Kristine Hughes's Blog, page 164

Just Back From the Palace

So, I was walking from the hotel down towards the Mall in order to get to St. James's Street. Thinking like a resident, i.e. what are these people doing here and why are they blocking my route, I then glanced to the right as a troop of mounted guards approaching - the Changing of the Guard. Yes, stupid, every day at 11:30. Oh, bother, thought I, until I realized that this would make for great video for the blog, and so I took some. Eventually I did get to St. James's Street and Piccadilly. First stop Fortnum & Mason - bought xmas cards for next year. Then Hatchards, where I bought some re-issued, previously out of date Georgette Heyer mysteries. Then to Richoux Tea Rooms for lunch. Walked Jermyn Street, took (another) photo of the window at Whites, peeked in at Duke's Hotel and toddled my way back to the hotel to pick up Greg and head over to the Palace. What an experice, from arrival to departure. We were truly treated like royalty. Will blog about it in detail soon - suffice to say that upon passing security, you're offered chairs to wait in until the tour officially starts. So, I'm sitting there taking it all in (French windows, window treatments, rug, etc etc.) When I look to the right, and what is the first thing I see? Chantry's bust of the Duke of Wellington - not kidding. Although this wasn't planned as an Artie tour, it has certainly turned into one (yippeeee!) You'll have to wait for further details on our visit, but it was really a treat. Even Greg was impressed/interested. Our guide, Dawn, was quite entertaining.

We got out two hours later and went for dinner. And Bacardi and Coke. Greg is emphatic that he's done enough walking for one trip. Oh, boy, he has no idea - Victoria, Brooke and I typically do as much walking in just a single day as weve done this trip. And I spared Greg the tube experience, so we've been cabbing it. Truly, the man has no idea. In any case, this frees me up tomorrow so I'll be heading to Apsley House (again) then Oxford Street and maybe I'll sneak in a massage. What the Hell. . . . more tomorrow.
Update: Apsley House website says it both open and closed tomorrow. The chart of opening times says open, the calender of openings says closed. Tune in tomorrow - will I or won't I visit Apsley House?

Score!

So . . . I was walking by the shop at the Royal Mews, went in to browse . . . overheard one of the ladies who work there telling a man that they are doing an unprecedented opening of Buckingham Palace today and tomorrow only. Private tours of the palace with a guide, 20 people per tour, champagne included. Reader, I booked us in for 4 p.m. today - woooo hooooo! What a coup! What an experience! What a treat!

Check in later for all the Palace scoop . . . . . . off now to Piccadilly to stroll a bit until tour time.

London - Day 4

Up very early and off to Paddington Station to meet our London Walks guide for our tour of Oxford and the Cotswolds. We all met by the ticket office at Platform 1, boarded the train and arrived at Oxford about 90 minutes later. The entire journey was pretty much done in a white out - the ground outside of London is still covered in a blanket of white snow and the weather was incredibly foggy. You really couldn't see much more than 20 feet from either side of the train. A coach was waiting for us and we traveled to the lovely little village of Minster Lovell - detailed post to follow. Suffice to say that the village is filled with thatched cottages, narrow lanes, stone bridges over babbling rivers, etc etc. Reader, it was to die for. Didn't take me long to pick out which cottage I wanted. Then it was off to Burford, a much larger town, where we had lunch and browsed the shops. Final stop in Oxford, where we took a walking tour. Greg and I peeled off from the group near the end to take care of the essential Three P's of Touring as set down by myself and Victoria. The Three Ps are - a pint, a pee and a peek at anything that's caught your eye. In this case, it was the Grapes (pee and pint both dispatched) and Waterstone's bookshop, where I bought books by my favorite English authors that aren't available in the States or on B&N website - a post on this soon. We arrived back in London at 7 and went to Boisdale of Belgravia for dinner - potato and leek soup (hot and warming) and Angus beef burgers (yummy).

Fell into bed and watch the first episode of a new show called Rock and Chips - later post. So, today is a leisurely day with no time tables - going to walk down the Mall and snake my way into St. James's Street. Will walk Piccadilly, look round Shepard's Market, pop into Fortnums, Hatchard's and the Burlington Arcade, toddle my way down to Charing Cross Road and perhaps see a matinee of "When We Are Married" playing at the Garrick, etc etc. Nothing more than a rambling day round London Town. . . Oh, joy!

The Great Belzoni

London has seldom seen a more remarkable foreigner than Giovanni Baptista Belzoni who, in a lifetime spanning just forty-five years, was barber, monk, acrobat, engineer, traveller and popular author. Belzoni's Exhibition drew Londoners to the Egyptian Hall in 1821 to see the Theban tomb and mummy. Belzoni had been born in Padua in 1778, where his barber father educated his son to be a monk. However, wanderlust filled the young Belzoni's breast and in 1803 he arrived in England in order seek his fortune.

