London #5

Yesterday dawned a little cooler :-)  I heard at breakfast about the success of the opening ceremony, happy that my English companions were pleased and proud of the way it went. Some of them were off to watch the cycle race pass down Fulham Road later in the morning.

Jenny and I had agreed that I could get the District Line to Southfields where Jenny would meet me. She had to take into account the closed roads of the cycle route through South-west London. I assumed that everyone on public transport would be heading eastwards to the main Olympic venues and that the tube to Southfieldds would be almost empty. Huh! It pulled into Sloane Square packed to the hilt – or gills – or gunnels – or whatever. Why I had no idea. I slung an arm around a metal upright for support and tried to text Jenny that I was on the train, as the carriage swung wildly – hopeless to text. A good 30 minutes with no reduction in numbers until, at Southfields, the crowd disgorged. And finally it dawned – the first day of the Olympic tennis at Wimbledon!  It was interesting to see how a little, suburban underground station coped. They dispensed with people swiping their travel cards to exit – just kept the barriers permanently open which sped up the flow of traffic. Outside broadcast messages indicated the direction spectators should take to walk to the venue. All seemed to go smoothly.

I walked to Combemartin Road where I met Jenny, significantly disabled by a fall two years ago. We drove to her home and had a full afternoon of catching up. I met Bill and Ben (‘Bill’nBen’) the two black and heard the full story of Jenny’s fall and subsequent difficulties with the health system. We watched the final leg of the cycle race through Kingston, Richmond Park (not so far from us), Putney and on the The Mall. Back from a still busy Southfields about 5.30pm and a later evening wander around the back streets between the King’s Road and Fulham Road. Lots of people on the footpaths outside the pubs in Fulham Road enjoying the balmy evening. And me very pleased that Jenny and I had made contact and enjoyed time together.

Jenny 

Me at Jenny's front door

Sunday 29^th July - last full day in London. Sniff - don’t want to leave.

At breakfast an update on the volunteering. The poor lass driving the Mali contingent had had a tough day. I suspect people (police included) may be forgetting that these are volunteers.

Got out early (Chelsea Public Library was closed – no waiting to access wi-fi) and took tube to Westminster just to give the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey a wave. Saw again the magnificent statue of Churchill. Trotted down to St James’ Park which was cordoned off for the beach volleyball at Horse Guards Parade. Then Oxford Street, Selfridges with its wonderful window displays and elegant yet edgy interiors. I happened see the Jo Malone perfume display and as I was glancing wistfully one of the women pounced on me and, before I knew where I was she had not only given me four different sprays on slivers of card but she had me at the counter soaping my arms with exclusive Jo Malone soap and then rubbing them with English pear and something or other scented body lotion. I love the Jo Malone perfumes and still have two at home (used very sparingly) from my last UK visit, but usually I avoid getting trapped like this for fear of feeling obliged. However I decided I wasn’t obliged to do or buy anything and that I might just as well enjoy smelling nice (let’s face it when you’re travelling the way I do there are few luxuries).

Part of a Selfridges' window display

Walked up to Manchester Square to see the Wallace Collection. A very grand and totally overblown (sorry) mansion containing a very fine (but also rather overblown) collection of eighteenth and nineteenth century art, ceramics, weaponry etc. Walked to Marble Arch where the bus I had hoped to get wasn’t operating because of the road race so took the underground to Knightsbridge and came up out of the ground right beside Harrods to find myself in the middle of a thunderstorm and also in the middle of the road race! Brompton Road was lined with spectators and umbrellas. Every time there was a clap of thunder the crowd cheered (that’s the spirit that has been so evident this week). Couldn’t get into Harrods because crowds were blocking the entrances trying to keep dry. As I say, crazy!! I did eventually fight my way into Harrods – where I nearly took a job for the summer sales back in 1979 – just for a quick look through. Still gorgeous and staff still genuinely pleasant and helpful – even to someone looking as rough and unpromising in the spending department as I did/do.

