Tag Archive | National Portrait Gallery

Mass at Brompton Oratory, Museum-Hopping and Drink with Colleague

Aug29

Sunday, August 28, 2016

London

Unbelievable that tomorrow will make a month since I arrived in this city! But then I think of how much I have covered, how much has been accomplished and I feel as if I have been here forever. Awaking at 6.30 am, I had the time to write a blog post before having a full English brekkie, making myself a blue cheese sandwich and heading out the door.

Off to the Brompton Oratory for Mass:

Having checked the website last night, I found out that Mass at the Catholic Brompton Oratory in Kensington was at 10.00 am. So at 9.15 am, I stepped out. Bethnal Green had stirred by this time and there were a few people going about their business on the road. I hopped into a District Line train (which has to be the slowest line on the entire Tube system as the train makes its way sluggishly through the tunnels no matter the time of day on this line as opposed to hurtling through as it does on the others). At 9. 50, I arrived at South Kensington Station and a few minutes later, after a brisk five minute walk towards Cromwell Road, I arrived at the church.

Mass at the Brompton Oratory:

The Brompton Oratory is Catholic London’s response to the Anglican St. Paul’s Cathedral.  I love this church. It is a grand affair, both inside and out. Multi-domed, it has commanding Neo-Classical pillars that draw you inside to a wide, high porch and then into a gorgeous church built in the grand Italian high Baroque style with more cupolas, domes and gilded pillars, a wealth of sculptural saints, numerous side chapels and a High Altar that remains in the pre-Vatican II position, i.e. up against a wall so that a priest turns his back to the congregation as he celebrates Mass. One Easter, a few years ago, Llew and I had attended the 11.00 am service which is still in High Latin with a full choir, incense, the whole shebang! This time, there were about 200 people in the church many of whom were French Catholics  (as I could tell from their conversation at the end of Mass)–which is understandable as ‘South Ken’ is Little Paris (for some reason, French expatriates in London have congregated in this vicinity). Hence, their patronage of this church.

The priest was rather uptight, I thought, for being so young. But then it is probably the solemnity of his surroundings that affect his demeanor. His sermon was very good though, I have to say. You kneel at the rails to receive Communion, so it is all very old-fashioned. Sadly, there was no music as the full choir makes an appearance at the following Mass.

When I emerged from the church about an hour later, it was drizzling–typical English weather–fair one minute, foul the other. Luckily, the porch provided wide shelter and encouraged socializing–which was when I heard all the French around me. But in five minutes, the shower passed and I pushed on ahead with my plan for the day–which was to attend the special exhibition entitled ‘Curtains Up’ that will be closing shortly, at the next-door Victoria and Albert Museum–so five minutes later, in I was.

‘Curtains Up’ at the V&A:

As its name suggests, ‘Curtains Up’ is a special exhibition on show biz created to celebrate the entertainment traditions of London’s West End and New York’s Broadway. It is on the second floor of the museum, past one of my favorite sections in the museum–the Jewelry collection. Inside, the space is transformed into a dark theater–you are supposed to imagine that you are inside it throughout the exhibition. And it was wonderful! Through costumes, playbills, real awards (Oscar, Emmy, Tony and BAFTA), posters, photographs, letters and recordings, we were taken through the glitz and glitter of that dramatic world. I saw original costumes worn by the likes of Michael Crawford (in the original Phantom of the Opera both at the West End and on Broadway), by Elton John, by Judi Dench, Maggie Smith and Laurence Olivier. There were video snippets from some plays that you could watch, recordings to which you could listen with accompanying ear-phones, a whole cubical section reproducing the set of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, loads of props from varied shows, operas, musicals– including The Lion King. For any aficionado of the stage or screen, this is heaven.

I spent about an hour and a half at this special exhibit, then at 12. 30 pm, I made my way back downstairs to the lobby to await the guide for the Introductory Tour. There, since I was a few minutes early, I began chatting with an Indian couple from Northampton–he, Sachin, turned out to be a museum aficionado with memberships at many London museums, and she, Rukmini, turned out to have had Plantar Fasciitis when she was visiting New York, a few years ago. She fully understood my need to find a stool that would accompany me on the tour.

An Introductory Tour of the V&A:

I have taken this tour so often over the years that I am now pretty sure I can give it myself! Still, there are always new things to see because new objects are always added to the collection–so I hoped to be introduced to something quite spectacular on this tour. About twenty people had gathered for it and we made a jolly lot as we took off. During the course of her tour, the guide Marilyn Larsen, took us to the following objects:

  1. The Raphael Cartoon Room: Every HL Tour covers this room as it is truly a treasure. Seven full-length paintings or ‘cartoons’ (two of which are done entirely by Raphael and five by his assistants) cover the walls of a large dimly-lit gallery. They were meant to be the models from which tapestry-weavers would create tapestries of the same size–based on the lives of St. Peter and St. Paul.  Six tapestries  are in the Vatican Museum (Llew and I had seen them when we were there, a few years ago), one is actually on the wall in this gallery, exactly opposite its mirror image in the painting. Marilyn informed us that a few years ago when Pope John Paul II had visited the Museum, the tapestries were moved from the Vatican to the V&A temporarily–it was the only time the entire set of cartoons  and tapestries were ever united and she is sure it will never happen again.
  2. Chinese Vase: This is neither old nor perfect–so visitors are encouraged to touch it to feel the imperfections.
  3. Porcelain Tea Cups by Philip Lin: I am not sure I got his name right but this is a modern Chinese-British ceramist whose tea cups feature tiny hands creating a mudra or gesture that stands for good luck. The work is so fine and so delicate that Queen Elizabeth is reputed to have given entire tea sets as diplomatic gifts to visiting dignitaries.
  4. Bodhisatva Guanyin: A massive wooden seated figure from China, once fully gilded.
  5. The Garden: She took us out into the garden at precisely the point where it started drizzling again–so in we came! There is a large sculptural pavilion in the garden right now–an installation from engineers in Stuttgart in Germany. Called the Elythra Pavillion Installation, it is reminiscent of beetles and is made entirely by robots. However, we merely looked at it and had to leave as a result of the rain–which was gone five minutes later. Like I said, typical English weather today!
  6. ‘Scandal’ Sculpture by Charles Sargent Jagger:  Commissioned by Henry Mond for his London home . It is meant to be placed above a fireplace in Art Nouveau style. It features a nude man and woman and supposedly caused a  scandal when it was revealed. It is accompanied by a fire basket–all made of pewter.
  7. Sculptures by Rodin and Painting of the Sculptor: We walked through the Sculpture Gallery where she pointed out two pieces by Rodin–John the Baptist Preaching and One of the male characters on the Gates of Hell. Accompanying  that section is a painting of Rodin by the English portraitist, John Lavery. Since Rodin gave many of this works to the museum, this painting represents Anglo-French artistic collaboration.
  8. Central Chandelier by Dale Chihuly: The tour ended in the main lobby with an examination of the lovely chameuse and lemon chandelier by Chihuly, my favorite glass artist of all time and a fellow-American based in Takoma, Washington, outside of Seattle. What she didn’t tell us is that Chihuly chose the colors based on the Victorian window panes that were made in the same pastel colors (I had learned this from another guide on another tour). She did tell us that the dome is inspected regularly to make sure it can still bear the weight, that it is cleaned once a year when the entire lobby is kept out of bounds for a couple of days and that it is on long-term loan from Chihuly. She also said that his work is so valuable that if one of the prongs should ever fall off, the museum will manually break it to pieces to ensure that no one person can make a lot of money from it!
  9. Victorian Wedding Dress: In the Costume section (which I really do want to go back to see in detail), Marilyn took us to see a Victorian wedding dress. I learned that it was not until the wedding of Queen Victoria that brides wore white. She, being short, decided to wear a white dress at her wedding to Prince Albert–and ever since then she set the trend for bridal white. So it has nothing to do with purity or chastity or virginity. White dresses are worn just because Victoria was too small-made and thought that she would stand out better in a white dress when surrounded by all those male courtiers. Because she also worn an orange blossom wreath, brides have worn wreaths and veils since then!
  10. Tipu’s Tiger: No HL tour at the V&A is ever complete without this item. It is a wooden music box in the form of a tiger leaning over a British soldier and mauling him to death. When the handle on the box is turned (now much too fragile to be used), the tiger roars and the soldier shrieks. It was said to be made for Mysore’s Tipu Sultan in the last years of the 1700s just before Tipu was vanquished by the British in the Battle of Seringapatnam.  It is the most popular item in the museum–for obvious reasons.

And that, as I can remember the tour, was it. Did I see anything new? Yes, the tea cups and the wedding dress. But it is always fun to take a guided tour in a museum as I like to see if I can get any tips on how to make my tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art any better. And, of course, there is always something new to learn and appreciate on a tour with a new guide.

When the tour was done, I took my stool with me and went off to the Gamble Dining Room to eat my sandwich and have a cup of coffee.  While there, I was joined at my table by another single female museum visitor called Suzanne which whom I had a lovely chat. We talked about our fondness for museums, for visiting them alone (so that we can see what we like and stay as long or as little as we want) and about some venues that I can explore (and of which I have never heard) such as the William Morris Gallery on the East Side where I live.

While I was chatting with Suzanne, I received a call from my NYU colleague Brendan wondering if we could meet for a drink. He was headed to the National Gallery to see the Painter’s Paintings exhibition and I wanted to continue my tour of the National Portrait Gallery. I told him we could meet for a drink at 6.00 pm. which would work perfectly for me as I could run one more errand in Hammersmith.

On the Bus to Hammersmith for Bus Route Maps:

So, ten minutes later, I was on a bus to Hammersmith Bus Depot because I needed to pick up bus maps for Central, East and West London. The ones I have are so well used that they are breaking apart and I need to keep some for my London file. After I obtained them from the Information Kiosk, I sat on a return bus only hopping off for half an hour at Kensington High Street to browse through the thrift stores there. And I found the DVDs of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, both Parts 1 and 2 in an Octavia shop! I was thrilled. Now my Harry Potter series of DVDs is complete and I am learning that if it is British films I want to add to my collection at home, London’s thrift stores is what I should be scouring. Across the street was Geranium, a place with wonderful vintage jewelry in the window…but as it was near closing time, I did not have much of a chance to browse.

On the Bus again to the National Portrait Gallery, I got off at Trafalgar Square and walked along. I got myself a stool and returned to Gallery 18 and for the next hour, I completed my tour of the second floor. When next I get there, I shall start the Twentieth Century. I believe it will take me roughly two sessions to go over that museum and then turn to the Tates–London and Modern.

 A Drink with an NYU Colleague:

Meanwhile, as the hands on the clock at St. Martin’s In the Field Church crept to 6.00 pm, I made my way to the entrance of the National Gallery to meet Brendan.  It was so great to see him again. He will be spending this coming academic year teaching at London–a position I once held a few years ago. We decided to go and get a beer and as we walked towards Leicester Square on an evening that was teeming with tourists enjoying the lovely coolness of a summer’s evening after intermittent spells of rain, we found a pub called The Porcupine on Shaftesbury Road. In no time at all, I was nursing my Guinness and exchanging news and views with m’coll–and about 7. 30 pm, we thought it was time to depart. We walked to the Tube station together and made plans to meet next week during Orientation at NYU.

Dinner and TV and Bed:

I reached home at 8.00 pm, had a shower, put my dinner together and sat down to watch Making a Murderer–next episode.  Thankfully, I still have some entertainment at my finger tips, due to my laptop computer. And by 10.30 pm, with a very brief conversation with Llew (as I was both sleepy and tired), I fell asleep.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

A Lonely Wedding Anniversary–Saved by Roses, Friend and Trans-Atlantic Communication

Aug28

Saturday, August 27, 2016

London

As I have already expressed, I am feeling far more lonely this time round in London than I ever did before on the many occasions I have lived alone here. It must have to do with the fact that I live in a house (not a flat) with no known neighbors in a vicinity to which I have never really warmed. This is adding to my sense of isolation. So preoccupied have I been with my general sense of unease about the neighborhood that I completely forgot it was my wedding anniversary today. Not even the fact that my Dad asked for my address and phone number two days ago, in order to call to wish me,  helped jog my memory.

So I awoke at 6.00 am after a restless night as I am really really hot without a fan. I cannot open the windows as the street sounds keep me awake. So my bedroom is like a mini oven. The heat is making me wake up too early—but with little to do, I began blogging, followed by a bit of reading. I felt the urgent need to get away from London on a day trip–then remembered that I also want to curtail my walking. I thought about the Barnes Wetlands Center which I have never visited, but it would involve walking over vast acreage on a day when the mercury was expected to climb high. (I cannot wait for this heat wave to break.) There was perhaps Bletchley Park to which I could go–I loved the movie The Imitation Game about Alan Turing who broke the Enigma Code there plus I had watched a TV series entitled Bletchley Park about the role played by the women who were hired to write/decipher Code. But that too would involve a vast amount of trekking. It is better for me to give my feet as much rest as possible during the next few days to avoid the onset of plantar fasciitis again.

Rustling Up a Full English Brekkie At Home:

The BnB at Dorset has given me a taste for full English brekkies and the prices at Morrisons’ for sausages and bacon clinched the deal for me. I had bought eggs and the fixin’s and decided to rustle one up. So into the kitchen I went and for the next half hour, I fried bacon and sausages and scrambled eggs and with the baked beans I had bought earlier, I had  myself one of them heart attacks on a plate! No tomatoes or mushrooms to soften the impact of all that protein. I debated for a second: should I/shouldn’t I have some toast with it? Might as well cut the carbs, I thought. So that was it–with my decaff coffee, of course. I watched Saturday Kitchen on my laptop computer while I ate (as there is no TV here).