Belzoni was a giant of a man, standing six foot and seven inches tall, and turned his hand to performing at Sadler's Wells Theatre, where he took the stage name of The patagonian Samson and displayed feats of strength. He went on to give performances at Astley's Royal Amphitheatre, Bartholomew Fair and in scores of towns throughout the British Isles. Saving up a nest egg, Belzoni married an Englishwoman and then turned his mind to engineering, specifically to the study of hydraulics. This led him to the scheme that he might go to Egypt and instruct the populace on a method of raising water.

In 1815 Belzoni went to Cairo to offer to Mohammed Ali Pasha, the founder of modern Egypt, a hydraulic machine he had invented, which worked extremely well. While in Egypt he met the British Consul General, Henry Salt, who engaged him to travel to Thebes to remove the colossal stone head of Rameses II (The Young Memnon) to be delivered to the British Museum. His success prompted Henry Salt to further Belzoni's expeditions to the temple of Edfu, Philae and Elephantine, where he cleared the great temple of Rameses II at Abu Simbel, excavated at Karnak, and in 1817 discovered the tomb of the pharaoh Seti I, in the Valley of the Kings. Belzoni was the first person to penetrate into the second pyramid of Giza (1818) by using his engineering genius to locate the entrance to the inner chambers, and the first European to visit the oasis of Siwah, and identify the ruined city of Berenice on the Red Sea.


Belzoni used hundreds of Egyptian peasants in 1815, and recorded this feat of archaeological engineering in this famous coloured drawing.


Upon his return to England, Belzoni was lionized by society and struck up a friendship with publisher John Murray, who published Belzoni's Narratives of the Operation and recent Discoveries within the Pyramids, Temples, Tombs and excavations in Egypt and Nubia. Byron's take on the book was this, "Belzoni is a grand traveller, and his English is very prettily broken." No matter, the book saw three printings.

From Dr. Smiles book, The Memoirs of John Murray, we get the following account of George IV's coronation and Belzoni's part in it: "Like many other men of Herculean power, Belzoni ws not eager to exhibit his strength, but on one occasion he gave proof of it. Mr. Murray had asked him to accompany him to the coronation of George IV. They had tickets of admission to Westminster Hall, but on arriving there they found that the sudden advent of Queen Caroline, accompanied by a mob claiming admission to the Abbey, had alarmed the authorities, who had caused all the doors to be shut. That by which they should have entered was held close and guarded by several stalwart janitors. Belzoni thereupon advanced to the door, and in spite of the efforts of these guardians, including Tom Cribb and others of the pugilistic corps who had been engaged as constables, opened it with ease, and admitted himself and Mr. Murray."

Unfortunately, Belzoni still retained his wanderlust and sense of adventure and embarked for Timbuctoo in 1823. In Benin, he was seized by dysentery and died. A statue to Belzoni was raised in his native Padua and and the city of Belzoni, Mississippi was named in his honour. His widow eventually received a small pension from the British Government and, in 1829, published his drawings of the royal tombs at Thebes.

For further information,, read Stanley May's The Great Belzoni: The Circus Strongman Who Discovered Egypt's Ancient Treasures

London - Day 3

I've just been reading all of your comments - LOL! Yes, saved by the Duke - again! We got a cab first thing this a.m. and drove over to Eaton Place, where the cab driver wondered why I wanted to take pics of #65. I asked if he had seen the original Upstairs, Downstairs and he said he had, so I explained to him that #65 is what they used for #165 in the series. Then it was on to the Tower - boy, this time out, the Beefeater included many Wellington anecdotes - I'll do a post on them soon. Then we went to Cecil Court, to Mark Sullivan Antiques, where I bought that wonderful Staffordshire figurine of the Duke in June. Mark and I chatted a bit and he told me, once again, that I'd missed seeing the current Duke of Wellington as he'd been in a few days before. Mark had some so/so Artie stuff and I made noises about taking a pass on the items when Mark told me to hold on a moment, that he had two things downstairs that he was holding for a dealer, but the dealer hadn't yet come back, so he offered them to me - a Lambeth pottery mug with a figure of Artie on the front and a small, bronze bust. Reader, I bought both. Again, pics and post to follow. Then we did the Thos. Lawrence exhibit at the National Portrait Galler - again, a post to come. Then to Madame Tussauds and now we're back in the room for a quick brush up before dinner. Tonight the final episode of U/D, tomorrow Oxford and the Cotswolds. My back is aching, I'm really exhausted but I'm not complaining in the least. I'm in heaven. Miss you all, wish you could be racketing round London with me. I'll try to post again tomorrow . . . .

Happy Birthday, Jerry

Victoria here, requesting your indulgence as I range over several subjects inspired by today's celebration of my brother's birthday on December 28.  Like many people who have Christmas season birthdays, I guess he always gets the short end of the stick (and he will in this blog eventually).  I was five when he was born, and I remember wating eagerly for a new baby in the household, which I figured would be much like having another doll.