Cycle race along Brompton Road

On the streets and in the underground, despite the crowds, the heat and the number of games visitors unfamiliar with the city, I have seen very few expressions of irritation or anger. Under the circumstances people are amazingly forbearing and tolerant. Everywhere in the tube stations, above and below ground there are pink-vested volunteers there to advise on transport routes. Above ground on the roads the police and army are much in evidence, not in any way threatening, rather reassuring. It occurs to me that in many other countries they would be carrying weapons (and maybe they are, but it is not at all evident). A sort of low-key, paternal presence.

Monday 30^th postscript

This morning one of the transitions that concern me a bit. I need to get the bus to Sloane Square, the tube to Embankment where I change to the Waterloo line and through to Waterloo Station to catch the train to Southampton. My concern is solely with managing my luggage in the sometimes quite long trots within and between change points and in the fast moving crowds. It requires speed, stamina and strength and I am a bit lacking on some of these fronts! But I will manage.

I’ve been pondering on why I love London so much. There is a sense of home-coming for me. I know parts of the city well enough for it to be selectively familiar. It’s a city I’ve returned to over the years after working there in 1879/80. I like big, stimulating cities. I like exploring, discovering, nooks and crannies (of which London is endlessly full), interesting, eccentric people, wonderful art (in all its forms). London is huge, and can be oppressive, but it is also a city of many parks and green squares where you are never far from a quiet place. Several times in the past week I’ve experienced moments of real joy in just being here. On the other hand, by the time I left Oxford Street yesterday I was was weary and irritable. I always believed that you had to be feeling good – to be on top of things – to cope with London (I guess any major city). As I get older this is additionally so. I haven’t always paced myself as well as I could have. I’ve sometimes walked too long, not stopped to eat when I should etc etc. But I know these things – just have to practise them! Allen Hall has been a great place to come back to. I will leave it, as in 1993, with very fond memories.

London #4...

Yesterday a special day and not (just) because it was the Olympic Games opening ceremony. Firstly I mentioned to my breakfast companions – all Catholic priests I’m guessing – that I was hoping to see friends at Bexleyheath, whereupon one asked if I was also going to visit the Red House. I knew nothing about this National Trust property – designed and built for William Morris by friend Philip Webb. So when I phoned Lily again I was able to say that that I was coming down to Bexleyheath to see her and Les and to see the Red House – allaying Lily’s concerns that she might suddenly be taken sick (as she has been recently) and my trip would be for ‘nothing’.

I then called Deidre Borner with whom I had a good long chat. She was unwell – but we enjoyed the catch-up. Lily and Deidre both friends of Mum’s from her time in England, 1949/51; both of whom I had met previously and corresponded with over the years.

So then off on another of those London public transport jigsaw puzzles. Bus to Sloane Square, tube to Victoria and BR train from Victoria to Bexleyheath. The latter a slow trip stopping at all the little south-east London stations. I found my way, with some difficulty, to the Red House. Morris only lived there for five years, leaving ostensibly because his business had taken off and he needed to be closer to central London but probably also because his wife had begun an affair with Dante Gabriel Rossetti and the Red House had become a place of sadness for him. A lovely, brick building set in an equally lovely garden. The interior of the house is presently lacking the furnishings that the NT will no doubt acquire over time. Some delightful little touches like these stained glass windows painted by Morris.

Stained glass windows painted by Morris

Walked from there back to Lily and Les in – and that was what was special about the day. So good to see them, such a warm welcome. Neither in the best of health but Lily nevertheless bright and bouncy as ever, born near Bow Bells – a true cockney. We went out together, had a look at the charity shops in the main street (Lily bought me a pair of tiny bird earrings and knocked the boy down on the price!) and came home with fish and chips – bought early for my benefit I am sure. I loved it all and hated to say goodbye.

Tonight an early, quiet night despite the fact that I could watch the games opening downstairs. Yesterday warned me that I need to watch my pace and conserve energy to last the distance!!