Back upstairs in my room, I began working in earnest on the Powerpoint presentation that I would like to accompany my paper in Scotland. I transferred all the pictures I had taken on my I-phone at the British Library on to my email and then tried to save them on my desktop so that I could download them on to the presentation. No dice! I would need some advice on how to achieve that and my brother Roger would be the best person to help me. I was about to send him an SOS message. So you can imagine how shocked I was to get a whatsapp from my brother (at exactly that moment–mental telepathy?) wishing me for my anniversary. OMG, I thought! It is my wedding anniversary today! I completely forgot. That’s what happens when you are so far away from a beloved spouse! By then clearly the US was awaking up. Within minutes, I found a response from Llew to Roger and then from Llew to me. I was, at that very minute, planning to call my Dad when Llew app-ed me to inform me that my Dad had been trying to call me but was not succeeding. He asked me to call Dad first and then we would talk.

International Anniversary Calls and VideoChats:

So, of course, I called Dad. There was a lump in my throat at the end of our conversation for Dad, being my Dad, says things that always make me emotional. He said he had been trying to phone me by 6.30 am my time so that his call would be the first I would receive because he realized how low I would feel about being so far away from Llew on my anniversary!  And that did it! The general loneliness I have been feeling for  at least the past two weeks increased and I felt a terrible dread about being alone today. I needed to make plans with a friend for I had to do something with someone.

A swift call to my friend Sushil clinched it. He invited me to his place for a cuppa followed by a saunter down to the National Portrait Gallery to see the winners of the BP Portrait Contest–as he had made plans to see them anyway. I had begun my own survey of the NPG the previous day–so his suggestion could not have been more apropos. There! That would do it. I would have a quick light lunch and leave in about an hour for Holborn where he lives.

A few minutes later, Llew and I were on videochat together and he informed me that there was a delivery for me. Awww! He asked what time I would be leaving the house and when I said in  one hour, he said, OK, I must get off the call now. He had to call the place in London to ensure I was present to take delivery. I did not want him to leave the box on the porch. They had a very busy day ahead in Connecticut as Fr. Austin, the priest who married us in India, was expected at our place to spend the day as he was on a year-long Sabbatical himself in the US and Canada from Bombay. Llew needed to drive to Westchester in New York to pick him up and needed to make headway with the day–not to mention putting together a meal for our beloved guest.

 A Delivery and a Friend Save The Day:

I descended into the kitchen again to eat lunch, then went up to get dressed and was just closing the window of my bedroom when the delivery man appeared at my gate below and said ‘Hello’!  The box had arrived from Llew. Inside were two dozen red roses and a beautiful card! He had remembered and I had forgotten! Ssshhh. Don’t tell him! Anyway, never have I been happier to see red roses delivered to my door. The last time this had happened was when I lived in London and received a similar delivery on Valentine’s Day–my neighbor Barbara had commented on Twitter about how loved her next-door neighbor was! Or something like that! Anyway, I filled a tall beer glass with water to create a make-shift vase and took my roses and card up to my room so I would see them first thing when I awoke for the next few days.

Five minutes later, I took the 25 bus to Holborn and arrived at Sushil’s flat. There, after a fun reunion and a lovely natter, we sipped our tea (I am now carrying my own decaff tea bags and my own sweetener in my bag for no one in London has decaff tea except me) and assuaged any fear of being up at all hours of the night from the unnecessary shot of caffeine. About an hour later, Sushil and I left and took the 38 bus to Leicester Square from where we walked it out for a few minutes to the NPG.

Visiting the National Portrait Gallery with Sushil:

Probably because it is still too hot outside, most London tourists are seeking refuge in museums and galleries. Or maybe friends and relatives of those contestants shortlisted for the prize had all descended on London to view their entries. At any rate, the gallery was packed. We were both most impressed by several of the entries although neither one of us thought the First Prize winner was any great shakes–but then what do we know? After spending about 45 minutes surveying the high quality of work by amateur painters around the world, Sushil said goodbye and moved on, He had much of his plate and could not stay longer.

I left the gallery and then got side tracked by some of the most recent work on the ground floor–portraits of Charles and Camilla and of Maggie Smith, Zaha Hadid and J.K. Rowling (an interesting three-dimensional cut-out creation) and when I had finished the entire ground floor, I went back up to the second floor to Room 11 and continued my chronological survey of the permanent collection. I went through the Stuarts and the Hanoverians and had completed Room 17 when the PA system announced the closure of the gallery at 5. 50 pm. Using a stool helped enormously in ensuring that I was not on my feet throughout.

Enjoying Trafalgar Square and a Visit to St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church:

The sun had cooled down considerably by the time I re-emerged from the Gallery. There was a pleasant cool breeze playing and I was attracted to a busker right opposite the Gallery–a very beautiful young diminutive blonde with a lovely soulful voice who was singing with an accompanying guitar and a drummer (on a plain box). I found a seat and listened to two of her songs (both really lovely). Her mother who is quite obviously her manager was distributing her picture, collecting money, etc. After the performance, many folks walked up to ask her questions–I have never seen this sort of thing happen before. Clearly, she had an impact on many.

As her performance ended and the crowd walked away, I headed into the Church of St. Martin-in-The-Fields next door. Had I remembered my anniversary, I would have gone to Mass in the morning. But since it slipped my mind, I would have to do with a visit to a church. And it was in the cool interior of a very quiet and peaceful place that I gave thanks.

Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the church and sat on the steps for a while taking in the sights of milling crowds all around the Square. It was cool by this time and since it was still so bright, I decided to take a bus and to enjoy sights of the city as I headed home instead of disappearing underground in a Tube. When a 23 arrived to take me to Liverpool Street Station from opposite Charing Cross,  I hopped in and in my favorite seat (upper deck, front and center), I was mistress of all I surveyed. At Bank, I changed into a No. 8, got off at Bethnal Green, jumped into a 309 and was home by 7. 30 pm.

Celebrating an Anniversary from Afar:

I had  a shower and had just made myself a dinner plate and was getting ready to watch Making a Murderer on Netflix when a Facetime call came from Roger. It was about tea-time in Connecticut and Fr. Austin had arrived at our place and Roger had returned from work and they were just about to get Llew to cut a cake for our wedding anniversary and wanted me to be a part of the ritual as well. So with Lalita sitting down at our piano and playing ‘Congratulations’ and the rest of the crowd including Fr. Austin and the children singing, and a lovely view of the cake and Llew grinning madly and me waving away from here in London, we had a trans-Atlantic  wedding anniversary celebration that warmed the cockles of my forlorn heart and made me feel so highly lifted. It was fantastic! What a lovely way to end the day of my wedding anniversary! Although so far away from Llew, we felt so connected.

All that was left was for me to watch another episode of Making A Murderer (which is really compelling) and to go to bed at about 10. 30 pm. after checking out the Mass timings in a Catholic Church as I would like to offer up an anniversary Mass when tomorrow dawns.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

 

An Errand at Ealing and Late Evening at National Portrait Gallery

Aug27

Friday, August 26, 2016

London

Today is the Friday of a long ‘Bank Holiday’ Weekend in the UK–not sure what the Bank Holiday is for…but everyone is in a jolly mood with three days ahead to veg out.

As for me, I have to admit that loneliness is beginning to hit me gradually coupled with the fact that my feet are issuing serious warning signals. I know the signs of plantar fasciitis and I dread them with all my heart. It is time to slow down and give my feet a rest. But that means, basically, staying put and at home. Not a very exciting prospect for me, to be honest, as finding things to keep me busy when I am home-bound is tough!

Still, I awoke at 5.30 am today (for some unearthly reason) and could not get back to sleep. I decided to work on my paper and edit it as it is much too lengthy. After more than a hour, I stopped to have breakfast (muesli with yogurt and coffee) and continued working some more. I also wrote a blog post and started to think of a query letter I need to write for a potential publisher that a friend in New York has recommended to me.

Getting to Ealing:

At 9.40 am, I stopped to get dressed as I had an errand to run in Ealing and some friends to meet. I left the house, on schedule, at 10.00 am for my 11.00 am appointment but as I was locking the door, a bus to Bethnal Green sailed past. Grrr! Since I am avoiding walking now, there was no choice but to wait for the next one which came in about 12 minutes. I took the Central Line train to Ealing and was there almost on time. I had a bit of a challenge trying to find their place but soon I was reunited with them–Greg and Cecil. I was meeting my friend Cecil after a few years, so it was great to see him again and to meet his son, Greg. They were lovely and we had a wonderful time before I left to explore Ealing Broadway.

Exploring Ealing Broadway:

Yes, just half a block (in New York terms) from their place is Ealing ‘High Street’ called Broadway here–filled with every conceivable kind of restaurant, shop, fast food place, bar, etc. Around the corner, there is Marks and Sparks plus the famed Westfield Mall and hundreds of people to-in and fro-ing, making it vibrant and truly ‘happening’. I entered Morrisons for the first time to see what the prices were like and got the shock of my life. Six butter croissants for 1. 20 pounds! That is 20p a croissant–how is that even possible? Soon I found that everything, simply everything is less than half of what I have been paying in Sainsburys or the Co-op–which, by the way, is the biggest rip-off. Everything is more pricey there! See? After a month, I am becoming proficient in comparison-shopping in the UK!

As I left the store, a vendor placed a coupon for McD’s in my hand–because the place is also fully surrounded by every American fast food outlet you can imagine (McDonalds, Subway, Burger King, even Five Guys!) I felt fully at home! By the way, there is also Tinseltown–my favorite burger and shake place in the UK on The Mall. I usually get a Ferroro Rocher Shake at the Tinseltown in Hampstead–so it was great to spot one here too. Naturally, I could not resist getting a Big Mac for 1.99 pounds with fries! So in I went! Yes, Into McDs!!! A place I never enter unless Llew and I are on the road, travelling by car in the US! I guess after about a month in the UK, I needed my American Fix! So I also ordered a mocha frappe to go with it–perfect on another sweltering day–and discovered that McD’s in the UK does not accept credit cards that require a signature!!! Good Job I had some cash on me (I usually do not!) Anyway, I sat and wolfed down my caloric American meal and called my Dad for a chat. By the time I finished my meal and walked about with my food shopping from Morrison’s, I decided to scrap the thought of wandering about M&S (anywhere where I could find air-conditioning would have been fine!) and go home instead.

An Afternoon Chez Moi:

I was in the train in 10 minutes and home about 40 minutes later. After I put away my shopping, I went up to my boiler of a bedroom, threw the window open because I though I would suffocate–it was so hot and airless–and left it open as I thought I would continue to work. But I simply cannot manage without a fan. The heat is getting to me so vilely that I cannot sit upstairs in this house during the day. Instead, after trying to work on my paper for about an hour, I had a video chat with Chriselle in California and then I made myself a pot of tea and had it with Coffee Walnut Cake. I then went for in a badly needed shower.

An Evening at the National Portrait Gallery:

I had to think of some place to which I could go that was air-conditioned and did not involve too much walking. And I came up with the National Portrait Gallery at Trafalgar Square–one of my favorite places in London and one that I had yet to re-visit. Fridays is also late-evening closure at the museum whose doors are kept open till 9.00 pm. Not that I wanted to stay out late or after dark as I am still hesitant to come back to this neighborhood after nightfall.

An Unexpected Recital in the Elizabethan Gallery:

As soon as I entered the Gallery, I looked for their ‘Events for Today’ and found that a duo were performing upstairs in the Elizabethan Portrait Gallery. Without wasting any time, I took the escalator to the second floor to find that a recital between a lutanist and a tenor had just begun. I had to wait for a few minutes for the first set to end before I was able to take a seat right in front and give myself up to the music.

It was just lovely! I realized that this sort of music would have been the ‘radio’ of the Tudor and Elizabethan periods–the sort of background music that would have been a constant feature at court. In so many movies and TV series, I have seen a pair of musicians seated in a corner in the antechamber of the queen and her ladies or in Banquet Halls where the king supped. The music is quiet, lilting and softly pleasing. The composers were Thomas Morley, John Dowland, Francis Pilkington and Thomas Campion mainly and they wrote music for lute and harp–again, the kind of instruments that provide a pleasing sound without being intrusive. The concert, entitled ‘From Dawn to Dusk: Musicke in the Ayre’ featured the Australian singer Daniel Thomson who has made London his home and lutanist Din Ghani who is not only a musician but a musicologist and a maker of lutes! Seated in the Gallery, just below the Coronation Portrait of Elizabeth I, I kept wishing they had dressed in period costume–for that would have enhanced the entire experience a thousand-fold. Still, it was simply enchanting and after an hour, when they were done, I began my exploration of the gallery.

Viewing Works at the National Portrait Gallery:

I love the National portrait Gallery for many reasons: the portraits themselves, of course, first of all, are among the best in the world. Secondly, for the significance of the portraits: The Portrait of Shakespeare, for instance, is the first one that the Gallery ever acquired for its permanent collection and the curatorial notes state that it is probably the only one painted from life–now this dispels the belief that the recently-unearthed Cobbe Portrait is the only one painted from life! Go figure! Thirdly, for the amount that I learn about the sitters with every visit I make. Fourthly, because viewing these works always provides a crash refresher course for me on British history and politics. The chronological arrangement of the rooms allows me to traverse centuries of British notables and to learn about them and the artists who painted them. Finally, I love the mood lighting in the Tudor and Elizabethan Galleries–it is kept soft in order to preserve the integrity of the pigments, but it adds to the atmosphere of the era. This was a very dark time in British History and as I gaze upon the faces of women like Anne Boleyn and Mary Tudor and contrast their portraits with those of bigger worthies such as Henry VIII or Sir Thomas More or Archbishop Cranmer and even lesser ones such as Salisbury and Cecil, I keep thinking how dangerous those times were for women, how they were ‘played’ politically by the men, how powerless they were in battling court intrigues that dispensed with them at the drop of a hat. These portraits truly transport me into another era and fill me with a deep sense of dread.

