Kristine Hughes's Blog, page 163

A Visit to Buckingham Palace

In all my visits to England, I've never managed to be in London during public openings of Buckingham Palace. And I didn't expect it to be open this time over, either. As I mentioned in a previous post, one day whilst in London I strolled across the street from our hotel to the Royal Mews gift shop and while there I overheard one of the ladies who works there telling a man about an unprecedented opening of Buckingham Palace while the family was away over the Christmas holidays. On that day and the next, the Palace would be offering two private, guided, champagne tours each day. Tickets were to be had a few doors down at the Queen's Gallery. Honestly, dear Reader, no one ever covered the ground between the gift shop and the Queen's Gallery as quickly as I did that day. I snapped up two tickets to the 4 p.m. tour that very day - by the way, the tickets were enclosed in a really impressive blue envelope, with directions on what forms of I.D. to bring - and then I hightailed it back to the hotel to crow at Greg about my coup. Even he was impressed. And excited.



As instructed, we arrived at the gate on the Queen's Gallery side of the Palace in Buckingham Palace Road at 3:45. After showing two forms of picture I.D. each, Greg and I were personally escorted to the Ambassador's Entrance of the Palace and passed through a security screening. Typically, when the Palace is open during the summer, visitors are taken inside in large groups, with over 7,000 visitors coming through in all. Over the two days the Palace was opened in December, just 100 people would have the opportunity to view the interiors. This personalization was evident from the start - we were shown into a waiting area and given upholstered chairs to sit upon until the rest of our group had arrived. Greg and I gawped, goggled, gaped and poked each other in the legs for a while before I turned my head to the right . . . and saw Chantrey's bust of the Duke of Wellington!



To digress, by this point in our London visit, it had become abundantly clear to Greg that several people other than myself actually knew who the Duke of Wellington was, our having seen Apsley House, the Wellington Arch, Wellington Place, Wellington Street and having had dinner in the Wellington Pub. Vindication at last!

But back to the Palace . . . . once we were all assembled, our tour guide, Dawn, greeted us and took us into an antechamber where a coat check had been set up. We then assembled in a massive hall, where there were full length portraits of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, amongst others. This chamber opened onto the staircase, below, and we were invited to ascend and stand on either side of the staircase whilst Dawn told us a bit about the paintings - William IV, Queen Adelaide, Prince Leopold, Princess Charlotte,  etc. etc. etc.  As The British Monarchy Website explains: "Queen Victoria requested that the series of portraits of her immediate family were displayed around the upper part of the stairs. These include her grandparents, George III and Queen Charlotte, her parents the Duke and Duchess of Kent and her predecessor on the throne, her uncle William IV, and his wife Queen Adelaide. Thus the portraits served as a kind of 'receiving line' so that whoever climbed the staircase was simultaneously received by her family."



I should tell you here that in addition to Dawn, there were two other uniformed Palace people attached to our group, one of whom preceeded us and opened the tall, double doors to every room we entered, the other followed our group and closed the doors behind us as we left. And whilst you might think that decorum ruled the visit, you'll be glad to know that Dawn encouraged us at every step to make ourselves at home - "get up close and get a good look at that painting; do go over to the windows and push the curtains aside for a look at the lawns where the garden parties are held; take a seat - any seat; yes, yes, do go on up to the front and stand where those who are being knighted stand. Terribly fun, is it not?" Greg and I kept catching each other's eye and making faces. Terribly fun, yes.

Of course, no photos were allowed, and I'll admit here and now that I could not for the life of me tell you the exact route of our procession through the State Apartments, but here are some photos of some of the rooms we visited. Note: the work of architect John Nash was evident everywhere and his ornate ceilings and fireplaces appeared in almost every room.


The Picture Gallery



Where I saw Winterhalter's portrait of the Royal Family, above, which Victoria and I had previously viewed at the Victoria and Albert: Art in Love Exhibition at the Queen's Gallery in June. No, Chuck was not actually present during my tour. More's the pity.