Thank you Lily and Les if you read this. I wouldn’t have missed seeing you for all the Olympic Games xx

Just a postscript. Met two people at breakfast this morning who are volunteering for the games. One, a young woman, has come down from Manchester for the duration and she is a driver for a big-wig from Mali. The other, a retired man from Yorkshire, is co-ordinator of an organizing team for the beach volleyball (being played at Horse-guards Parade!). They are both paying for their own accommodation and transport and giving all their time voluntarily in whatever capacity they have been assigned. I think that’s amazing – it’s part of the spirit of the games which it has been such a delight to experience from my place on the periphery.

London #3

Another cloudless day in Olympic city. Yesterday I understand the temperature hit 32C. Locals can’t believe it - they have had nothing but rain since March. Every time I hear an ambulance (of which there are many) I think it must be another person with heatstroke!!

My plans changed slightly yesterday when I heard at breakfast, from the very nice catholic priest who is staying at Allen Hall to do some PhD writing, that the Olympic torch was to be coming down the King’s Road about 1.30pm. I thought I should be part of the spirit of it all and join the crowd. So after my library internet stint and a phone call to Jenny to arrange a catch-up on Saturday,  I caught a bus to South Kensington, not far away, and had a wee nosy round the Victoria and Albert shop – there wasn’t time for more. Then back to join the jostling throng along the King’s Road. I found a good position on the steps of the Chelsea Old Town Hall (right next to the library). Sat and chatted to a very nice local lady (who had 2 litres of icecream melting in her shopping bags but was determined to see the torch). At some point the traffic was cordoned off; then the crowd gave rousing cheers to every random police motorcycle that passed by. Such good humour and excited anticipation. Finally the advance brigade of parade vans – before, just above the heads of the crowd, I briefly saw two torches flaming as one runner passed the flame to another. Then a young woman (I don’t know who) ran, flanked by supporting runners and almost engulfed by the crowd. It was quite a moving moment – just a hint of tears. I think because people were enjoying it so much and because the logistics of organizing the torch relay to bring it within reach of 95% of the UK population (as I understood from a breakfast conversation) are quite mind-boggling and humbling. My companion gave me her plastic, made-in-China flag to keep as a souvenir and we took each other’s photos waving the flag!

Yours truly waving the flag on the steps of Chelsea Old Town Hall

In the middle of the crowd you can just see the Olympic torch...

Given the shorter afternoon I decided to go in to the National Gallery. Despite all my visits there I had forgotten how HUGE it is. So I concentrated on Titian, Rembrandt, Da Vinci, Van Dyck, Holbein…  Was particularly taken by Holbein’s portrait of Erasmus. And my all-time favourite at the National Gallery – Titian’s A man with a quilted sleeve (c1510). Then, although I was weary from accumulated days of trudging and sniffing with a return of the New Zealand cold that has never entirely disappeared, I decided to walk through Haymarket and up Regent Street – as much for sentimental reasons as anything because Regent St used to be my regular haunt when I worked in Cavendish Square. Again, I had forgotten how monumental it is – the word ‘street’ doesn’t begin to describe it. Along the full curve of Regent St there were flags – looked just stunning. 

Not so stunning the crowds who were gathering for yet another torch-relay by-pass. I decided to give this one a miss and fought my way (literally) through the bodies to get to and down the Oxford St underground and back to Allen Hall. Succumbed to a ready-made bought salad from Marks and Spencers and then glutton for punishment, I decided to 9.30pm to catch the No. 11 bus which goes from the King’s Rd across the city centre. I sat in the top font seat of the double decker and watched the night-time city passing by. Got as far as the Bank of England and then caught the tube back to Sloane Sq and bus to Beaufort St. 11.00pm before I got in, utterly exhausted.

London #2

It is 6.00am. Through the open window I can hear the heavy drone of traffic, a helicopter, intermittent sirens, a church bell, the odd bird. The sounds of the city are ever-present. It is both stimulating and wearying at the same time.