Even as one leaves the 1500s behind and enters more recent epochs, there is hardly a portrait of a woman. But for an occasional queen, the dominant faces are masculine: writers, musicians, politicians, architects, you name it…they were men. I got all the way to Room 10 and reached the 18th century–all those portraits of male members of the Kit Kat Club with curled wigs tumbling about their shoulders as was the fashion of the time. I looked aghast at the kings (Charles II, for instance) who fathered 14 children with different mistresses, brought his wife Catherine of Braganza untold misery and then claimed he truly cared for her!!! For far less transgressions, thankfully, today, royal marriages have broken up.

The Gallery is also experimenting with the concept of mixing a contemporary painting of current notables with those from the past–for some contrast and to allow the viewer to compare fashion, poses, etc. For instance, in the Elizabethan Gallery, there is a huge portrait of the two current princes–William and Harry–in casual conversation with each other. It is a lovely piece of work by Nicky Phillips. Although set in Clarence House (which I visited a couple of weeks ago), their home during their growing years and dressed in formal military garb (William wears the Order of the Garter), they are laughing as they converse and both look away from the artist–so casual, so unposed, so different from the stiff portraits of their own ancestors in the same room. Overall, I had a lovely time and so absorbed was I in my own contemplation of past history and past society, that I completely lost track of the time and was startled by the announcement that the Gallery would be closing in 15 minutes!

Trafalgar Square by Night:

Yikes! It was already 8.45–already dark! I finished Room 10 and then hurried out into the evening splendor of Trafalgar Square. I realized how beautiful it was as I was seeing the city at night for the first time since my arrival here. With the blue lights in the fountains of Trafalgar Square and the dome of the Colisseum where the English National Opera performs, the city was transformed into a magical place. There were crowds, simply milling crowds, all over as the warm night and the darkness contributed to keeping people where they were: tumbling down the stairs leading from the National Gallery to the Square, seated all around Edward Landseer’s lions, perched on the parapets that surround the periphery of the Square, etc. This is what I love about London–the sheer love that I have for this city is reflected in the eyes and movements of all the people who have come here because they so love it too. I also love the fact that I can wander into a museum and stumble upon a truly atmospheric concert that I can enjoy for free! Where else on earth could such things happen?

But I had no time to lose. I hurried off to Charing Cross station to take the Northern line south for one station and when I arrived at the Embankment, I hopped off, made my connection into a waiting train and got completely lost in The Evening Standard–the free paper distributed to commuters each evening (the free paper concept has never caught on in New York–probably because people there prefer to gaze at their phones!)

It was only when I reached the Barbican that I realized I was on the wrong train! Crumbs! I jumped off, raced to the platform on the opposite side, rode it one stop further to Liverpool Street and then took the Central Line from there for one stop to Bethnal Green. In a way, it was good I had made a mistake as this allowed me to take the 309 bus home for 2 stops instead of walking alone in the dark and taxing my feet. Luckily, my bus came along in 3 minutes and I was home by 10.00 pm–the latest I have ever come home (but this time all I had to do was cross the street from the bus-top and enter my house). Since I had eaten a big lunch and a substantial tea, I decided not to eat any dinner at all and I simply prepared to go to bed.

I do not think I punished my feet too much today but I did manage to accomplish a lot–despite the heat which I hope will abate soon.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Revisiting Trafalgar Square and The Wallace Collection

Jul20


Friday, July 19, 2013
London
Today turned out to be a not-so-exciting one. I woke early, did substantial work at my computer before eating my muesli breakfast. But by the time I managed to get out of the house it was about 9. 45 am—perhaps already a tad too late to try to snag a 10 pound “Day Ticket”.
I took the Tube to Leicester Square and then walked to Shaftesbury Lane to the theater playing The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. No such luck today! The clerk told me that all tickets were gone in ten minutes as the play is proving very popular (possibly a result of the popularity of the novel). He said people had queued up since 6. 45 am!!! If I want a Day Ticket, it seems I must get there by at least 8.00 am. Oh well! Perhaps I shall try on another day.  
Since I was in the West End area, I figured I would try to get Day Tickets for another play on my Must-See List: it turned out that One Man, Two Gov’nors was on at the Theater Royal Haymarket, not too far away. I walked there and got one ticket for 12 pounds—but it turned out to be high up in the Gallery. I took it anyway figuring that my field glasses would prove helpful. Then off I went to start my rambles in Soho and Trafalgar Square.
Traipsing around Trafalgar:
            There was not much I saw for the first time today, save for Chinatown. I have walked through Gerard Streetbefore (which is the heart of London’s Chinatown) but rarely have I observed the place minutely. This morning, I was right in the midst of the unloading going on at every supermarket and restaurant that lines Gerard Street—and it was both unpleasant and dangerous as there were mechanized dollies doing their thing—with me in the middle.
            I quickly scuttled off and entered Leicester Square (going past the interesting Exchange and Bullion Center building on the right that dates from the late 1800s). As always, Leicester Square was alive with tourists looking for discounted theater tickets. I realized that the TKTS booth that used to be the hub of the area is now almost forlorn—very few discounted seats were available and although they were half price, they were still expensive. It seems that people now prefer to queue up outside individual theaters for the Day Tickets which are a real bargain, if you can get them.
            The sculpture of Shakespeare is shrouded by scaffolding as it is under refurbishment and Charlie Chaplin in no longer there either. Looping around Orange Street, I arrived at the Sainsbury Wing of the National Theater and looping around the grand old fountains there, I took a few pictures before going up close and personal to peruse Edwin Landseer’s magnificent quartet of bronze lions. There was actually a queue of people waiting patiently to climb atop them to have their pictures taken.
            I lopped around and entered the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, so named because it once stood in the fields and pastures in which sheep grazed. The inside is known for its superb ornamental plaster ceiling although its altar is rather plain. Once upon a time, I had attended a brilliant fusion concert inside with my nephew Sudarshan. I will never forget the acoustics of that lovely venue. This morning, I was present for the rehearsal of another lunch time concert: clarinet and piano—and I cannot tell you how awful it sounded. The program centered around the kind of atonal music I detest—it was all sound and fury signifying nothing. I scuttled out again as quickly as I could and made my way down into the Cryptwhich has perhaps the nicest gift store in London. It carries the most unusual merchandise and I always wish I had a bigger baggage allowance when I am in a place like this. As it turned out, all I could do was some window shopping before I left and resurfaced at the top.
An Errand and a Viewing at the National Portrait Gallery:
            I crossed the street and entered the National Portrait Gallery where I had an errand associated with identifying an image that I intend to use as the cover of my book. Since the image does not belong to the Museum but is in a private collection, I need the help of an archivist and the staff of the Exhibitions Department to assist me. I did get the names, telephone numbers and email addresses of the persons to contact and then I went out to see the portrait that everyone was talking about a few months ago: the Portrait of Catherine Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge by Paul Emsley that critics either like or hate. No one seems to have loved it so far, so I was prepared not to be impressed. As it turned out, I thought it was an admirable likeness of the sitter (done with just two sittings granted to the artist whom Catherine chose personally) without any attempt made to glamorize her. Yes, the overall effect is grey, dull and somber but perhaps that was how the artist saw his subject. Nothing wrong with it, I thought. The eyes are magnetic—beautifully done in shades of hazel with a strange light shining out of them—so hard to achieve in a portrait.
            I spent a while looking at some of the other newer, more contemporary portraits that have been added since I was last there (actor Timothy Spall, actress Maggie Smith) and then I made my way out and walked towards Charing Cross Road. It hadn’t turned out to be much of a morning, so I decided to take the Tube to Oxford Street for a peep into the Wallace Collection, another wonderful private collection of art.
Lunch in Starbucks at Selfridges:
            Thanks to the current soap opera I have been watching in the States, Mr. Selfridge, I simply couldn’t resist the impulse to go to Selfridges and browse around. My first stop was the Jo Malone counter where, as a regular buyer, I was presented with a sample pot of Nectarine and Honey Body Cream. Then up I went to the café as I was hungry and wanted to eat my Stilton Cheese sandwich and to buy a drink to wash it down. It turned out that Starbucks has a location on the fourth floor which is the Food Hall. Unfortunately, it did not have wifi—standard in all Starbucks’ around the world—but I did buy a Strawberry and Cream Milkshake—and so good it was too on a morning that was muggy and sticky. Lunch break gave me a chance to regroup and decide what to do next and to rest my feet. I am walking an average of 6 miles a day and it is taking its toll on my feet though not apparently doing anything to bring down my weight! Well, it’s the milkshakes that have a lot to answer for, I guess!
           
Window Shopping on Marylebone High Street:
            Lunch done, I walked along St. James’ Street towards Marylebone High Street to get to the Wallace Collection which is sandwiched in Mansfield Square between Oxford Street and Marylebone High Street—while the former is known for its chain stores (M&S, Selfridges, Zara, Monsoon, H&M, etc), the latter has the boutique stores (The White Company, Daunt Books) and many charity shops—a particular fancy of mine. I was thrilled to find a loaf of Walnut Bread at Waitrose (I do not often find it and when I do, I always buy one) and then it was in the many charity shops that I browsed (Oxfam, St. Bernard’s, Cancer Care, etc.). Alas, I found nothing to grab my fancy so I walked towards the Wallace Collection.              
Saying Hullo to Masterpieces in the Wallace Collection:
            The Wallace Collection is based in an 18th century mansion that belonged to the Dukes of Hertford and is filled with their collection of art and objects d’art—mainly from the 18th century, although there are significant pieces from other eras as well. It is a grand space that is beautifully maintained and, best of all, free to the public. It is also still very much a residence and I think it wonderful that the public is allowed to glimpse these marvels without needing to pay handsomely for them.
            The reception desk provides a floor plan which allows folks to leave footprints around the spacious rooms in which royalty were once entertained. Notice the interior design and decoration as much as the art objects. Notice, for instance, the grand marble staircase with its exquisite metalwork railing. Notice the outdoor café space—under a great glass ceiling amid potted palms, one can sip a soothing cuppa.
            Then notice the masterpieces that, according to the bequest can be moved around the house but never out of it. So if you want to see Fragonard’s The Swing or Franz Hals’ The Laughing Cavalier or Nicolas Poussin’s Dance to the Music of Time or Peter Paul Reuben’s Landscape with Rainbow or Velasquez’s Lady with a Fan—you can only see them here with no expectation whatsoever that they will come to a museum near you. For The Swing alone, it is worth making the pilgrimage to the Wallace. It is a darling painting—oil on wood—that tells a little story. The 18th century lady, complete with voluminous skirts and powdered wig, is being swung by her father—a white haired man in the background. But unbeknownst to him, her lover is concealed in the hedges waiting for a glimpse of his beloved. She, well knowing of his presence, flirts outrageously with him, even tossing her little pink sandal into the hedge for him to catch! It is twilight—there is little light except what shines on the lady’s face. I love this painting and I was thrilled to see it again.
I also adore another painting in this collection: Miss Bowles and her Dog by Joshua Reynolds. It is so evocative of innocence and of child-like beautiy that it always takes my breath away. Indeed in a collection that has masses of large-scale canvasses by Charles Oudry, Sargent, Reubens, it is the littlest ones that are most striking and I love them dearly.
            I also love the arrogant expression on the face of the Hals’ Laughing Cavalier. There are also any number of Francois Bouchers—with his fat cherubic angels and their skeins and garlands of fruits and flowers. There are loads, simply loads, of Sevres porcelain, so you would be wise to see them here for free (rather than at Buckingham Palace where you will have to pay a bundle to see the Queen’s collection—she is a passionate collector of Sevres).
            Yes, to read the label of every one of the paintings and to admire every item of Boule furniture, it would take all day—but if you want to see just the masterpieces, you can see the collection in a couple of hours—which is what I did.
            I then walked up to Portman Square and jumped into the 139 bus going to St. John’s Wood so that I could water the plants on the balcony of my friend Raquel’s flat. This took me no more than a half hour’s detour. I was back on the bus again and took the Tube from Oxford Circus to get back home for a shower and a nap. Alas, I did not have the time for a cup of tea today.
Off to the Theater to see One Man, Two Gov’nors:
            At 7.00 pm, I left the house to take the Tube to Piccadilly Circus from where I walked to the Theater Royal Haymarket to see  One Man, Two Gov’nors. My seat was awful—way way too high with the gold bar coming right in the center and distorting the view. I realized quickly enough that it would be torture to sit there and I also discovered that the play, while really hilarious, contained too much slapstick for my liking. I got the idea pretty quickly: a series of mix-ups would occur as one man juggled the orders of his two employers (‘governors’ in Cockney slang). By the intermission, I decided that I had had enough and I left—it has been ages since I have left the theater half way through the play, but it was clearly not up my alley.  
      On the bus I arrived at Aldwych, from where I took another bus along Kingsway to Holborn and then I was inside Sainsburys’ buying two Indian ready meals as I had a sudden desire to eat Indian food! I bought Chicken Tikka Masala and Jal Frezi with Pullao and a tub of Carte D’Or Chocolate Explosion ice-cream (as it is still terribly hot) and some profiteroles (which I love) and then I was on the Tube at Holborn getting home for a fairly early night.
            I heated up an Indian meal, ate a big dessert and then went off to sleep thinking that it hadn’t been much of a day after all.

In Stratford–Shakespeare Found–and the Cotswolds

Jun29

Sunday, June 28, 2009
Stratford-on-Avon and Chipping Norton

I had no intentions to returning to Stratford-on-Avon while I was in Oxford. After all, I had been there the weekend of Shakespeare’s birthday (April 23) with Stephanie and would not have wanted to waste a day in the same venue. But just a couple of weeks after my return from Stratford, my colleague Karen began talking about a new Shakespeare Portrait that has just been unearthed and which is of supreme significance both for the literary and art worlds as it is suspected to be the only portrait for which Shakespeare ever posed during his lifetime. She told me that seeing it with her husband Douglas (who is a Renaissance scholar) was one of the highlights of her year in the UK–and I figured that if it is so special, I ought not to leave the UK without seeing it. I don’t believe that it was on display when I was in Stratford with Stephanie in April—maybe it was, maybe not. But in any case, since I was only 40 miles from Stratford here in Oxford, it made sense for me to take public transport to get there and have my own peek at this portrait.

