London

 

For those of us who grew up with the BBC on radio and TV (transmitted via our ABC), read Enid Blyton books then graduated to Dickens and Austen, cheered on the brave chaps in grainy old war movies, saw the Royal Family featured in every women’s magazine and studied a British-centred History curriculum, visiting London is a little bit like coming home at last.  And I know that’s quite a ridiculous thing to say about one of the world’s great metropolises where you are just as likely to hear Urdu or Croatian spoken as English, and much more likely to see a sari or a hijab worn than a bowler hat, but London seems to carry traces of all its past incarnations. The memory of Roman roads lives on in the layout of major streets; the streets themselves are named for the old trades that were conducted there. There are remnants, ruins and scars of centuries: relics of the Great Fire; the blackened bricks from the Age of Steam, clusters of gravestones from countless plagues, bomb damage from the Blitz as well as all the official memories – plaques, statues, dedicated buildings, portraits, libraries and museums. Peter Ackroyd develops this theme in his wonderful Biography of London.  Places seem to hold a memory of their previous uses – a church is likely to have been the site of a temple, and perhaps a holy site long before that; an Adult Shop occupies the space where an Elizabethan brothel operated; auto repairs are carried out where coaches used to be made, which no doubt made chariots in earlier times. It would take a lifetime to explore this amazing city, and even that wouldn’t be enough, because it creates something new every day.

We decided on a ten day visit to London while Terry was recuperating from his heart surgery and not allowed to put any strain on his chest (lines, winches, outboards etc) – and it seemed like the perfect time. After all, Shakespeare warned us “summer’s lease hath all too short a date.” And perfect it was, mild weather, several days of outright sunshine and everything green and in bloom. Lines of poetry about bluebells, lilacs, ancient oaks and chestnut trees kept popping into my head at every turn. AirBnB came up trumps with a lovely Victorian house in Merton Park near Wimbledon, home of Bernadette and Tudor, their son and Fred the cocker spaniel. Both history graduates and enthusiasts, Bernadette and Tudor were able to advise us on interesting things to see and do, besides filling in the fascinating stories that surround almost every building, street corner and field.

Our B&B in Merton Park

Merton Park, for example, was the estate of Horatio, Lord Nelson, and though there is nothing left of the house he shared with his mistress Emma Hamilton, we were able to see their pew in the beautiful old Church of St Mary the Virgin, just down the road. William Wilberforce, the abolitionist, lived nearby, and William Morris had his model factory and design studio here. Emma Davison, the suffragette who died under the hooves of the King’s horse at Epsom, spent her last night at a house on the corner. And so on.

Terry managed to find four Geocaches while wombling around Wimbledon Common, and several others around Merton Park and London. The Geocache locator looked like a massive Christmas tree with thousands of lights, so a token effort was good enough for the moment. Hundreds of people were out on the Common, walking, riding bikes and horses and generally enjoying the perfect weather.

Inscription on Nelson's pew in Merton Church



A walk down a country lane - lilac, wisteria and forget-me-nots





Churchyard, Merton church

We were about ten minutes by train from central London so we could do daily forays into the busy, teeming city then retreat back to a leafy haven of peace and quiet. Perfect! We managed to see most of the obligatory sights that seemed so familiar – the Tower, the Palace, the Abbey, all those Monopoly board streets – but I’ll just write about a few highlights here and bore everyone with all the rest when we get home.



One of our first outings was into the City proper for Terry to make a pilgrimage to the Bank of England. It really was very interesting – a walk through their museum is a journey through the history of Empire, the financing behind the great expeditions, the slave trade, the South Sea Bubble, centuries of wars, the trading dynasties. Walking around the streets you can’t miss Lord Nelson atop his column in Trafalgar Square (where I was spattered by a pigeon, just as I was in Times Square – the bastards missed me in St Mark’s). The Admiral was a bit of a theme on our visit. We saw his blood-spattered, bullet-holed jacket at Greenwich along with other memorabilia, the Great Hall where his body lay in state and his tomb at St Pauls. We actually sailed over the site of the Battle of Trafalgar on a very rough day after a failed attempt to reach Tangier in 2012, managing to spare a thought for the great man and for all those who lay below in the depths.