Yesterday, after my session at the Chelsea Library, I got bus and tube to the Old Street station in Shoreditch. On the tube I sat next to a lovely big dog and his man. Such a well-behaved dog in the stiflingly hot, busy underground carriage. I fondled his ears and he lay on my feet. His owner was lovely too.  (The helicopter is now directly overhead). Shoreditch was a completely new area to me and I navigated my way with a little difficulty, and by dint of asking when I was unsure, from Old Street to the Geffrye Museum. By the time I got there I was dripping – so hot.

The Geffrye Museum is housed in what were the almshouses of the Ironmongers’ Company (18^th century). A most unexpected oasis of calm and beauty in an exceptionally chaotic part of London.

The museum explores the evolution of the English home over the past 400 years, showing how ‘homes have been used and furnished, reflecting changes in society and patterns of behavior as well as style, fashion and taste’. It is set up as a series of rooms, reflecting changes over time. Very well done.  Especially well set up for children and educational purposes. Thought-provoking too.

From the Geffrye I found a bus back to Old Street and then tube to St Pancras – my stop for the British Library and specifically to see a special exhibition called Writing Britain: Wastelands to Wonderlands – an exploration of literature and place. Oh, this was amazing! Could have spent days there. Set up thematically – rural dreams, dark satanic mills, wild places, beyond the city, cockney visions and waterlands. Original manuscripts, letters, sketches, diaries from an array of British writers. From Chaucer to JK Rowling. One of the incidental things that struck me was how small the writing of many of the earlier authors was. Magnifying-glass small. I guess paper was valuable; but I also wonder whether there was a subconscious desire to ‘hide’ what was in the making. Heavens knows how publishers/printers deciphered these works. Love for the land and fear for its future were consistent threads.

Back outside the British Library and round the corner, heading for the tube station, there was a noisy demonstration on the other side of the road outside the monumental St Pancras Hotel. Always interested in demonstrations and wanting to find out more about this one, I loitered along with many others on what must have been one of the busiest roads, right next to a national and international train terminal. Police were arriving in vans all the time and we (the spectators, mostly Indian) kept being moved along the pavement (from where we would gradually edge back to the entrance to the hotel). I got talking to an Indian lass who had recently come to London from Dubai and she explained that it was a protest aimed at the Bangladeshi Prime Minister who was staying at the hotel for the opening of the Olympics. Very interesting and reminded me of arriving in Berlin years ago and walking down Unter Den Linden right into a great big, noisy demonstration. Something very satisfying about the contrast between the calm of the British Library and the chaos of democracy in action on the streets! I was probably there for a good hour, watching.

Finally back briefly to Allen Hall before going out again, along the Chelsea embankment to see the Chelsea Physic Garden which was open late. I have always been interested in the healing properties of herbs and so to wander round this garden, established in 1673 by the Society of Apothecaries, was a delight. Again it is one of those peaceful enclaves that abound in an otherwise hectic and relentless city. By the time I finally returned to my room, about 9.30pm I was exhausted. Literally on the streets (!) for 12 hours.

So far I have been unable to make contact with Jenny. Lily I had a long chat with on the phone. She and Les are both unwell and I got the sense that a phone conversation might be better than a visit. We’ll see.


A paucity of photos but they just take too long to upload at the Chelsea Public Library!!

London...

Phew, it is melt-in-a-little-puddle hot. I remember London in the heat – it can be humid and I suspect big cities trap heat and radiate it off the built surfaces. But so wonderful to see everyone out – on the streets, in the parks, just having a fantastic time. The city is looking great and it is buzzing. Everywhere there are quirky and inventive reminders of the Olympics.  Another surprise – the changes, even since I was here in 2010. There seem to me to be a lot of new buildings and a lot of building-in-progress. I can’t say I look at the central city and think – recession. But then, as in den Haag, it is the areas further out from the centre that will tell a different story.

I have to say my visions of filling up on a hearty English breakfast at Allen Hall were cruelly shattered. I am sure, previously, there was a continental and a hot selection. But this morning there was muesli that tasted like horse mash, doorstep bread for toasting and that was it. Oh, and little punnets of yoghurt which is what I think I’ll have tomorrow - don’t think I can face the nose-bag again! But that’s OK. Well, actually, no internet access, no washing facilities (clothes washing) and a bum breakfast – giving up quite a bit for character and setting!!