And so I had ear marked today for this trip. I awoke about 7. 00, read Harry Potter for about 40 minutes, then left my bedroom to wash and get dressed for the 8 am Mass at The Oratory (a Jesuit-run church) on Woodstock Road near St. Giles. When I had passed by yesterday, I had discovered that there was a Mass at 8 am—a Mass that was described as “Old Rite”. I had no idea what this meant but I decided to find out since breakfast on Sunday is only served at 9 am. This left me time to attend Mass and get back in time for breakfast.

Old Rite Mass at The Oratory:
The Oratory is a very historic Catholic church in Oxford. It was established in 1845 which doesn’t make it old by Oxford standards, but it was the venue in which the famous Cardinal John Newman began his Ministry about the same time. I do not know enough about his Ministry (and the internet is not working efficiently enough here for me to get online and find out) but I do know that he initiated a chaplaincy that has resulted in Catholic ministry on every college campus world-wide—all of which are named after him. For example, the Catholic Center at the University of Hawai’i in Manoa, Honolulu, where I had spent a summer and attended Mass, is named the Cardinal Newman Center. These centers usually conduct masses for the Catholics on campus and provide ministerial support. Cardinal Newman was known to be an extraordinarily fine preacher and, no doubt, the pulpit in this oratory was the platform from which he gave his sermons.

The Oratory is famous for another reason: the early 20th century poet Gerald Manley Hopkins who was a Jesuit priest was a Curate in this church. Having studied his poems as an undergraduate student in India, I do remember reading that he was a Catholic priest and one who was especially drawn to Nature in attempting to find his way to God.

So I was very pleased to arrive at the church only to find that it had a strikingly beautiful interior. It isn’t very much to look at from the outside, but the inside is gorgeous, especially in the many beautifully carved saints that adorn the altar. But what amazed me about the church, more than anything else, was the congregation. I thought I had been whisked away in a Time Machine to the early 1960s (before Vatican II) when I used to attend Sunday masses in India with a veil in one hand and a Children’s Missal in the other. Upon entering the church, I would wear the veil on my head which my mother would often pin up as my hair is so silky and it would never stay put.

Well, most of the women in the congregation had veils on—in white or in black! I was stunned. It has been years since I have seen such a sight. Not only that, but the children in the church had missals in their hands and were actually following the service with the aid of these books. I was so struck by their good behavior. I saw no toys, no Cheerios, no books or anything of the kind to distract them (as I see in the churches in America where attending Mass is more playtime than anything else for a majority of the kids. These were old-fashioned children raised with old-fashioned parenting techniques that have gone with the wind. Needless to say, the Mass was in Latin, the priest facing the altar. Communion was distributed the traditional way at the Communion rails (you kneeled down to receive) and it was placed on your tongue and not in your hand! My God, I simply could not believe it! Seriously, one of the things I never thought I would take home with me to the States after my year in the UK was the variety of Christian forms of worship that I have experienced as I have gone to different churches every Sunday, representing various denominations of Christianity and conducted in vastly unique ways. As my stay here comes to an end, I am glad I had decided early in my stay here to do this: to try to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday. It has left me with fascinating observations and experiences and for those I am truly grateful.

Sunday Breakfast at Norham Road and Journey to Stratford:
My three fellow lodgers were already at table when I joined them for Breakfast this morning. Sunday breakfast meant hard boiled eggs (two for each of us). I toasted white sliced bread and make myself tasty sandwiches with my eggs—the sort my mother used to make for me when I was in school! I also ate cereal and drank two glasses of orange juice as I had a long way to go on the bus and wanted to get a hearty meal inside me.

I left my place at 9.45 to catch the 9. 55 bus (Stagecoach S3) to Chipping Norton (via Woodstock). I had found out that a Daypass offered unlimited travel on the bus for 7 pounds which was really a bargain. The bus rolled in about 10 minutes later (at 10. 05) and then we were off. Luckily, the day was gorgeous once again—lovely blue skies and bright sunshine—in fact, it turned a little too warm by the afternoon and I heard on the TV that tomorrow will be even warmer—28 degrees which is close to 86 Fahrenheit. The bus was crowded with teenagers, most of whom alighted at Blenheim Palace leaving the front seat wide open for me to enjoy.

The driver had told me that from Chipping Norton the bus S3 became the 50, so all I had to do was sit on the same bus. He also informed me that we would arrive in Stratford by 11. 20 am. The Daypass was really a bargain as the total distance was about 50 miles. We drove through beautiful bucolic Cotswold countryside passing charming little villages made of the typical honey-colored Cotswold stone for which this area is famed and the black slate roofs that give each village a marvelous uniformity but also a rural quaintness. Front and back gardens were full of summer blooms—dahlias brought vivid splashes of color to flower beds and tall hollyhocks and delphiniums were impressive in their stately height. I have to say that I am truly jealous of the enormous size and quality of the blooms that the English seem to be able to coax out of their soil without the use of expensive or damaging fertilizers. There is no way that we could produce the same results in the States—I am sure it has something to do with the presence of certain metals in the soil which provide those much-needed nutrients.

Arrival in Chipping Norton:
When we arrived in Chipping Norton, I recognized it at once as the little Cotswolds town in which Llew, Chriselle and I had once spent a night during our own tour of the Cotswold more than 10 years ago. Indeed, I even recognized The King’s Arms Hotel in which we had stayed and simply for old times’ sake, I decided that I would stop by there on my way back and explore the town on my own before catching the bus back to Oxford.

As we sailed on towards Stratford in the bus, I enjoyed the passing scenery. Mile after mile of field full of thriving plantings lent striking shades of green to the landscape. Sheep did dot the pastures and occasional farmhouses advertised themselves as being B&Bs while signs announced that “Afternoon Teas” were available in village churches. Next weekend, most of these villages will be having their annual summer fetes and I am sorry that I will be too far away to enjoy them, as I am seriously thinking of attending the sailing regatta at Henley-on-Thames with my friend Amy when she arrives from New York.

Arrival in Stratford-on-Avon:
When we did finally arrive in Stratford, I made a beeline straight away for Henley Street where Shakespeare’s birthplace is located. The Portrait Found Exhibit is in the Shakespeare Center right next door to his house. I was pleased that one could buy a ticket for just five pounds only to see the exhibit without needing to buy an expensive ticket to get into the Shakespearean houses—these I have seen several times before and did not think I needed to see them again.

The Shakespeare Portrait:
Ok, so here’s the reason why I made this pilgrimage to Stratford. In 2006, an Irishman named Alex Cobbe who lived in a grand mansion outside Dublin attended an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London entitled Portraits of Shakespeare. Upon looking at one of the portraits on display there, he was struck by the fact that it looked curiously similar to a portrait of an unknown gentleman that was hanging on the walls of one of the rooms in his house. He brought this fact to the notice of the powers-that-be and the painting in his house was examined and studied. Considerable scholarly opinion has come to the conclusion (led by a Prof. Stanley Wells) that this is a portrait of William Shakespeare and that indeed this might be the only one for which he ever posed during his lifetime!

This means, of course, that all of the portraits of Shakespeare that we have seen thus far were either created by people from memory after Shakespeare had passed away (in 1616 at the age of 54) or that they were copies of this one portrait for which he, Shakespeare, actually posed. One of the reasons why Wells and other scholars believe this to be an authentic posed portrait of Shakespeare is that Cobbe also has in his collection a portrait of another unknown Elizabethan whom he had thought to be a lady (based on her long hair that flows down one shoulder and her rather effeminate face). Scholars who have studied this portrait have come to the conclusion that this is not a woman at all but a rather feminine-looking man who was known to the world as Henry Wriosthesley, Earl of Southampton.

Now, not only is this Alex Cobbe a direct descendant of the Earl of Southampton (which is why the portrait has come down to him) but this Henry Wriosthesley was also Shakespeare’s fond patron and the one to whom, for a very long time and even today, his Sonnets are believed to have been dedicated (“To Mr. W.H.”)—the initials deliberately inverted by Shakespeare in order to keep his identity unknown.

Now, if we know (and it can be proved by genealogical data and records) that Alex Cobbe is a direct descendant of this Mr. W.H., then it is also easy to see the connection between Shakespeare and this newly ‘discovered’ portrait. For Mr. W.H. might well have paid the money to an unknown artist to have his dear friend’s portrait painted—a portrait that he wished to retain in his own possession. In his later years, Mr. W. H. fell badly out of royal favor for his involvement in a plot to destroy Elizabeth I and was imprisoned in the Tower of London. We do have another portrait of him created at this phase in his life (which is also at the exhibition) and when you look at the two together –of the younger Mr. W.H. (which is very decidedly androgynous) and the older one, you do see a distinct resemblance that leaves you in no doubt that the two portraits are of the same person made several decades apart.

When Mr. W.H. died in disgrace, his possessions (including his paintings) passed into the hands of his next-of-kin and all the way down into the hands of Alex Cobbe who simply did not know that the unknown Elizabethans whom he gazed at daily in his home were Shakespeare and his patron Mr. W.H. So the discovery of this portrait is significant because if Shakespeare had posed for it then it is the closest likeness we could ever have of Shakespeare—though of course, being dated as having been painted in 1606 (by X-rays, tree ring dating and based on the rich and very expensive garments he is wearing in the portrait, particularly the style of lace collar around his neck), we think that the artist flattered the poet who at the age of 46 years in 1606 could not have looked quite so young and unblemished of complexion as he appears in it.

The controversy (like so many associated with the life and times of Shakespeare) will continue endlessly until we can prove without any shadow of a doubt that it is actually Shakespeare–through some incontrovertible documentary evidence. Meanwhile, whether we are convinced that it is Shakespeare or not, we can all delight in the superb quality of the painting and its marvelous state of preservation. For the other portraits of Shakespeare (also in the same exhibition), supposedly based on this one original, newly unearthed portrait, are such poor imitations of the original as to seem almost amateurish.

For all of these reasons, I was glad I read everything about the exhibition and spoke at length to the guide who explained things to me in great detail. Since the two portraits (of the young Mr. W.H. and of Shakespeare) have been loaned to the Shakespeare Trust for only a limited period and since Mr. Alex Cobbe will be taking them back to his Irish estate in September, I was very pleased indeed that I had the chance to see it and to understand the complexity involved in its discovery and its provenance. So I am grateful to Karen who told me all about it.

Back to Oxford—and a Bad Fall in Chipping Norton:
I took the 2. 20 bus back towards Oxford (having spent quite a while lazing by the river and watching the world go by). On impulse, I got off at Chipping Norton and decided to walk around the town a little bit retracing my footsteps as I remembered them. It was here that I had a fall. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to stay on the bus to Oxford or get off and see the town. I needed to find out what times the buses run (as they are few and far between on Sunday) and while I was checking the timetable at the bus stop, the bus started to move. Attempting to run after it to board it, I fell over the pavement and hurt my knee badly where it made impact with the hard surface of the road.

Well, after I was able to get up, I decided to go out and find the church we had visited ten years ago and which I remembered clearly as well as the neighboring Alms Houses( all rather picturesque and reminiscent of illustrations in story books). Unfortunately, most shops had closed for the day and the town seemed rather deserted.

An hour later, I returned to the bus stop and took the 4. 10 bus back to Oxford but decided again on impulse to get off at Woodstock in order to return to Blenheim Palace to buy two postcards as I had left the ones I had bought a few days ago in the loo on my way out the other day! Well, I have to say that my knee seemed to be carrying me fine through the ten minute walk to the shop and the salesgirls were good enough to give me replacements postcards without my having to pay for them again—because they remembered me from the other day!
Then, I was boarding the 5. 30 pm bus back to Oxford. I got off near Bevington Road on Woodstock Road and it was only about 10 pm that my left knee started aching really badly. I got myself an ice pack (on Llew’s advice) and rubbed some Moov on it and after writing this blog, went to bed, hoping that I will not be completely incapacitated tomorrow.

Dallying in Dulwich! And Transcribing Another Interview

Jun5

Friday, June 5, 2009
Dulwich, London

It seems that either I stay up half the night with sleeplessness or I awake at 8. 15 (now this has to be the latest I have ever awoken here!) and panic. Because I had plans to meet my friend Janie at East Dulwich Station at 9. 30, I tore out of bed, washed, got dressed (no, I did not shower–no time!), threw two slices of bread into the toaster (to eat on the bus) and was out the door like greased lightning!!!!

The 63 took its time trundling along Farringdon Road, but I made the connection to the 176 heading towards Penge really quickly on Blackfriars Bridge and I was at the appointed place at the appointed hour–by some inexplicable miracle! And Janie was not there! It was then that I realized (quelle horreur!) that I had left my cell phone at home!!! I am now beginning to realize that I can get out of the house without my bus pass but NOT without my cell phone.

So, of course, all I could do was twiddle my thumbs and wait…and wait…and wait. Just when I was beginning to despair, I stepped inside and asked the ticket clerk if there was another entrance to the station. Nah. So there I was freezing slowly (because it was a really chilly day which felt like a normal summer’s day in England instead of the scorchers we’ve recently had). At a few minutes before 10 am, I began to consider alternatives. I could take a bus and get to the Dulwich Picture Gallery which was our aim and meet her there. Hopefully, she would still stick with our original plans and not go back home to Clapham (she was driving).

Well, just when my options began to become more concrete, along came Janie! Hallelujah!!! Many relieved hugs and kisses later (she was waiting at the wrong station–North Dulwich instead of East Dulwich!), we were off. Janie suggested she give me a little driving tour of Dulwich Village first. I requested a stop on the street on which Kamala Markandaya used to live. She is the late Indo-British author on whom my doctoral dissertation was based (which subsequently led to the publication of my first book, a scholarly criticism of her novels).