The White Drawing Room
The Music Room
 The State Dining Room

 
The Blue Drawing Room




Shown above is the old Throne Room, used up until the reign of Queen Victoria, who found it too small and had another built, large enough for dancing. You can't see it in the photo, but on the wall to the left of the thrones hangs the only portrait in the entire room, shown below.


As Dawn hadn't mentioned the portrait, I sidled up to her and asked, "Pardon me, but isn't that a Wellesley?"

"Yes," Dawn replied, "He was brother to the Duke of Wellington."

"Elder brother," said I, "Richard, Lord Mornington."

"Oh," said Dawn, "I am impressed."

Greg was impressed, too. I was a tad depressed. After all, the ability to properly identify Wellesleys isn't all that impressive as party tricks go. I mean, how often can one flaunt such a talent? And to whom? The ability to eat fire, do bird calls or play the zither would be much handier, but one must be satisfied with one's lot in life.

This is the new throne room below, where investitures take place and where all the chairs are hauled out and an enormous table laid for State Banquets.





We ended our tour exactly where we'd begun, in the Great Hall, shown below, where flutes of cold champagne were served before we all trooped off to a makeshift giftshop near the cloakroom.








And where I bought myself an official William and Kate wedding tankard. Once we'd collected our coats, Greg and I were each handed an official Buckingham Palace Souvenier Guide and the pair of us were personally escorted out, across the quadrant below






and through the archway on the far right



to the front of the Palace, where we were finally escorted through the entry gate.


By this time, night had fallen and we paused to take one last look back at the Palace, where we'd enjoyed a truly Royal visit.

Strolling London Streets - Part Two

London streets provide atmosphere galore, as does the Victorian era corner of Mercer Street, below.



Sometimes it feels as though a peek down any street will provide you with a glimpse of something historical or iconic. The photo below shows the award winning and celeb favorite Ivy Restaurant in West Street in the West End on the left and the St. Martin's Theatre just beyond, where Agatha Christie's play The Mousetrap has been playing since 1952.



Back to Charing Cross and you'll find a row of second hand bookshops, including Any Amount of Books and Henry Pordes. Victoria and I have spent many a dusty hour amongst their stacks and enjoyed every moment of it.



And always, there are the pubs. You just about fall over them. Below is the Porcupine in Great Newport Street.






Turn towards Leicester Square and you'll arrive at the gates to the entrance of London's Chinatown.





Where I have to admit Brooke and I have enjoyed many a roast duck. Yummmm.




You'll see Chinese characters at the bottom of the street sign below.




And finally there's Compton's in, where else, Old Compton Street. It was once the Swiss Hotel and is currently a mostly gay bar. You can read more about it here. No matter what goes on inside, the outside of the building is quintessentially British, not to mention gorgeous.



I hope you've enjoyed our stroll as much as I have!

Strolling London Streets - Part One

You've got to love a city in which you trip over history with every step. A simple stroll through London affords many glimpses of the past, beginning on your own doorstep. Case in point, the photo above - that's Greg and I with Nathan, the world famous doorman at the Rubens Hotel in Buckingham Palace Road. Go down the steps and turn around and you'll find the plaque below, stating that the Rubens was used by General Sikorski during WWII as his headquarters.



Directly across the street from the Rubens you'll find this view of the Royal Mews.



Look to your left and you'll see the Bag O' Nails pub.



One day, I left the hotel on my own and made my way towards Piccadilly, passing Buck House on the way.



Then I headed down the Mall, where I passed Clarence House, home to Prince Charles and Camilla.


At the corner, I turned left and a quick stroll brought me to St. James's Palace



Heading north, I entered St. James's Street and looked in the windows at Lock's Hatters and various other long standing shops until I found myself, once again, in front of the bow window at White's Club.




At the corner of Piccadilly, I made a right and walked past the windows at Fortnum and Mason, which this year recreated iconic paintings in 3D renderings, below. You can read all about the process here.