I did my stint at the library this morning, took the laptop back to Allen Hall then bus and tube to Blackfriars from where I walked over the Millenium Bridge to Tate Modern. It’s a must whenever I come to London, as much for the fabulous building as the art. Great views of the Shard crossing the bridge. It’s stunning. 

The embankment in front of Tate Modern was alive with people sitting in the sun, watching the activity in the Thames, listening to spine-tingling, choral singing that seemed to float in the air above the river – I am sure others were wondering, as I was, where the music was coming from. Revisited some galleries in the Tate and forked out £15 to see the Munch exhibition which certainly took me well beyond what I previously knew of Munch’s work and made me eager to read more about him as an artist and a man. I looked longingly at the books and posters but can’t carry such things so must pass by. Another highlight was a newly opened (new since 2010) gallery area called The Banks – a wonderful, cavernous series of spaces off the turbine hall. (Reminded me a bit of the caverns under Cashmere that were constructed during the war and are now used by the UC Physics Dept for what I think of as a small-scale Higgs-Bosun).

By which time it was late afternoon…

Walked along the embankment past the Globe Theatre and across Southwark Bridge. The tube back to Sloane Square was suffocatingly hot. But how I love watching people in the tube (or anywhere). Such variety, such ordinariness and extraordinariness and eccentricity. So many lives briefly intersecting. It’s now nearly 10.00pm and I’d love to go out again and walk a bit but my feet and knees have had it – so much walking in the past 2+ weeks. I am sitting on the bed in my room at Allen Hall with the window wide open and writing this in Word so that I can transfer it to the blog when I next access wi-fi. Overhead you can hear the constant stream of planes coming in to land at Heathrow. Just think – more and more bodies disgorging into this already packed city for the Games. Police are significantly in evidence. I’ve heard a lot of police car sirens – one started up just behind me yesterday evening and I really did jump out of my skin! But people are generally polite and, especially in galleries, reasonably thoughtful.

Goodbye Netherlands ... hello London

Written on Eurostar and posted from the Chelsea Public Library...

Some thoughts as I leave the Netherlands after a fortnight, and with another fortnight to come. I have enjoyed, for a time, being back in an environment with terraced houses, where people live in close proximity and space is at a premium. It has reinforced the luxury of the space we have in New Zealand and that I, especially, have in Governors Bay. By comparison with the Netherlands we seem profligate with our space. It also means that, here, you are never far from signs of human habitation or intense modification of the landscape. And, as well as the beautiful, historic and interesting modern buildings, there are many truly awful constructions, especially related to industry.  See a slender, gothic spire and there’s sure to be an ugly high-rise nearby. This may be primarily the Randstadt however – that western conurbation of Amsterdam, den Haag and Rotterdam, cities which are gradually merging as they gobble up smaller towns in between.

I understand a little more the extent to which the Netherlands has been reclaimed from water. Much of it is essentially delta which, over the centuries, has been drained for agriculture and habitation.  Much of it, at least in the area that I have been exploring, is sand. This is apparent when you pass nurseries where the ground is being turned over.  You could be on the beach at Brighton. My thoughts immediately turn to liquefaction!  PG mentioned earthquakes and rising sea levels in relation to The Netherlands. I’m not sure whether quakes are an issue at all, but global warming must be a big concern.  Jaap and Gerda talked of big storms in 1953 when dykes were breached and many lives were lost and this was just one of many instances over the centuries. However I am sure the Dutch are resourceful and that they are working on enhanced protection even now.