A quick check into Janie’s A to Z revealed that we were not too far away from her place at all and then within five minutes, there we were, in a street filled with lovely Victorian terraced homes with their plaster embellishments running all along the porches and the window frames. I stepped out, took a couple of pictures and then we were back again in the car, heading off to the Village.

My friend Janie is a lover of all things Georgian but mainly their architecture and she is also an authority on it–so it is always a joy to take an excursion with her as I end up learning so much and to see with informed eyes. Traveling with her means becoming aware of things I would never have found out on my own. For instance, she stopped outside a block of houses with blackened brick and explained to me how the windows were raised and lowered using a concept of weights and pulleys that were concealed in the broad window frames! Just next door was a later Victorian house that still used the same mechanism, but the apparatus was hidden inside the house so that the broad window ledges and crowning frames disappeared by the mid-1900s. Not only has Janie an eye for these things but she has the knowledge and the enthusiasm to explain every last detail and the awe and passion in her voice as she speaks is unmistakable.

Getting to Know Edward Alleyn:
She then went on to tell me about Edward Alleyn, a name that I knew was familiar but could not immediately place. When she mentioned Christopher Marlowe, something clicked in my brain, and I remembered he was the Elizabethan actor-manager (of the Rose Theater, a competitor of the Globe) who had taken the debut role of Dr. Faustus in Marlowe’s play. Well, like Shakespeare, Alleyn made a stack of ducats and ended up with a finger in many business ventures, including dubious ones like bear baiting and brothels! Then, one day, during the scene in Dr. Faustus with Mephistopheles in hell in which he is surrounded by 12 devils, Alleyn counted 13! And that changed his life. He decided that he was a man wealthy beyond his wildest expectations and ought to give something back to the society that had so nurtured his talents and allowed them to bloom. It was schools for little boys that he was going to found with his excess wealth and that he set about doing in the Village of Dulwich in which he lived and had a grand mansion.

So began the God’s Gifts School–first one, then another, then yet another, until the education of boys became his passion and he poured all his profits into them. The establishment of Dulwich College (a private school for boys) soon followed and you can see the imposing red brick building with its exterior Victorian flourishes (reminiscent of The Victoria and Albert Museum) and its magnificent wrought-iron gate alongside his house just next door to the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Janie’s son goes to one of these schools which is how she is so familiar with the history and origin of this set of fine public (which means private!) schools. I took many pictures (despite the drizzle that played almost all day) and decided to explore the area on foot after Janie left at mid-day as she had domestic commitments.

The Dulwich Picture Gallery and Sickert in Venice:
By the time we arrived at the beautiful purpose-built building that comprises the Dulwich Picture Gallery (no marks for guessing that the architect was Sir John Soanes, he of the Bank of England and the famed Museum that bears his name), we were starving and decided that a little pick-us-up of toasted croissants with caffe lattes would do very nicely, thank-you. So we headed off first to the cafeteria and sat ourselves down and caught up! I had last seen Janie when she was kind enough to drive me to Rochester, Kent, to pick up my antique weighing scale. Turned out, she had since then received the contract to design posters and other such graphics for the Rochester Cathedral based on their eagle logo, which she had visited for the first time on her trip with me!

Well, it turns out that Janie actually knows some folks in the antiques shipping biz and I might end up getting a better quotation for the shipping of my antique bureau-desk back home to Connecticut. Wouldn’t that be lover-ly, as Eliza Dolittle would say? More chatter, more sips of latte, more bites into our crispy croissant, and then we were ready to see the collection.

My Met ID card worked and I was granted free entry into the special exhibit entitled “Sickert in Venice”. Entrance into the Gallery is usually free–it is only the special exhibits for which you pay. I felt very pleased indeed though Janie did buy herself a ticket–a rather steep nine pounds, I might add for an exhibition that spanned just four small rooms.

So it was the Sickert we looked at first of all. Those canvasses took me right back to Venice and the fun days I had spent there last March with my friends Amy and Mahnaz. I had gone there for a conference organized at the Venice International University and made a holiday of it–and what a blast it was! Well, there they were…all those images reminding me of those awed times that we climbed the Campanile in Piazza San Marco to watch the pigeons in the square below; the baldachino in the Basilica San Marco that conceals the stunning Pala D’Oro behind it (easily one of the most beautiful things in the whole world that I have ever seen!), the canals with their bobbing gondolas or stopping by the pallazos–some still shining, others rather decrepit, the Rialto Bridge gleaming in the artistic sunshine in shades of pink and blue and yellow. All those memories came rushing at me in Impressionistic idiom and color and I sighed and gazed and sighed again. Sickert’s perspective is often oblique, his tendency (as in the new photographic form) closely cropped to focus on just one element of a Renaissance structure or on the effect of silvery moonlight on a watery canal. It was magical.

And then there were his portraits–mainly of prostitutes who posed for him, their hair coiled up like Japanese geisha girls. More portraits of their mothers saw them looking pale, forlorn and very pathetic indeed. Women in bed sleeping quietly while watched, women stretching lazily like so many graceful felines, women bending over their baths, women chatting companionably (though, in reality, they were ruthless rivals for the same clientele). Surely those years in Venice (the early 1900s) might have been adventurous in the extreme for the young Sickert escaping strait-laced Victorian respectability and middle-class morality in England and sowing his wild oats under the Venetian sun!

Janie left soon after, allowing me to browse through the rest of the small but rather lovely collection. There were a few outstanding canvasses, I thought–the one of ‘Mrs. Moody and her Children’ by Gainsborough was particularly evocative because she died so soon after it was painted and her little boys (both wearing girls’ dresses with great big sashes and bows as, I understand, was the custom until boys were potty-trained!) were painted in later. This naturalized portrait compares intriguingly with Gainsborough’s earlier work such as Mr. and Mrs. Andrews (in the National Gallery) which are so much stiffer and stylized. Also lovely was a portrait of a girl at a window by Rembrandt (recently restored and rather beautifully at that) in which she gazes at the viewer quite saucily, her eyes bright with hope for her future. Peter Lely’s young man (not really a portrait since the person in neither known nor named) is wonderfully lit, his features glowing golden in the clever artificial lighting. There were stunning Murillos, Riberas and a Velasquez portrait of Phillip IV in rather an unusual pose.

All the while, you are walking through rooms created by Sir John Soanes, himself a great lover of art and a collector (see Hogarth’s series called The Rake’s Progress in his house at Lincoln’s Inn Field) and I can see how carefully he must have considered the placement of the windows to allow maximum natural light without diminishing the clarity of the paint as time passed by. There are his classical embellishments–the use of four decorative urns at the top of the main entrance, but some modern touches as well–the use of rather unusually designed doors. There is a classical austerity in the many arches, brick-bound and sombre. Enjoy the art but also pause to enjoy the architecture–for the more I see of the work of Soanes and the more I get to know the man, the more he is beginning to feel like an old friend.

Exploring Dulwich Village:
It was time to potter around the Village and my first stop was the spacious grounds of Edward Alleyn’s house (now turned into a number of almshouses). There is a chapel that is open only on Tuesday afternoons but beautifully landscaped rose gardens that were brimming over with fragrant blossoms–a significant flower for the Elizabethans loved roses with a passion. There is also a bronze sculpture that celebrates Alleyne’s thespian contributions to the Theater and set against the quiet square and the blushing roses, they took me right back to those passionate times when blank verse rang out from sawdust covered stages and the groundlings screeched their approval of bawdy lines.

I strolled through Dulwich Village which revealed itself to be studded with coffee shops, a church hall filling rapidly with adorable pink tutu-sporting toddlers off for their ballet lessons, one-of-a-kind boutiques and a few patisseries. It wasn’t long before I got back on the bus, delighted to have made the acquaintance of a rather lovely part of London that has largely remained undiscovered by the conventional tourist.

As the bus wound through Peckham High Street, I spied the Clark Factory Store and out I jumped, hoping to find some plantar fascittis-friendly sandals for the coming summer. And there they were –just the kind I wanted marked at one-third the price in the high street plus I got the second pair at one pound! Hey, you can’t beat a deal like that, so out I walked with a big bag and my summer footwear wardrobe in my hand. I might just make a trip there again next week to take a look at the newer stock as I had reached there at the very end of the day when the shelves were mostly empty and my size was almost impossible to find.

Back home, I made myself a very early plate of dinner (was starving as I had eaten no lunch) which I ate while watching TV for exactly 15 minutes and at 6. 40pm, I began transcribing the interview I did with Noel in Hounslow–an interview that had gone on for hours and would take at least three more to complete. In-between I chatted with Llew and made a few more calls. After the transcribing, the proof reading began and when I looked next at my watch, it was 11 pm!!! Just enough time to get ready for bed, read a bit of Potter and fall off (hopefully without having to count too many sheep).

Packing & Posting, An Organ Recital and the Bank of England Museum

May26

Tuesday, May 26, 2009
London

Life returned to legal London this morning as Holborn sprang up like a phoenix from the ashes of the long holiday weekend. As folks rushed in and out of the Tube stairwell to the closest coffee shop or their electronic offices, I continued reading The Order of the Phoenix, then went to my kitchen to do some cooking. I pulled out all the items from my freezer and the vegetables I bought last evening, and concocted two pasta dishes: with Ham, Asparagus and Peas and with Peppers, Mushrooms, Tomatoes and Prawns. With the addition of my home made chicken stock and single cream, they both turned out rather well. I filled them into my Tupperware containers in small lots (the better to freeze them with) and then turned to the serious business of getting packed.

I spent simply ages on the phone trying in vain to find out how my vintage desk could most economically be shipped to the States. I had very little success as both Fedex and UPS informed me that they simply do not have boxes large enough to accommodate my bureau. While they are willing to pick up from my residence, they needed me to do the packing.

Finally, at the advice of Matt, the dealer who sold me the desk in Hampstead, I zeroed in on Hedley Humpers, a company that specializes in shipping antiques around the world. They gave me a quote that hit the roof but they will deliver right to my doorstep in Connecticut, they will create a special wooden crate made to measure for my bureau-desk and they will take care of the packing so that I need not worry at all about breakage. It seemed like a good deal and I have to now figure out how to get the bureau to their warehouse in Acton as that will save me a hundred quid!

Martha arrived on duty this morning and brought me a load of boxes in different sizes. With Arben’s help, I was able to figure out the exact dimensions of my purchase. In the midst of the growing load of boxes that are rapidly filling with my books, I rushed off at 12. 15 to take the bus to the Church of St. Lawrence Jewry, near the Guildhall for one of their 1.00 pm Tuesday afternoon organ concerts.

St. Lawrence, Jewry, Church:
It didn’t take me long to get there at all. A quick canter from the bus stop to the Church got me inside a magnificent Anglican Church that has been around on this spot since the 1100s. Named for the martyr who was tortured over an iron grill, the second part of the Church’s name derives from the fact that it is located in a part of London that was once the heart of the Jewish ghetto (that is before all Jews were driven out of the city by Edward I).

The church was destroyed completely during the Great Fire of London in 1666 when Christopher Wren redesigned it. Worship continued in the church until the mid-1940s when it was, once again, almost entirely gutted by the blitz. Reconstruction using Wren’s original plans then began but the church no longer functions as a parish. Instead it is a guild church of the Corporation of London and there is a special seat in the very front reserved for the exclusive use of the Lord Mayor of London. Go for it Boris!

A large number of people had already taken their seats and awaited the beginning of the recital. I had the time to inspect the more significant details of the church such as its sparkling ceiling with elaborate gilded plasterwork, the splendid carved oak screen (the work and design originally being undertake by Grindling Gibbons, of course), the reredos with its smallish painting and the marble baptismal font at the back that dates from the 1540s. The spanking new stained glass windows (made in the 1950s) feature a number of saints from the Christian pantheon while at the back, there is a very evocative window that memorializes the work of Wren and Gibbons. The pews are also quite wonderfully carved and I was very pleased to find an opportunity to see the interior of this church as the concerts are the only occasions on which it is opened to the public.

The Organ Recital:
A large number of London churches hold free lunch-time concert recitals and they are a very good way by which to get into these historical venues. At the Church of St. Lawrence Jewry, the concerts are named in memory of one John Hill who played this church organ at all services while spending 40 years of his life as a banker at HSBC. Following his death, the bank offered sponsorshop for these recitals which bring young international organists to London as Hill was always keen to introduce new talent to the public. The concerts held on Tuesdays in May and June have attracted a large number of organ enthusiasts and sitting right behind me was Steven Green, Group Chairman of HSBC Holdings.

Mareile Schmidt was the featured organist today. She was a tall, very slender woman with a lovely smile. She currently teaches music in Koln, Germany, and it was with a heavy but very charming German accent that she introduced her program–ingeniously it was themed around the Biblical line: “And the Spirit of God moved on the surface of the Waters”. Hence, all her pieces had water connection. She chose compositions by Handel and Bach and lesser-known composers such as Louis Vierne, Jeanne Demessieux and Olivier Messiaen whose atonal work was very reminiscent of the compositions of Phillip Glass–not surprisingly, he is a Modernist.

The concert lasted 45 minutes and was a very enjoyable experience for me as this is the first time ever I have attended an organ recital. Apart from hearing the instrument played in church during servcies, I have never heard it played purely for listening pleasure and I have to say it was a lot of fun.

When it ended, I had a chance to inspect the interior features of the church and its architecture and then made my way out towards the Guildhall Art Gallery which lies in the same complex. Only I discovered that though I thought I lived within the old ‘City of London’, my taxes are paid to Camden–and, as such, I wasn’t allowed free entry. The clerk told me to return on Fridays when entry is free to all.

