you can imagine what a fascinating conversation that was! We exchanged business cards before departing when I discovered that I had been speaking to Sir David, Lord Wilson of Tillyorn. I also enjoyed meeting his wife Lady Nicola–a really pretty, very gracious lady. I am sorry that I will be missing the Sunday lunch at the Chaplain’s house to which I have also been invited…but then my friend Bash has offered to drive me to Wisley Royal Gardens that are spectacular at this time of year–and it is an offer I cannot refuse.
The barbecue meal was just superb–not the usual hamburgers and hot dogs that we usually feature at a cook out in the States. This one featured juicy pesto chicken, really perfectly done burgers (yes, they were there), tasty sausages (chipolatas?), coleslaw and potato salad and glass noodles and lovely grilled radicchi0 with pine nuts. The ‘puddings’, Cynthia told me, would be the best part, so we waited though she became chilly as the evening wore on, for little individual cups of Pimms jelly with fruit, strawberries and cream and raspberry mousse with chocolate–all quite delicious and so very classy!

Our evening ended when Cynthia drove me to my former building at High Holborn so I could pick up my suitcase from the flat of my friends, Tim and Barbara, where I had left it on the morning I vamoosed to Norfolk. It was great to see them again briefly and off we went (Edward, Cynthia’s son) and me to the waiting car.

I caught up on my email and blogging because…yes! I am finally online again in my room through wifi and how fabulous it feels to be able to reach out to the world again. Calls to Llew and Chriselle have kept me abreast of the fact that she will soon be home bound to the States and that Llew is enjoying having a houseful of friends who have descended down upon him from Canada and Maine to partake of the offerings of our local Pequot Library Book Sale in Southport.

Tomorrow, I join the Colcloughs on a day trip to the Midlands where I have never been before–just north of Birmingham in a small town called Litchfield. Hope the weather holds out…

Towers, Gallows, Churches, Markets–Another Fascinating Walk

Jun9

Tuesday, June 9, 2009
London

I am sorry to have to spend so much time analyzing the vagaries of my sleep patterns, but they never cease to amaze me. Throughout the winter, when most folks tend to sleep in, I was awaking at the crack of dawn–even before dawn had cracked, in most days, i.e. at 4 and 5 and 6 am! Now, when summer is almost upon us and light appears in the eastern night sky before 5am, I sleep curled up like a baby until 7 and 8 am!!! This is the weirdest thing and I have never in my life experienced anything like it. Much as I am delighted that I am finally sleeping long and well, I am also sorry to lose the several productive hours I had at my PC in bed long before the rest of the world stirred.

At any rate, I awoke at 7 today, read Potter for an hour, called my parents in Bombay and spent almost an hour on the phone catching up with them about so many things, then sat to blog about my day yesterday. This took me a good part of the morning and it was about 11. 30 when I got out of bed!!! Since it was too late for breakfast, I fixed myself a brunch (toasted parma ham and blue cheese sandwich with some good coffee) and got back to my PC right after that to call my cousin Blossom in Madras. That chat when on for ages, then emailing back and forth with Chriselle in the States (after a long chat with Llew in the morning–we’re all about her wedding plans right now) and I found that it was about 4 pm when I finished all the things I wanted to do–most of which involved scheduling my projects for the next few weeks.

With time running out and my return to the States becoming imminent with every passing day, I feel pressured into completing all the items on my To-Do List as well as making time for my library research and for drafting the lecture that I have been invited to give to the international graduate students at Oxford in the middle of July! So you can imagine that I am beginning to feel as if I should make every second count–as if I haven’t been doing that for the past one year already!

The end result is that I have almost given up the idea of doing the Homes and Gardens Tour that I had intended as I find that most of the places I want to visit are way out of the public transport tracks and would take me ages to reach if I used the National Express coach services. Instead, I have decided to try and see just a couple of the gardens that can be reached by local train lines from London (such as Sissinghurst and Wisley Royal Garden) and to see the estates and mansions that lie sprinkled along the Thames. When I am in Oxford, during the third week of this month, I shall find it easier to reach places in the Cotswolds and in Wiltshire and at that time, I can try to see Blenheim Palace, Kelmscott Manor and the Hidcote Manor Gardens. So major changes in plans for me mean that next week I ought to be able to spend a whole week at the British Library with documents that will aid my understanding of negotiations that were carried out between the officials of the departing British Raj and the representatives of the Anglo-Indian Association.

I am, in a way, relieved that I have modified my plans. Everyone thought I was idiotic to aim at so ambitious an itinerary and I can now see why. At any rate, with so many wonderful places to cover that are so much closer to London, it makes no sense to be spending long hours in coaches, stuck in traffic when I would rather be out on my two feet exploring the country. So with those alterations in my plans all set, I could take a shower, dress and go off to cover one more self-guided walk in my book–this one entitled “Wanderings and Wizards”.