The three main cities I have visited so far (Den Haag, Amsterdam and Rotterdam) are each quite distinct in character. Rotterdam bustling, brash, go-ahead, edgy. Den Haag more sedate, elegant, serious perhaps. Both utterly rainbow in their populations. Amsterdam I need to spend more time in to really comment but its built character reflects more the old towns of Delft and Gouda. I have seen both wealth and serious lack of it in Den Haag.  There are some magnificent homes, set in beautiful grounds, often now occupied by embassies. There are a lot of open, park or wood (bos) areas. In contrast, the areas further away from the sea are poorer, immigrant suburbs with fewer open spaces. One of the great things about so much travel on public transport is that you get to see the rich array of people at close quarters.

Yesterday I caught the tram through to Scheveningen – Den Haag’s coastal suburb, a town in its own right really. I knew what it would be like – and it was. A bit retro, a bit sleezy, very built-up with the sort of fun-fair/bar/sun-worshipping attractions you associate with British seaside resorts. People baking to almost black in the sun (a shock this after New Zealand). But the real surprise, when you looked beyond the tacky, was the glorious, golden sand beach stretching for miles. I expected the North Sea to have grey sand, rather inhospitable beaches. Not so. I don’t think I have mentioned Mesdag’s panorama in the blog so far. This huge 360 degree panorama depicts Scheveningen when it was still a small fishing village. You stand in the centre and you could be in the Dutch landscape with all the flat-bottomed fishing boats pulled up (by horses) on the beach, a scattering of buildings and endless horizons of sea and sky. It is a remarkable artistic achievement and sad to compare its landscape with the Scheveningen of today.

I’ve noticed that local people are fairly reserved. I tend to smile at people I pass in the street, and say ‘hello’ to their dogs (lots of dogs), but there is little response. However when you engage with a Dutch person they are helpful and pleasant. I guess a large population in a small space makes you more mindful and protective of personal space. Also I’m now enculturated into semi-rural living, forgetting that city people anywhere don’t meet and greet the way those in smaller places do.

Well, here I am in Brussels Midi, waiting in the Eurostar terminal to go through to London and I’m thinking of those young men (mostly) who used to do the Grand Tour of Europe. I’m dead sure they didn’t lug their own luggage (does ‘lug’ have the same origin as ‘luggage’?) around!! At least customs, passport control and security was exceptionally straightforward (especially given the Olympics).

Now well ensconced at Allen Hall, Beaufort St, Chelsea. Allen Hall a seminary for training catholic priests, sited on Sir Thomas More’s old estate. From the moment of arrival yesterday at St Pancras it was apparent that the Olympics were the main act in town. Olympic rings at the end of the platform, an arriving team being photographed, more media in the arrival hall. Once again, immigration, security were low key and efficient. Stopped to purchase an Oyster card (new since my last time in London) then Victoria Line tube, change to District at Victoria, out at Sloane Sq and bus 319 down Kings Rd to Beaufort. St.  Despite the luggage and the heat (!) it felt great. Once I get on the tube I always feel I am ‘home’. I love the efficiency of it, the single-minded determination of people as they navigate subterranean London.

Toilets at St Pancras!

Arriving St Pancras

I'm guessing last minute pre-Olympic tarting up!

My third floor room at Allen Hall (no lift) is compact, basic and absolutely sufficient. I love it – a little haven in a big, relentless city. My window looks out over brick and stone buildings, courtyards, trees – and that little view alone makes me smile with pleasure. Returning to London feels like coming home.

Spent the rest of the afternoon wandering from Beaufort St to Sloane Sq and back, checking out various services I might need. Located a Post Office, a Library (where I am hoping to access free wi-fi), Marks and Spencers (for basic food items) and various reasonably-priced cafes (no cooking facilities at Allen Hall). Kings Rd was super-busy – traffic and people. Later in the evening (9.00pm-ish) I walked for some distance along the Chelsea Embankment and Cheyne Walk. Still quite light, people out walking and running on both sides of the river, the ‘Shard’ visible in the distance, planes high above heading for Heathrow and, as the evening wore on, Albert Bridge with its fairy lights. Again that feeling of being in love with London.

Albert Bridge about 9.30pm

Well, I have just learnt how long it takes to download photos at the Library. Fewer photos I fear!!