The Bank of England Museum:
Since I was so close to the Bank of England, I decided it would be a good time to take a look at its museum–besides, I had always wanted to set foot inside the bank. Only, I made a funny discovery! The building that I had long thought was the Bank of England building wasn’t so it all–it was the Royal Exchange Building now filled with luxury stores such as Loro Piana (who sell beautiful cashmere stoles, Hermes whose silk scarves I covet and, as I found out for the first time, Jo Malone whose cosmetics and fragrances are my passion!). I had to spend some time browsing through this marvelous space before I crossed the street.

Sir John Soanes’ Bank of England building lies catty corner to the Neo-Classical grandeur of the Royal Exchange Building on her own little island. I haver to say that it looks more like a fortress than a bank–which I guess is what it is when you consider all the gold bullion stashed in the vault way down in the bowels of the earth beneath the bank’s foundation.

I found the entrance to the museum easily enough, discovered that it was free, and then spent the next couple of hours wrapped up in the process of learning all about the history of banking in England. It was in 1694, for instance, that the Bank of England came into existence through the goldsmiths, who had, until that time, made extensive loans to merchants and the Crown. You can see them in their black top hats and cloaks looking for all the world like a bunch of Flemish aristocrats, in the many early paintings in the museum–this is not surprisingly as it was among the Dutch that banking first originated. These goldsmith’s notes, originally receipts for coin deposits, circulated freely as a form of paper money (because they carried the words “or bearer” on them meaning that they could be passed on from one person to the next). This is why paper money is also referred to as a “note”! These indeed became the forerunners of the banknotes we use today. I found this early information fascinating.

As I walked through the history of the bank, I found out about the sorting and destroying of soiled or defaced notes (something I once did personally in the Cash Department of the Reserve Bank of India in Bombay where I had worked while pursuing graduate studies). I saw the powdery remains of destroyed notes–grey-green confetti–in a glass case. I saw an early chest, dating from 1700, a forerunner of the modern-day bank vault. I saw the Bank’s silver and, perhaps most fascinatingly of all, I saw a bar of gold bullion weighing 13 kilograms (which, I discovered is 2 stone–so now I finally know that 1 stone is 7 kilograms or 14 dd pounds. The English still funnily enough weigh themselves in stone and I have always wodnered what to make of this measure of weight!). It was so heavy that I barely managed to lift it up. Yes, you could actually handle this gold bar–imagine how awed kids must feel in this space!

I understood what is meant by the Gold Standard which was adopted in Great Britain in 1816. It formally linked the value of a pound sterling to a fixed quantity of gold and a new coin, called the sovereign (because it featrued the head of the monarch on it) was circulated the following year. This gold standard played a key role in international trade throughout the 19th century and was finally abandoned in 1931.

Of course, a lover of literature and literary history like myself will usually find some gem in every museum that most takes her fancy and the Bank of England’s Museum was no exception. I made the startling discovery here that Kenneth Grahame who started his career in the bank as a humble junior clerk made his way up the ladder and in 20 years (at the age of 39) became its Secretary. It was while he worked in the bank (just like T.S. Eliot worked in a bank while writing poetry!) that he wrote his books, the most famous of which is, The Wind in the Willows, one of my most beloved of story books as a child. There is a whole section devoted to Grahame which includes a signed first edition of the book (Llew would have loved that) as well as correspondence between him and key figures of the bank. It was with some sadness that I learned that he resigned rather suddenly (his letter of resignation is on display) and though he cited failing health and nerves as the reason for his decision to do so, the real reason was that he was bullied by one of the bank’s Directors, one Walter Cunliff whose full sized portrait in oil hangs on a wall in the lovely Rotunda, perhaps Soanes’ best interior feature in the building with its beautiful caryatids (sculpted Greek goddesses) that encircle it.

I also realized that there is so much similarity in the bureaucratic hierarchy of the Bank of England and the Reserve Bank of India. The head of both banks, for instance, is known as the Governor, and both boast a Board of Directors–they are called Executive Directors in India. Again, I suppose this should not have surprisied me considering that we inherited a system of banking from the British together with those of jurisprudence and education, post and telegraphs, railways, customs and excise, army and police.

A cartoon explains where and how the bank received her nickname–The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street. It came from a cartoon that appeared in a contemporary newspaper that satirized William Pitt The Younger’s liberal war-time spending that requried him to dig deeper and deeper into the pockets of an ageing old lady. The cartoon is on display in the museum together with life size caricatures of Pitt and his arch opponent Charles Fox who debated with him endlessly in the House of Commons on the sagacity of the incurring of so much national debt.

There are scores and scores of bank notes and coins in ther museum, each set portraying the heads of the monarchs under whom they were minted. In the adjoining shop, you can purchase sets of coins (they make valued christening gifts) and all sorts of items connected with banking, including a lovely set of old fashioned nib pens that I loved. The place was crawling with kids who found something or the other to catch their fancy and there were so many excited exclamations all around me as I surveyed the exhibits. It is truly an interesting place to visit and I would strongly urge anyone even remotely associated with banking to visit this museum. Many thanks to the anonymous reader of this blog who drew my attention to this museum and recommended that I visit it. I am very grateful indeed.

Packing and Posting Nightmares:
Then, I was back home, worrying about all the packing I had to do and books I had to ship out. On impusle,I decided to go down to the Post Office which is just six shops away from the entrance of my buuilding, with one of my 5 kg. boxes to find out how much it would cost me to mail it to the States using their Special Rate for books and printed paper. The line at this Post Office is always long and it took me about fifteen minutes to get to the counter, when I discovered, to my utter horror, that it would cost me 45 pounds per box! Can you imagine? I doubled checked with the clerk that it was the Special Rate she was quoting and when she said yes, I beat a hasty retreat out of there thinking that I really ought to be far mroe choosey about which books I will mail–especially if I want to have enough of my shipping alloowance leftover to mail the desk I bought.

Well, I returned home when it occured to me that perhaps there is a better rate for sea mail (or what is called Surface mail in this coutnry). I tried to find the information online through the Royal Mail website but did not succeed, so back I went to the Post Office, I stood in the queue for another 15 mintues and discovered, from the same clerk, that there is such a thing as Priority Mail which will allow me to ship a maximum of 30 kgs of books and printed material for 168 pounds in one lot. That makes it a little cheaper and I decided to go for that. I will now have to reopen my boxes and become far more judicious about which books I will take back with me and which ones I will leave behind.

Surveying my New Digs:
I merely had the time for a shower before I had to set off again, this time to keep my appointment with Jack who was going to hand over the keys to me of the new place into which I will be moving at the weekend. He was waiting for me outside the gate and we spent the next hour in the flat as I learned the ropes–which keys go where, how kitchen applicances worked, how to turn the boiler on and off, how to work the remote controls on the TV and the DVD player and the blinds, how to log on to the wireless internet (did not succeed there as I need to make some adjustment on my computer which baffled both of us). I think I have all the information now under my hat and much as I am sorry to leave this cozy little one-bedroom flat, I am excited to be moving into a penthouse that is filled with modern art and medieval antiquities. Indeed, there is a Maggi Hambling oil painting right above my bed–a rather strange portrait of someone surrounded by a cloud of smoke that emanates from his own cigarette!!! The canvas is three-dimensional–there is a pack of cigarettes attached to it with the legend Smokers Die Younger very prominently displayed on it. I became acquainted with the work of Maggi Hambling at the National Portrait Gallery where her self-portrait, done in her funky signature style, presents her with a signature cigarette dangling from her fingers. This space is Huge, my apartment being the only flat on the entire floor, and I can’t imagine myself rattling around on my own in it. But, like everything else, I suppose I will get accustomed to it slowly.

Back home, I felt really tired again (I am certain these are withdrawal symptoms) as I have rarely felt depleted of energy. I ate my pasta dinner, sent out a few urgent email responses, then got into bed and went straight to sleep.

Museum Hopping, Pub Crawling, Seeing Felicity Kendall at the West End

May12

Tuesday, May 12, 2009
London

Chrissie is slowly getting into the swing of London life–and loving it! I an thrilled at her reactions for I am certain she will now leave part of her heart in this, my beloved city!

I awoke at 7. 30 am–possibly the latest I’ve woken up in a year! Sat grading a few papers while allowing her the luxury of a long lie-in. When she did awake after 9 am, we hurried through breakfast (pain au chocolate with tea for her, cereal with yogurt and then coffee for me) and then we were off.

The Wonders of the NHS:
It was while we were at the bus stop that my cell phone rang. It was my GP calling from his clinic (or ‘surgery” as they say here) on Red Lion Street to find out why I had called earlier that morning. I told him that I needed a prescription filled for my thyroid deficiency and that my American medical insurance company was unable to help as they do not ship medications outside the USA. I wondered if he could write me a prescription which I could get filled locally. I could not believe how willingly and promptly he responded. A few questions later, the job was done. All I had to do was go by the clinic, pick up the prescription, have it filled out at a local pharmacy and then apply to Aetna Global (my American medical insurance company) for a reimbursement. The doctor was courtesy personified and I stood amazed by the ease with which he catered to my request.

Right enough, ten mintues later, after Chriselle and I had walked down to the clinic, I had my prescription in hand. Later in the day, at Boots, the pharmacist took a look at it and informed me that I was entitled to an exemption–this meant that I did not have to pay for it at all! I told her that I needed the medication desperately as my supply would soon run out. She gave me more forms and told me to take them to the clinic, have the doctor sign them and return them to her for a reimbursment! The thing about British bureaucracy is that though it is infuriatingly long-winded, it really does work! Don’t you just love that about the British? For me, the wonders of the NHS will never cease and I truly believe that the American President who manages to create a national health service in the US will truly leave his mark on history. Mr. Obama, are you listening???

Browsing Through Persephone Books:
I just had to take five mintues to introduce Chriselle to one of my favorite places in London–the Persephone Book Shop on Red Lion Street. I told her the story of its founding, a tale she loved. How amazing, she said, that the movie Brief Encounter would inspire a viewer to obtain reprinting rights for the kind of feminine fiction that was produced in that era (the 1920s to 1950s). The paperbacks are beautifully produced in a uniform grey with end papers that are based on contemporary wall paper and fabric designs. And each one comes with a matching bookmark! If you wish to have the book gift wrapped, the wrapping is always a fushia pink tissue paper and the raffia binding includes the book mark which can then double as a gift tag! How very clever! Someday I shall write a blog about my favorite London things and Persephone Books will be right at the top of it!

More Highlights at the National Gallery:
Then, we were hurrying to another bus stop to catch a bus to the National Gallery to finish seeing the remaining Highlights on the curator’s list. I provided background information on such iconic paintings as Constable’s The Haywain (readers of my blog will recall that I had actually visited Suffolk and stood on the very spot on the banks of the River Stour which forms the backdrop of this enchanting painting).

The Haywain at the National Gallery

Placing myself in Constable’s Landscape

She loved Turner too–though she professed less of a fondness for the Impressionists whose hazy depictions of reality she finds rather trying. We recalled and laughed over a line from Seinfeld in which Jerry’s father, on viewing a work by Monet, states that he believes the artist painted without wearing his glasses! Through the Gainsboroughs and the Stubbs and the Gaugins and the Seurats we traveled, taking in the magnificence of the Baroque interiors of the Gallery as well as the superb mosaics on the floor at the grand main entrance with its twin urns filled with arresting spring flowers.

The National Portrait Gallery:
Then, because the National Portrait Gallery was just next door, I suggested we take in the Highlights there as well and we headed straight to the top floor to get a peek at the Tudor portraits many of which were by Hans Holbein. This is certainly my favorite part of this museum for the paintings never fail to bring alive for me the intrigues of the era about which we chatted as we took in the serious faces depicted in oil on canvas. We walked quickly then through the rest of the galleries, pausing occasionally to take a look at more contemporary canvases such as those of Charles and Diana by Bryan Organ soon after their engagement, Judi Dench by Alessandro Raho and Salman Rushdie by the late Bhupen Khakar. No, we did not give the Gallery the length of time it deserves. We merely hurtled through the rooms to get an idea of the variety of personages portrayed within as well as the multi media forms in which they are depicted. It was at this point that I began to feel sorry that my stint in London is drawing to a close (though I still have nearly 3 months to go). I feel a certain comfort in knowing that these institutions are just down the road from where I live. Once I cross the Pond and return home to Connecticut, I know I shall miss dreadfully their nearness, their sheer accessibility.

In and Out of Harrods:
Out on the sidewalk, we sat and people-watched as we ate our cheese and cucumber rolls, then walked quickly to Piccadilly to catch a bus to Knightsbridge as I wanted to return to Harrods to buy some more gifts and claim another free London Pass holders gift–this one based on a purchase that Chriselle would make. She, poor dear, wanted to get home and take a nap before logging on to begin work. I managed to twist her arm to accompany me, she easily agreed and off we went. We were literally in and out of Harrods and back on the bus home in the next hour–though the traffic can get frustrating when you have deadlines to meet and the bus just lumbers sluggishly along!

While Chriselle worked at her laptop communicating with New York and the rest of the world, I sat grading student papers. It was peaceful and quiet in the flat as we each worked separately but still together-an atmosphere that made Chriselle remark: “What a nice life you have created for yourself here in London, Mum. I feel so envious!” She wished she could stay longer and soak in some more of it, but we are doing rather well in terms of how much we have managed to pack into her visit so far.

The Last Cigarette at the West End:
At 6. 15, the two of us closed shop and left for St. Martin’s Lane where we were meant to pick up free tickets that had suddenly landed in our lap to see The Last Cigarette at Trafalgar Studios, a play by Simon Gray that stars Felicity Kendal. Now apart from the fact that American TV viewing audience know her well through the many re-runs on American PBS TV stations (Good Neighbors, known as The Good Life in the UK and, more recently, Rosemary and Thyme), I know Felicity Kendall through my Bombay connections for her late sister Jennifer was married to Bollywood actor Shashi Kapoor and their children, Kunal, Karan and Sanjana are active in the Bombay theater scene through their family-owned Prithvi Theater at Juhu which I used to haunt during my college days in Bombay and in my later life as a Theater Critic for The Free Press Journal. So I was doubly pleased to see her on stage in real life.