I browsed F and M, and Hatchard's book shop, and various nearby streets before returning to Piccadilly for tea at Richoux, one of my regular haunts just opposite the Royal Academy. You can visit their website and check out their menu here.



On another day, and another stroll, Greg and I headed to Charing Cross Road, where at No. 103 (below)you can find the vestiges of the Tam O' Shanter Pub. A public house called the Bull's Head stood on this site from at least 1759 until 1893. At the time of the opening of Charing Cross Road in 1887 the building was enlarged and repaired to the designs of R. W. Read and its name was changed, firstly in 1894 to the Tam o'Shanter, and again in 1900 to the Palace Tavern. It ceased to be used as a public house in 1960, and is now occupied by a firm of caterers

.

Just at the corner with Old Compton Street, you'll come across Molly Mogg's (below), one of the smallest pubs in London.


Part Two Coming Soon!

Researching the 30th Regiment by Guest Blogger Carole Divall

Victoria and I met author Carole Divall at Waterloo this past June and Carole was kind enough to agree to do a guest blog for us on her research into the Napoleonic Wars and the 30th Regiment.




When I started researching the 30th (Cambridgeshire) Regiment fifteen years ago, I had no idea where my investigations would take me. Suffice to say, at the time I was merely looking for a means of moving my general interest in the period of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars into something more specific. Initially, I merely dabbled as time allowed. What I discovered, however, was a wealth of material: official documents, newspaper reports, journals and letters which brought to life several thousand men who demonstrated all that is good, bad and ugly in the human race. It was then that I decided their experiences should be recorded in a book.

According to Ralph Waldo Emerson, "There is properly no history, only biography." To write a history of a regiment is to write the biographies of the men of that regiment. The more I researched, the less I was satisfied merely with what the 30th did. Instead, I wanted to discover what made the men tick - officers, NCOs and other ranks. And I certainly found everything from the dedicated officer and zealous private to the dishonest NCO and criminal "king's hard bargains".

Even my first book, Redcoats Against Napoleon , which focused on the deeds of the 30th between 1789 and 1817 (with an extension to 1829 to cover events in India) adopted a more biographical perspective than the conventional military history approach. I wanted the reader to be able to share the experiences of the men who fought from Toulon (1793) to Waterloo, whether it was suffering the heat and thirst of Egypt, the incessant rains of Portugal, or the desperate stand in the center of Wellington's line at Waterloo.

My second book, Inside the Regiment, which comes out next February, attempts to open the door on the private life of the 30th, and explore how it functioned on a day-to-day basis. For example, what was it about the command style of Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton that made him such an inspiring leader of men? What exactly were the offenses of the king's hard bargains? Were all the men in the ranks merely "the scum of the earth?" What was it like to be a recruit? How did the officers spend their leisure time? Were the surgeons really as incompetent as history suggests? And what about the women? Did they have a part to play in the life of the regiment?

Like all biographers, I hope I have brought my subject (or, more accurately, subjects) into the limelight. The 30th were only one of a hundred infantry regiments. Although they were unique, they were also representative of all those other units which fought for king and country, for duty, for the chance of plunder - but, most of all, for their regiment.

If you would like to know more about the 30th Regiment, look on my website for details of what the two battalions were doing exactly a hundred years ago.

Dinosaurs...for Christmas?

 The wee ones in my family are eager to mix their latest acquisitions from Santa -- the Transformers attacked by dinosaurs, or vice versa.

Imagination carries them a long way, from prehistory to the future.


It's a world class fight, carried on under the dining room table.

As the humongous conflict went on, I took a moment to browse through some magazines I'd missed during holiday preparations.  And wonder of wonder, in the November 2010 issue of the BBC History magazine, p. 68, was the story of Richard Owen, who inveted the word DINOSAUR.







Owen (1804-92) was one of the founders and directors of London's fantastic Natural History Museum. A paleontologist by profession, Owen and others discussed various theories of evolution, sometimes agreeing with but more often differing with Charles Darwin (1809-1882), a contemporary. The article describes Owen as "nororiously bad-tempered".  But the fact remains, he invented the word DINOSAUR, from "Greek words meaning terrible great lizard".  The article says that Owen wished to disprove evolution, and replace it with his own hypotheses about change. Of course, his was only one of many voices which contested Darwin, and/or tried to explain how animal developments could be aligned with biblical accounts.