Wanderings and Wizards Walk:
There was much more than wanderings and wizards on this walk which turned out to be a sampler of sorts for it offered everything that the city of London has been known legendarily to possess–marvelous Wren churches, spooky graveyards, teeny-tiny tucked-away gardens, dim alleyways, atmospheric pubs and even a gigantic Victorian market–Leadenhall, so-called because its roof was made of lead and glass in the 19th century.

So, let’s begin at the beginning: I started off at Tower Hill (took another old Routemaster 15 bus there–I will never tire of the thrill of riding in these relics from a past era) and arrived at the Tower Hill Underground Station from where I walked across Trinity Square Gardens to arrive at the Memorial to the members of the Merchant Marine Corps who gave up their lives for their country–and then to a far older monument–the Memorial to the many men and women who were beheaded from 1381 to 1747.

The Tower of London is right across the busy road and I could only imagine what the last minutes of these poor ill-fated individuals might have been like as they made the journey from their prison cells in the Tower to this spot. Beheadings and hangings were public spectacle in those awful days and people gathered in vast numbers to take in these gruesome scenes. It was in 1747 that the last person (80-year old Lord Lovatt) was beheaded–thank God for little mercies! The monument is a poignant reminder of the injustice that so many of them faced in their last few years (individuals such as Sir Thomas More, for instance, who died fighting for their beliefs, their faith and their ideals, as heroes not as cowards).

When one considers the circumstances in which they died, it is curious (and I do not see the humor) in a pub across the street that is named The Hung, Drawn and Quartered!–but this is British humor, I guess. This pub stands right opposite the Church of All Hallows By-The-Tower (where I attended a recent Sunday Eucharist service) from which Samuel Pepys, the famous diarist who recorded the details of the Great Fire of London of 1566, watched the city turn into a bonfire–a scene of great desolation. There is a bust to his memory in a small garden in Seething Lane opposite the church.

Just a few steps away is the churchyard of St. Olav’s with its eerie stone gate that has three skulls and crossbones adorning its pediment. Apparently, these were designed to keep body snatchers away for it was not unusual for thieves to dig up fresh bodies right after they had been buried–these were sold to hospitals that needed them for the instruction of their student doctors as part of anatomy lessons. Inside, I found St. Olav’s to be equally spooky and I took a quick tour of the place before dashing out again. Somehow, with all the ghostly tales that I am reading as part of these tours, I feel rather uneasy in spaces that have not another soul in sight. I do not want my own brush with any of London’s ghosts and spectres, if I can help it.

Past St. Olav’s, the tour took me to very narrow alleys and unlit lanes that must have been the breeding ground for thieves in the not-too-distant past. They were reminiscent of the novels of Dickens and it was only when I was back on the main thoroughfares that I felt comfortable again. Office-goers were hurrying homeward though it was only 4. 45 and I soon realized that with the newspapers reporting a strike by Tube staff starting this evening, they were eager to get home before they found themselves stranded.

I pressed on, however, arriving at the splendid entrance to Leadenhall Market, a truly magnificent piece of Victorian architecture. It is a trifle reminiscent of Borough Market and Spitalfields but its fresh coat of paint makes it seem somehow much more striking. Whether this face lift is owed to its use by Hollywood producers of the Harry Potter films or not, I do not know, but the location was the setting for the scenes in Diagon Alley and there is actually a shop front in vivid blue that was the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron pub in the film. I enjoyed pottering (if you will forgive the pun!) around the market and its many shops that appeared like cubby-holes in the wall.

Right past this antiquated building is another that stands in peculiar contrast to it–the building that houses Lloyd’s, the British insurance firm. Only its building is like an industrial factory what with its steel facade, its glass elevators that ply along the exterior and its pipes that run the length and breadth of the structure. It reminded me very much of the building that houses the Centre Georges Pompidour in Paris, the location of the city’s collection of Modern Art. As anyone who has been reading this blog regularly knows, this form of Modernism is not my cup of tea at all and I was glad to leave the premises, though I rather marvelled at its design.

That was when I arrived at a series of churches, one after the other, that stood in small patches of green studded with ancient grave stones. There was the Church of St. Peter Upon Cornhill and then the Church of St. Michael. I have, by now, seen so many churches on these walks, that I have pretty much entered and perused all of the work of Christopher Wren that exhibits his attempts to rebuild the main houses of Christian worship in the center of the city after the Great Fire.

By the time I arrived at Bank Underground Station, commuters looked deeply harried and I could see why. Trains had already stopped running and I abandoned my intentions of getting to the National Theater to try to exchange some tickets that I am currently holding. Instead I did the sensible thing and hopped into the first 25 bus I saw that got me safely back home where I spent the rest of the evening writing this blog, fixing and eating my dinner (Chicken Kiev with soup and toast with chocolate mousse for dessert), making transport inquiries online for my intended trip to Highgate and Hampstead tomorrow and reading some more Potter before I retired for the day.