The play was deeply absorbing and ingeniously staged. Three individuals (Kendall, Jasper Britton and Nicholas Le Provost) play a single individual, a writer, who is deeply addicted to nicotine and has received the news that he has malignant tumors on his lung. With just 18 months to live, the play is constructed around a monologue in which he talks about the influences that drew him to tobacco even though it killed both his father and his mother. In quite a brilliantly conceived production that demanded the utmost split-second timing in terms of delivery of lines, the three persons on stage blended into one being echoing each other’s movements and mannerisms rather wonderfully–though as Chriselle pointed out (with her astute and trained histrionic eye), that Kendall’s fussing with her hair detracted from the masculinity she was meant to portray and struck a rather odd note.

A Late Night Drink at our ‘Local’:
It was about 9. 30 when we left the theater, took a bus towards Ludgate Circus and decided to go to my ‘local’–Ye Old Mitre Pub at Hatton Garden–which dates from 1532 as I really did want Chriselle to see it. We ordered our drinks (a light beer for her and a Guinness for me) and sat ourselves in what we believed was a quiet corner of the quaint little pub. All went well for the next ten minutes until we were joined by a old man called Charles who was nice to talk to and rather friendly and interesting. It was when his anonymous friend joined us that things got more hairy and I have to say that I did not fancy being forced to make conversation with a stranger who had already had one too many!!! Chriselle later told me that my face spoke volumes of my irritation at his unwelcome company and it was not long before we bid them goodnight and beat a hasty retreat!

Back home, Chriselle wanted me to watch an episode of Arrested Development, an American TV series that she has been watching and having brought the DVD over, we did watch an episode before we both fell asleep about 11. 30 pm.

London Pass with Chriselle–Day One

May8

Friday, May 8, 2009
London

Chriselle’s main concern was getting her laptop up and running to enable her to work for a few hours in the evenings. When I was unable to connect her to my wireless network, I asked Tim next door to help. He kindly came in at about 9am and got her sorted and with that, the great weight lifted off her mind and she was able to turn her attention to breakfast (toast with marmalade and tea–as she has a marked fondness for tea) before she showered and we were able to get out of my flat by 9.45 to begin our London sightseeing.

The day dawned gray and drizzly. Disappointed, we dressed appropriately and, armed with our brollies, prepared for a wet and breezy day. Good job our first stop was The Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace where I was keen to see those special treasures that her Majesty holds for the nation in her sanctum sanctorum. Chriselle had decided to gamely so along with my plans for the next 3 days as she has the next week to explore London according to her special likes.

The Queen’s Gallery:
Since we both have the 3-day London Pass and 3-day Travelcards, I have chosen sites that I have not yet paid to see–in a attempt to make fullest use of the passes. The Queen’s Gallery maintains a timed entry (allowing just a few visitors to peruse the collection at any given time). We were lucky to be admitted in immediately (at this time of year, that is not unusual, I believe) but were disappointed to hear that the Royal Mews is closed on Fridays. We might not be able to see the collection of carriages that are part of the pomp and pageantry of British royal life.

After going through security (every art gallery and basilica is beginning to feel like an airport these days), we passed through a massive set of doors and faced a really beautiful stairway whose balustrade was adorned with skillfully gilded metal tassels. Once we arrived at the landings, we were given audio guides and ushered through another set of doors that led us to the two large rooms that comprise the Gallery. Paintings and objects d’art (mainly in the form of ornate cabinets) change periodically as do the special exhibits. Like the Queen, who is a famed collector, I have a great fondness for painted porcelain, especially the kind made in the Sevres factory outside Paris in France. So I was disappointed to discover that the gallery is in a state of transition at the moment for a special exhibit on these works which will start later this month.

However, the works we did see in two rooms were truly impressive and made the visit worthwhile. Of special note, were a number of scenes of Venice by Canaletto, four gigantic works by Peter Paul Reubens (mainly collected by Charles I and later Queen Victoria), a few portraits of Charles I and his wife Henrietta Maria painted by his court painter Anthony Van Dyke, a really beautiful portrait of Queen Victoria as a little girl by her drawing tutor (whose name I wish I could remember) and–this was the highlight of the visit for us–a number of jewel-studded items gifted to the royal family and The East India Company by India’s erstwhile Maharajas during the days of the Raj. I was pleased to note that most of them were gifts and not ‘plunder’ to which the British Raj fancied itself entitled. Even so, the size of the emeralds in a pearl-studded belt had to be seen to to be believed and the pair of diamond drop ear-rings and matching brooch that were gifted to the late Queen Mother were another stunning aspect of the items on display.

The Changing of the Guard:
Since the collection was rather small (even though very significant), we were still able to catch part of the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace where, we found that, mercifully, it had stopped raining and we were actually able to see some activity in the the large court yard. Indeed, by the time we crossed the street in front of the sculpture of Queen Victoria, the sun made an appearance and we were able to get pictures with blue skies in them! It made Chriselle remark that if you don’t like the weather in London, you can wait for five minutes–it really was a quick-change artist!

Down The Mall we walked, still feeling jaunty and full of energy, past the back of St. James’ Palace. Needless to say, I kept up a running commentary as I pointed out the sights to her, amazed myself at how much I now know about London. Crossing The Mall, we entered St. James’ Park (at which point we received a call from Llew on my cell phone–which, miraculously, I heard–just getting ready to start work in the States) and since, for some inexplicable reason, both of us were already starving, we found a bench overlooking the duck pond (where we were instructed not to feed the “wild fowl”–a term that would never have been used in the States), we ate the sandwiches I had prepared at home before setting out.

I have to be rather creative with meals, as Chriselle is a vegetarian. I, therefore, threw in everything I could find in my fridge–which this morning comprised, multi grain bread with mayonnaise, parmesan cheese and a pear (that I sliced and drizzled over with balsamic vinegar). Even I was surprised what a delicious sandwich this made. With our feet well rested, we started off again.

The Horse Guards and the Banqueting House:
Our next destination was the Banqueting House (as I was keen for Chriselle to see Peter Paul Reubens’ ceiling as commissioned by Charles I in memory of his father James I who is the main character in the centerpiece medallion). This meant that she had the opportunity to pass by the Horse Guards and click pictures with them–a matter that called to mind much earlier visits to the city when she was just nine-years old, in the company of my brother Roger.

The short film we saw on the ground floor of the Banqueting House introduced her to the history of the place. I, of course, had just seen the film two weeks ago, when my friend Loreen was visiting from Connecticut. And I realize again how little this building is visited and how important it is–architecturally (it is the work of Inigo Jones who revolutionalized English architecture after his return from Italy where he was influenced by Andrea Palladio), historically (it was from this building that Charles I was led to his execution) and artistically (it is the only building in the world that has Reubens’ ceiling paintings in situ. Chriselle gasped when she saw the ceiling for the first time after we had climbed to the first floor and was entirely engrossed in the commentary that we heard on audio wands. It was interesting to note the items that she wanted to photograph and, in a way, it was fun to see these places through her fresh and fascinated eyes.
The Churchill Museum, the Cabinet War Rooms and the England at War Exhibition:
Our next stop was the St. James’ Park end of Whitehall where I had been waiting for Chriselle’s arrival to visit the underground Cabinet War Rooms–this, I believed, would be the highlight of our day. And I was not disappointed. It was my student Kristen who, last semester, had told me how incredibly fascinating it had been to her and how I must not miss this attraction. Having never seen these rooms before, I did not intend to leave London without visiting them. I was glad that Chriselle was as enthusiastic as I was and, before long, we found ourselves underground in the world of the 1940’s that somehow brought to my mind the setting and ethos of the British detective series Foyle’s War.

The first room that greets visitors is the one used throughout the war by the Cabinet War Committee among whom the names of Churchill and Clement Atlee were the only ones familiar to me (Atlee succeeded Churchill as Prime Minister after the War and presided over the transfer of power at the time of the Independence of India). I had goosebumps while looking at the wooden swivel chair that Churchill used in the middle of this gathering. Everything has been left exactly as it was on the last day the room was used and it was strangely evocative of the inter-continental intrigues of that epoch.

The rest of the warren of underground rooms showed us the quarters of the many chiefs of staff and their administrative assistants–all of whom had cramped rooms, furnished in a utilitarian fashion with banker’s lamps in each room, maps on the wall–many still tracing the progress of important mid-century military campaigns–and even the room used by Mrs. Churchill–which, in a single seater sofa, was the only piece of furniture with a floral print! It stood out oddly in that stark environment. Also interesting was a copy of Picture Post of that era with a rather rare feature inside depicting the First Lady in her domestic milieu inside 10 Downing Street–a sort of early version of People or Hello magazine!

It was interesting to see Churchill’s engagement book that contained signatures of George VI and the current Queen entered in 1942 (long before she became Queen) and it occurred to me afresh (a fact that the film The Queen had brought to my attention) how many Prime Ministers have served during her reign! What a history of the century she encompasses within her own 80 years!

What was also interesting to me (if somewhat annoying) is the knowledge that while the rest of the country (indeed the rest of Europe) staggered under severe rationing laws, “making do” for years on end, Churchill wined and dined like a king, his daily menus comprising several courses including Beef Wellington and gallons of rich port wine and expensive bubbly! Ah, the privileges of the powerful.

Another really amazing aspect of this exhibit is a trans-Atlantic telephonic conversation that we could listen in to between President Truman of the US and Churchill discussing the progress of Himmler across Europe and the strategy designed to stop him. The accents, the diction, the style of expression, the odd formality that existed between these two so-called ‘close friends’ was antiquated and, therefore, deeply amusing, but it gave me goose flesh again to actually hear their voices and listen carefully to the stress and concern contained within them. (“No,no,no,no,no,no,no, we can’t do that. Especially when it is Himmler we’re talking about”). This is easily a place in which one could spend a whole day and I am not surprised that Kristen found it so compelling. I am so glad I finally saw the circumstances in which the fate of Europe and the world was decided and I am so gratified that these rooms have been preserved in this fantastic manner (thanks largely to the Imperial War Museum) as a gift to future generations.

Jewel Tower:
Since we were doing really well for time and the weather had suddenly turned so appealing, we decided to walk towards Parliament Square and see Jewel Tower which is run by the English Heritage and is open to London Pass holders. Llew and I had taken a self-guided walking tour entitled “Royal London” that had once guided us past this rather squat tower opposite the Houses of Parliament–but since we hadn’t climbed it then, it made sense for us to ‘cover’ it on this outing.

Passing by the exterior of the Houses of Parliament, I pointed out to Chriselle the Visitor Entrance to the sessions in both Houses and suggested that she return next week to sit in on one of them. The friendly copper outside informed us that the next sittings of both Houses will be on Monday and Tuesday from 2. 30 till 10 pm and Chriselle decided to return on Tuesday. I was also able to point out to her the “Sovereign’s Entrance” at the side which rather tickled me because while the rest of the world has the right to walk into Parliament and overhear the debates, the reigning monarch does not–he/she must knock on the ceremonial doors and request permission to enter–a custom that harks back to the days of the Magna Carta when the sovereign interfered too much in the running of Parliament–I know that I am putting this rather simplistically and there is a more complicated piece of history here that is worthy of recounting and I must look it up online.

The Jewel Tower itself is named for the fact that the Tower which was constructed in the reign of Edward III (mid 1200s) housed the royal wardrobe, part of which included the jewel- encrusted crown. 44 steps take visitors to the top along a winding spiral stone stairway that was reminiscent to me of Delhi’s Qutub Minar (at a time when visitors could climb all the way to the top, as a little girl, I had been way up there) and to Chriselle of the fairy tales she had read as a child–chiefly Rapunzel! The small exhibit upstairs was not noteworthy and after we took in the views of busy Parliament Square below us, we descended.

The Cavalry Guards Museum:
Chriselle did not need to get home until 5 pm when she needed to log on and connect with her New York team to get some work done. This, we realized, left us enough time to see the Cavalry Guards Museum which is also included in the London Pass and which faces the Horse Guards Parade. This rather small exhibit showed us the livery used by man and horse and the role played by these ceremonial guards with whom the public has posed for decades. It is the plumes, the swords, indeed the regalia, that give British royalty so much of an aura. The stables in which the horses are well looked after (we actually saw two rather quiet ones taking their rest) are also on exhibit and we could walk past the stalls and take all these sights in. Because these spaces are rather compact, however, they did not take too long to peruse and we were out rather sooner than we expected.

By Tube to Apsley House:
With time still on our side (it was only a little past 3.00 pm), we decided to take the Tube to Hyde Park Corner to see Apsley House (which I had toured a few years ago but which I was keen for Chriselle to see). This stately mansion with its beige facade dominates the circle around Wellington’s Arch and has always been one of my favorite London manors. It was gifted by a grateful nation to Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington (whose much less-liked and less-popular brother Richard had been the Governor-General of India) upon his victory at the Battle of Waterloo that ended the dynamic campaigns of France’s Napoleon across Europe. Since it was situated at the very point of entry into the city, it’s address was simply No 1 London–an address it still retains!

Inside, the visitor is given an audio guide which allowed us to negotiate our way through rooms that were crammed with paintings and sculpture beginning with the towering one of Napoleon by Antonio Canova in the landing on the ground floor that leads up to the marvelous Robert Adams’ designed stairway. The floor had to be reinforced with a supportive pillar beneath it to take the massive weight of this marble sculpture that presents a young and very athletic Napoleon in Roman guise complete with spear in his hand and sandals on his feet. It is an immensely striking sculpture and one whose image has stayed with me from my last visit to this room.