Here is the museum, on the Cromwell Road. It is a wonderful place to visit, and many credit Richard Owen, who advocated for its establishment as a separate institution from the British Museum.
Left is Sue, the dinosaur in Chicago's Field Museum of Natural History, one of many great museums ariound the world that owe their missions to London's example.
Kids love Sue. And dinosaurs in general.

So thanks, Richard Owen, for your word -- nad for not being able to counteract Darwin and Huxley after all.  I do wonder what you would think of those transformers!

Homeward Bound

I'm using one of those crazy \european keyboards in the private airport lounge so excuse the many typing errors you might find in this post., We have the lounge all to ourselves just now, sitting looking out at the planes on the runway, drinking complimentary rum and cokes at 10:40 a.m. \in my case, I'm drinking in the hopes that the rum will mitigate my desolation at having to leave home. \greg's drinking in the hopes that it may help his back over the next 11 hours. \in any case, we're already as good as gone from \london. And yes, dear Reader, whilst Greg has no idea (the poor sod) I'm already formulating ideas for my return. In fact, I'm thinking that maybe the next time I return, some of you will be with me. And Victoria. How does a Number One London tour to England sound? Sounds a bit of alright to me, but let me know your thoughts on the idea. Right then, off for another snort, a few tears and then to board. Sigh.  P.S. as you see, I've already broken one of my resolutions below by not waiting a month to plan my next trip to merry old. I told you I'm no good at this resolution thing.

Our New Year's Un-Resolutions

As you read this, I'll be winging the wrong way across the pond in an airplane for eleven hours, but Victoria and I want to take this opportunity to wish each and every one a very happy and healthy New Year and to share our resolutions with you . . . .

Kristine's Resolutions - Honest to gawd, I can't think of a single thing I'm willing to make a resolution about. It appears that I'm a truly horrible person. But really, why bother making resolutions that you know at the outset you'll never keep? I'm not going to stop smoking. Or drinking. I've already given up Haagen-Dazs strawberry and rum raisin ice cream - I am not prepared to give up mani's, pedi's, massages or Botox. Or Ralph Lauren. Or red meat.

 Or Grey Goose martini's with blue cheese olives. Which is completely different from the aforementioned drinking, which referred to rum, which you drink. Rather than maritini's, which you sip.  I'm not going to stop watching reality shows like Real Housewives (all cities), the Kardashians, Salon Takeover, Hoarders, Pawn Stars, etc. Won't stop buying Artie-facts. Or books. Hmmmmm . . . Oh, I know! I know! I resolve to try and have more patience with annoying people, to wait at least a month after my last trip to England in order to start planning the next and to regularly buy an extra large bag of pet food at the supermarket to leave in the animal shelter donation box by the exit. Phew! Redemption at the very last moment . . . . for a second there I sounded like the female version of Daniel Cleaver. Or (possibly worse yet) Prinny.          


Victoria's Resolutions

Of course I have a well-ordered, neat list with carefully-researched waypoints to measure my progress.

NOT!!!!

2011 WILL NOT BE THE YEAR I REFORM.

More's the pity.

I am working on at least four book projects, not to mention organizing all the 35-mm slides my family took for so many years. And researching genealogy.  And thinking (Note: not doing) about finishing the dozen or so quilt tops I pieced years ago. 

And imprinting the grandchildren with all the things I find necessary for their eventual brilliance!

And...and...and...and...



Well, I do have a few specifics, like a cruise from Lisbon to Dover, stopping at several spots in Spain and France before landing in England and putting in some time in at libraries across the southern section of the country.

And speaking at the 2011 JASNA AGM in Fort Worth, TX in October.  And hoping the Sir Thomas Lawrence exhibition comes to New Haven.  And....and...and...