Nelson's jacket









Darwin presides over the Natural History Museum



London is an expensive city, but a lot of its museums, galleries and parks are free. We went to both Tate galleries, the National Gallery (to see Leonardo’s Virgin of the Rocks, to me the world’s most beautiful painting), the British Museum, the Natural History museum, the Victoria and Albert (loved the history walk-through and the costumes) and the National Portrait Gallery. I really like portrait galleries. There’s always a few good stories to go with the faces, often of people who have made a really significant contribution to humanity though you’ve never heard of them. (Previous discoveries include Douglas Waterhouse, the blessed inventor of Aerogard and supervisor of George Bornemisso’s dung beetle project who made it possible to go outside in Australia in summer, in the Australian National Portrait Gallery; Charles Drew the African-American inventor of the Blood Bank who later resigned from the Red Cross when it refused to desegregate blood (!) at the US National Portrait Gallery in Washington DC). London’s gallery was predictably full of royals, military men and a few literary types. The change in portrait style over four hundred years was fascinating in itself, but my favourite was Beatrix Potter, as your dear old aunty who’s gone a bit batty.

QE1

Beatrix Potter

We had hopes of getting to a few shows but being a Parky and a recovering heart patient took its toll of both of us. We ended up just getting to one, but “Sunny Afternoon”, based on the story of The Kinks, was wonderful – great music, high energy and according to Terry who actually saw The Kinks back in the day, the cast nailed it. A mind-boggling array of plays, musicals and exhibitions is on offer, and constantly changing. Next time we’ll be better prepared and ration our energy.

Food was expensive and not great, though I’m sure there are wonderful top end restaurants if you want to pay the price. On the other hand there were plenty of great pubs, many with endearing names, an honourable history and some good hearty beers and ciders, to be reviewed by the Captain in a later blog.

We did a lot of walking around, just taking it all in. And on one such walk, it just happened to be the Opening of Parliament and I was strolling down Whitehall when through the massing crowds I saw a carriage accompanied by Horse Guards. It was Charles and Camilla heading to Westminster. And, as I perched precariously on a sort of kerb, a golden carriage appeared bearing Her Majesty! So I really did get to see the Queen! She looks a little different from the first time I saw her in 1962, but for ninety, she’s doing very well.

Sorry, best I could do. Charles and Camilla are in there...

We ran out of time, of course, to do everything, and towards the end we had to split up to see the things we really wanted to see. So while Terry headed to St Pauls to pay homage to Nelson, I took a tour of Westminster Abbey (Do book ahead through their own website to skip the long queue.) This was a highlight for me, a place I’ve wanted to see for about 50 years. And it didn’t disappoint. The majestic old building, with its familiar spiky towers, parts of it dating back to before the Norman Conquest. Edward III (the Confessor) rebuilt it in the 11^th Century and is the earliest of the monarchs buried there. It really is awe-inspiring to stand beside a stone sarcophagus holding the nearly one thousand year old bones of a king, and to reflect that this is where William the Conqueror was crowned. I love those stone sarcophagi with effigies of the deceased carved life-sized on the top. They are generally remarkable likenesses, and the small details – a woman piously reads a book, a knight’s faithful dog curls at his feet, a couple clasp hands - serve to humanise these long-dead aristocrats. (My favourite ever was a Roman tomb in Elmali, Turkey, where a stone couple are engaged in the familiar battle of the bed-covers. The husband has hogged the quilt, exposing his wife’s bedsocks for all eternity.) Elizabeth I is there in Westminster, and the two Marys, the bitter divisions of faith resolved in the grave. Chaucer is buried in this, his workplace, and he commands what has become Poets’ Corner, resting place of many great British writers including Charles Dickens, Samuel Johnson, Thomas Hardy and Lord Tennyson. Great scientists including Darwin, Wallace, Rutherford, Faraday, Lister, Florey and Newton are interred in the Abbey and many other greats have memorials. One of the most moving memorials is a beautiful stained glass window commemorating those who died in the Battle of Britain; it replaced a window destroyed in the Blitz. I could happily spend another day or ten exploring this wonderful Gothic treasure trove!

So, we barely scratched the surface of this great city, let alone the whole of the UK that is still beckoning. We will be back soon for sure.

Nelson surveys London from his column