Wellesley was a master general (some would say the best England has ever had) with a gifted aesthetic side to his personality and he amassed a multitude of paintings, many so significant that the Long Gallery contains works by Old Masters that would make the National Gallery envious! There were Carravaggios and Canalettos from Italy, Jose Riberas, Velasquezes and Murillos from Spain, Jan Steens, Peter de Hoochs and Breugels the Elder from among the Flemish cohort and indeed a number of English artists including Van Dyke –all of which would take another age to see in detail. For me, the highlight of this mansion is the sterling silver centerpiece on the Dining Table that runs along its entire length–a gift from Portugal to Wellesley as the defeat of Napoleon had been a joint venture between England, Spain and Portugal. We enjoyed our visit here very much indeed and though Chriselle was concerned about the time and ensured we left there by 4. 30, she had a very pleasant visit indeed.

Back on the Tube, I showed her how to use it (so that she can find her way around the city on her own once I leave for Paris and find her way back to my building on the Central Line). Though I was quite wiped out by the time I reached home, she logged on to her computer, while I set off for Bedford Square to pick up the sheaf of papers that my students have left for me to grade as their semester winds down and final exams begin next week. It is a profoundly busy and stressful time for them and as my grading work begins, I am still trying to fit in as much time with Chriselle as possible.

Duet for One at the West End:
Back from campus, I managed a very short nap as both of us would be going out again for the evening. I had booked us tickets to see Juliet Stevenson and Henry Goodman in Tom Kempinski’s Duet for One at the Vaudeville Theater and when we got there by Tube at 7. 30, we were just in time for a performance that swept us off our feet with its histrionic virtuosity, masterful direction and excellent script.

Indeed it was a marvelous night at the theater. Though Stevenson’s role as Keira Knightley’s mother in Bend It like Beckham had first brought her to our attention, it was in this play where she played a violinist afflicted by multiple sclerosis and battling the ghosts of her past, that we realized how gifted an actor she is and how wide is her range. Indeed, she was superbly supported by Goodman who, in a much quieter portrayal as her therapist, also had his occasional outbursts that brought vitality to his role. Indeed, we could not have had a more memorable night in a London theater.

A Night Out on the Town for Chriselle:
Throughout the evening, Chriselle had been on my cell phone with her friend Rahul whom she had once known as a child in Bombay. He moved to London to work for a hedge fund and she was renewing contact with him after years. He invited her to spend the evening out with his friends and taking the bus to St. Paul’s from The Strand, I dropped Chriselle into his hands and took the bus back home as I was seriously pooped and couldn’t wait to hit my bed.

She woke me up at 3 am to tell me that despite the fact that I had given her a key, the magnetic tag would not open the door of our building downstairs. I dressed quickly and went down to open the door for her and at 3. 15, we were both back in bed again at the end of what had been an astonishing day for her in every possible respect.

In Search of Burberry and The Jubilee Walk (Part 1)

May2

Saturday, May 2, 2009
London

I awoke at 4. 00 am today (groan!!!) and I could not sleep after that. So, I switched on my bedside lamp and began reading The Order of the Phoenix for an hour. At 5. 30, I felt sleepy again, dropped off (thank goodness!) and then awoke at 7 am.

Email, calls to India (to my brother Roger and my nephew) and I was ready to make myself some coffee. Holborn was silent as a graveyard (as it usually is on weekends). This weekend will be quieter than usual as it is the long “Early May Bank Holiday” (whatever that means!) weekend and I guess most people will have travelled out of town. I carried a tray with my coffee and other paraphernalia to my bed and began to work on a revised itinerary for Chriselle’s trip.

There were numerous calls to make. I phoned Bishop Michael at St. Paul’s to reschedule the tour of the Cathedral that he had set up for us this morning as well as our afternoon tea plans at The Wolsley Hotel and then the Backstage Tour at the National Theater. I also booked tickets for us to see Romeo and Juliet at the Globe Theater and finally I booked our 3-day London Pass which includes 3-day Travelcards because they are being offered at a special May Day 10 % discount rate and I figured I might as well take advantage. What with all this stuff to do, I could only have my breakfast at 11 am (eggs and bacon and sausages–yes, still low-carb).

Buying a Trench coat at Burberry:
By then it was almost 11. 30 and with the sun shining so beckoningly outside, I decided to do something I have wanted to do for a long while–get to the Burberry Factory Store in Hackney to buy myself a new trench coat. This was definitely something I wanted to take back home to the States and having done some research, I discovered that rates are best in this factory outlet. Though it is quite a hike into Hackney, I figured that with my bus pass, I could get there quite easily. Besides, there is a direct bus that goes from right outside my building (the 242) all the way to the far side of the East End.

And then since I was going to Hackney, I figured I would also visit Sutton House, a National Trust property that is not very well-known. Using the internet, I found directions to the venue and off I went. The bus trundled along within a few seconds of my arriving at the bus-stop. En route, I graded a bunch of student essays–so the ride was very productive for me. We passed the busy Bank of England area and went further and further into Shoreditch, past the Geffrye Museum and into an area that I had never traversed before. Before long, I was at Hackney Central mainline station and on my way to the Burberry store.

This part of London is entirely different from anything I have seen so far. First of all, it is all rather run down. Secondly, I passed a series of auto body shops that ran parallel to the railway line. Auto mechanics were the only people on this entire road. Thirdly, the population demographic had changed completely and I realized that I was right in the heart of Black Britain–there were loads of people with Caribbean accents all around the place–many recent immigrants among them. The bus stops were teeming with people and there was no sign of a queue of any kind.

I was amazed at how many people were at the Burberry store before me! It turns out that there was a big Sale on–now whether this sale was only for this weekend or has been on for a while, there was no telling. Many of the racks were all cleaned out–which probably means I had arrived at the tail end of it. The space is large and the amount of items to be perused was rather confusing. I did manage to find the racks that held the khaki trench coats that I wanted and in a few minutes I found one in my size–thank goodness they have American and European sizes listed on the labels–this made it easy for me to find the size I was seeking. The price was right, the fit was good, the decision was made. With my coat under my arm, I went looking for a scarf in their signature beige tartan and, guess what? I ended up buying the very last cashmere one on the shelf!!! These were exactly the two things I had hoped to find and as soon as I spotted them, I swooped on them and headed to the till. There was a long line ahead of me–people were buying clothing as if it were going out of style! Thousands of pounds worth of merchandise changed hands before my eyes as the line inched forward slowly. Then, with my buys safely in my possession and the VAT refund slip helpfully filled out by the sales clerk, I was on my way.

The National Trust’s Sutton House:
I asked for directions and in about ten minutes, I was at Sutton House, my next port of call. This is a really nondescript building clad in dark brick with a rather sombre look to it. Once inside, I found it rather empty. There was an assistant in the shop and a small cafe at the back (with very reasonably priced eats and drinks), a small courtyard garden that was quite delightful with its climbing vines and potted flowers. And then my tour of the house began.

Sutton House is a Tudor building that was built by one Ralph Sadleir in the middle of the 1500s. He was a close confidant of the King and played a major role in the politics of the reign of Henry VIII being involved in the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538. As a nobleman, his home boasted some of the trappings of the day that pronounced status and power such as the oak wood panelling that is still to be found in many of the rooms. My very favorite pattern of Tudor panelling called Linenfold Paneling is evident in the Grand Room on the ground floor. The carving on the wood looked like folded, or more correctly, pleated cloth. I had been most taken by this feature of interior decor at Hampton Court Palace about five years ago when Llew, Chriselle and I had spent the day there. Little did I think that I would have the chance to see it again–and this time I was delighted because I was able to take pictures of it as well (something that is forbidden at Hampton Court).

My self-guided tour took me upstairs into a few more rooms that boast more carved panelling and some paintings including one of Sadleir and his later 18th century descendants painted by a female portraitist called Mary Beale–a rather unusual find as women portraitists were so rare at the time. There were other rooms in the house (A Georgian Parlor, for instance and a Victorian dining room) but other than its age, there was really nothing that this property can boast and I wondered why the National Trust even bothers to run it (since not many people bother to visit it).

On the floor at the very top of the house, while I was inspecting a large mural that was presumably painted by squatters who had taken over the house during its transition into the care of the National Trust, I heard a buzzing sound (as if made by a bumble bee) and then a rustling. I have to say that I panicked as there was no one else in the room with me and no one around on that floor at all. My mind went immediately to a ghost as so many of these old London homes have resident ghosts in them and the last thing I wanted was to feel someone or something brush past me or tap me on the shoulder! I got the heck out of there as fast as I could and decided that if I am going to explore any more of these National Trust properties, I had better go to homes that are crowded with visitors. These deserted, even neglected, properties might be filled with interesting antiques and night hark back to fascinating epochs of history but they do give me the creeps!

A short walk later, I was back at Hackney Central and boarding the 242 bus home. My papers were graded on the bus and with a stack under my arm, I got back home to have a very late lunch (it was 4 pm and I was hungry but contented myself with a cup of soup and a salad). I spoke to Llew on the phone for a few minutes, then sat to rewrite my interview with Henry Holley–it required a great deal of restructuring to fit my questionnaire format and proofreading before I could send it off to my office for printing. By the time I finished, it was about 7 pm and with daylight still streaming through my bedroom window, I decided to set out on another one of my ambitions while in London–the Completion of the Jubilee Walk.

I had intended to do this when Chriselle came here but now with her plans having changed, we will not have the time to do it together and with the weather so perfect and my feet feeling much stronger, I figured I could complete it in the next few days before Chriselle’s arrival. So I picked up the Map and my bus pass and set out while the evening was still young.

The Jubilee Walk–Part One:
The Jubilee Walk is a 14-mile walking path that snakes over Central London’s most significant sights. It was created in 1977 in the year of the Silver Jubilee of the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. If you have seen silver disks every so often set into London’s pavements and wondered what those are…well, they mark the path of the Jubilee Walk. There is a crown in the center and the cross set in it always points in the direction in which the walker should proceed. There are several walkers, I understand, who just about do the entire walk in a day–while others do it over a period of a few days. I decided to do it in about 5-6 installments.

The bus took me to Leicester Square where the walk begins. Since the evening was so perfect, there were scores of people in Leicester Square and for the first time in my life, I actually noticed all of its many interesting features. I have to say, somewhat ashamedly, that I had never noticed the sculpture of Shakespeare right in its center! Nor had I noticed the one of Charlie Chaplin close by! There is a bust of Hogarth at one of the gates. Probably I did not notice these before because I had never entered this park. All I have done is skirt its periphery or make my way to the half-price theater ticket booth at one end

This time, armed with my camera, I took several pictures and then made one more discovery. Just as there are palm prints set in cement outside Grumman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood, California, so too there are palm prints cast in metal all along one side of the Leicester Square Park. The palm prints, of course, belong to eminent contemporary British actors such as Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, Hugh Grant and Colin Firth not to mention Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore and Sean Connery (James Bonds all!). Gosh, I thought, this walk is going to open my eyes to things I have passed by a gazzillion times and never noticed!

Then, I followed the crown discs and walked alongside the National Gallery where Baisakhi (a spiritual festival of the Punjabi Sikhs of North India) is to be celebrated tomorrow. I saw kiosks set up all over the square and thought I should go across for some Indian food. At each point, during the Jubilee Walk, the map I was carrying gave me details about the history and importance of the place and I quite enjoyed discovering new facts about each venue.

In The Mall, I passed under Admiralty Arch and the statue of the Duke of York on its towering pedestal and then I was walking alongside St. James Park (London’s oldest, I discovered, created in the mid-1500s) while the Mall was created in the mid-1600s. Most of the flowering trees are at their peak now and soon foliage will cover every branch and give every corner of this city a completely different look. I arrived at Buckingham Palace at the end of the Mall and discovered why it is so called. It started its life as a simple town house that belonged to the Dukes of Buckingham and I believe that the first British monarch to inhabit it was Queen Victoria!

Around St. James’ Park I went. The light was starting to fade away at about 7.45 pm and I had to hurry with the pictures I composed. There was a profusion of lovely spring flowers in the beds around the sculpture of Queen Victoria as past the grand gates I went and noticed so many lovely perennial flower-beds in the Park that sported an abundance of spring color as the azaleas have started to bloom in hot shades of pink and red and orange. Very striking indeed!

This time, I turned and walked the length of the Birdcage Walk and rounded the corner to arrive at the Cabinet War Rooms (which I hope to visit on the London Pass once Chriselle gets here) and the sculpture of Lord Clive of India dominating the grand steps that connect the two impressive buildings. Before long, I was passing the back of Number 10 Downing Street, the residence of the British Prime Minister since the mid-1700s, and found myself at the Horse Guards Parade where a number of stands have been set up around the periphery. I asked a friendly bobby what they were in aid of and he told me “Beating the Retreat and Trooping the Color”. I had no idea what either of these things meant and he explained that they were ceremonies associated with the Queen’s Birthday in June. He also told me that tickets are available and that I could purchase one if I went online. I made a mental note to find out more when I got home.

By this point, I was tired, it was 8. 30 and dusk had fallen. I could not longer take any pictures and I decided to stop and continue the Walk tomorrow. I reached the nearest bus stop and caught the buses that brought me home at a little after 9 pm for my dinner of fried cod (M&S) with a salad that I fixed with everything I could find in my fridge (romaine lettuce, feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh apricots, and a dressing of mayonnaise, mustard, olive oil, salt, and pepper. I watched Masterchef At Large on UK TV’s Food channel (in which there is a contestant called Michelle who, I suspect, is a South Indian Christian probably from Mangalore or Goa. She has been churning out a variety of typically Indian dishes–minced meat cutlets, Hyderabadi biryani and shrikhand with fresh mangoes. She has made the list of semi-finalists, so naturally, I am now rooting for her).

Then, at 10 pm, I sat down to bone up on my French (in preparation for my forthcoming trips to Paris and Lyon in France in the coming weeks) and sat down to write this blog. I finally felt sleepy at about 11. 30 pm and decided to call it a day. Hopefully, I will not wake up at 4 am tomorrow morning!