Well, Kristine and I are obviously not cut out for this discipline deal!  Hope you are -- but only if you want to be.  I know that as soon as I establish a specific goal, I try to think of a way to sabotage it. Sigh. There's such a contrary person under my meek exterior.

Seriously, we wish a year of peace and love and satisfaction to all of us.  That should take care of about everything.  Oh yeah, and prosperity (wish I could keep that closer to the top of the list someday). And lots of books. And people you love. And happiness, which to us are Ed and Greg. And future trips to England. Funny the way things always comes back around to England . . . .




New Years Eve in London

After the Rock and Roll tour, took a cab to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese for dinner - again. And even though the concierge had called before hand, they were closed - again. Many others had shown up, too, with no joy. So off to steak house for dinner (porterhouse) and now back in the room, where I already did most of the packing. Went down to bar and brought up a lovely snifter of Hennessy brandy and am having one of the best NYEs ever - watching Mr. Bean on telly, the Royle Family Christmas Special on BBC iplayer, the Fireworks from Dubai and now Coronation Street. You have got to love it. Up early tomorrow for breakfast and then to airport at 9:30. Greg has no idea yet, but I've checked us in to the private lounge at the terminal, which should make our wait a bit nicer. Think of me tomorrow, on the plane for 11 and a half hours. I've brough my Nook, a real paperback and my needlepoint kit that I just bought, so should well occupied with those and the in flight entertainment. I am bereft at having to leave. Until next time, I'll just have to close my eyes and think of England. Happy New Year to all. Will be doing longer posts of the points of interest I've mentioned in past trip blogs next year, which is now only 3 and a half hours away. Or 8 hours away for you in the States. Cheers!

Just Back From Apsley House

Quick marched there and back - don't worry, I took lots of snaps for you along the way. Okay, here's the deal - I'm commandeering the Piccadilly Drawing Room as my bedroom and the adjacent Portico Drawing Room as my . . . drawing room. Lovely views over the Wellington Arch and room enough outside for a balcony. Happy to say that Apsley House was packed with visitors. By the time I arrived, there were no more audio tour handsets. I told the man not to worry, I was probably the one visitor there who didn't need one. Off now to Tottenham Court Road tube station to catch the Rock and Roll tour. . . .

Last Day in London

And I'm frantically trying to find a Rock and Roll tour of London for Greg. All those in cabs or minivans go off on days other than Friday. Sigh. Rock and roll - I ask you! Looks like a London Walk at 2 from Tottenham Court tube station. Also looks like I'll be dashing out before hand to Apsley House. On my own, thank goodness. One must have solitude in order to properly - HOLY GOD - the smoke alarm in our room just went off and scared the living Hell out of me . . . . be still my heart . . . . where was I? Oh, yeah, solitude in order to properly contemplate the glorious triumphs and wonderous achievements of the Duke of Wellington. . . . . Going to try once again for dinner at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, then back to the hotel to pack. Can I tell you how much I don't want to leave? Life is oft times unfair, is it not? I mean really, if life were fair, I'd be living at Apsley House. I don't know who else has more of a right to do so. The Wellesley family hardly qualify - they were simply born into it. I've earned it. I'd have my rooms overlooking the Wellington Arch. I'd sit at a table before the window every morning, watching the tour buses and black cabs go round and round as I smoked cigarettes and sipped my coffee from the official William and Kate tankard I bought in Buckingham Palace last night. Each day as I made my way downstairs I'd sneer at Napoleon's statue and ask my man (one must have a man, no?) to arrange for tea at the Ritz. Or the Mandarin Oriental. Or some such. You'd all be invited to come and stay. It would be such fun. We could stroll Rotten Row and eat dinner in the Waterloo Chamber. And drink glasses of port round the fire. And play whist while dressed in Regency garb. We could try on Wellington's boots and afterwards we could slip upstairs and raid the attics. Just imagine what we'd find in all those dusty trunks and boxes . . . . . Sigh. Rock and roll - I ask you!