But I wasn't prepared to be taken away from my new cache of Santa-delivered bounty on the day after Christmas.  I went to my grandmother's without my wonderful new dollhouse, a tragedy to a spoiled little brat like me.  And Jerry took a rather long time to arrive, probably more to Mother's dismay than mine. It was one of those on-again off-again things which went on several days. 

 Eventually Mother and Daddy brought home a little doll for me, but one who seemed to cry a lot more than my toys did.  Nevertheless, I have always been proud of my little brother.  He has a wonderful wife, Pat, with whom I've traveled to Merrie Olde England.  A few years ago, we were there for the Harrod's after Christmas sale. What fun! Actually, Jerry and Pat are both enthusiastic travelers, and we've "done" London together. 

Thinking about those who have Christmastime birthdays reminded me of a story I loved in my childhood, The Bird's Christmas Carol by Kate Douglas Wiggin, published in 1888 (I was really quite young at the time!). It may have been read to me but I remember reading it myself leading up to Christmas.
It is the story of a little girl born to the Bird family on Christmas and named Carol. When she is about five or so, she is stricken with a serious disease. She declines and after a couple of years her family is aware she will die soon. As a birthday gift to herself, she plans a Christmas party for a struggling poor family of many children who are funny little rascals. The party is a success and that night, Christmas night, she dies.

It is not, despite that synopsis, entirely a sad story, and it was a vivid one for this little girl. It has just the right combination of melancholy, humor and hope.  At the ending, everyone has been inspired by the generosity and courage of young Carol Bird.

Some years later, I went to a play or a movie – can't remember which -- entitled The Christmas Carol. I was prepared for the enchanting and melancholy story of Carol and her Christmas birthday party.

Instead, it was Dickens: Scrooge, Bob Crachit, Tiny Tim and the ghosts. I was heart-broken. How I wanted that sad sweet story of the Birds and not the mean old Scrooge.

Kate Doublas Wiggin (1856-1923) is probably best known as the beloved author of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1903), another of my favorites. Wiggins was a leader in the kindergarten movement in the US and wrote many other stories, mostly for children.

You can find The Bird's Christmas Carol in google books and elsewhere on the web.

So back to my brother Jerry.  He has also been an eager reader -- and I remember buying him several of his favorite books by Albert Payson Terhune for Christmas and/or his birthday. Terhune (1872-1942) was another popular author of children's books, including the series on Lad, the collie.  In fact, Jerry had a beautiful tri-color collie named Lad for many years.  I wish I had a picture of Lad -- but he did look much like the dog to the left.  Beautiful and gentle.

I read some of those Terhune books too. They were very popular, and probably still are.  Terhune raised collies at his Sunnybank Kennels in New Jersey. Part of the property is now a park in Wayne, NJ, and includes many of the graves of Terhune's famous dogs. Read more here.



  Lad's grave
Albert Payson Terhune with some of his dogs Jerry and Pat, like so many working folks, have found their cats to be more practical pets than trying to keep dogs.  They are particularly fond of Siamese, partial to the traditional applehead variety more than the exaggerated features of some of the show-type Siamese. They've also rescued some street cats and taken care of many more. I always admire people who follow their convictions and actually work to prevent the spread of feline diseases and to support the efforts of humane organizations.


And just to relate this birthday blog back to our subject at hand, our mutual love for all things British, above are two of the wonderful magazines Jerry and Pat send us for Christmas each year.  If you don't know either of these, or any of the other BBC mags, try them out!  Hours of continuing delight all year long.
Here is what I send to Jerry -- and Pat gets Victoria (American but with a distinct British flavor).  Guess I have the better deal, right?

So happy birthday, little brother.  See, even in our approaching dotage, I will continue to tease you!  That's the nature of the game!

London - Day 2

Unlike Mr. White (see post below) Greg and I haven't yet run into any shady characters, though we've been covering alot of ground. We did the bus tour again today, Blue Route this time, walked Regent Street, went to Liberty's (thought of you, Vicky!) took a boat cruise on the River Thames then went to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street for dinner. It was closed until the 29th - and the cab had left. Fleet Street after business hours is desolate, to say the least. What to do? Well, I thought, I'll just carry on as if I know what the Hell I'm doing. "This way," I told Greg as I walked purposefully towards the Strand. Please God, I prayed, let there be somewhere's nice to eat. We passed The George pub - very old, very atmospheric, very closed. Xmas and the Bank Holiday are playing havoc with opening times. Right then, I told myself, keep marching. We fell upon Somerset House and went inside to watch the ice skaters. Then we walked another three blocks up the Strand when, off on the far right corner I saw something promising - lights were on, people were inside and it looked like a pub. It was a pub . . . The Duke of Wellington in Wellington Street. NO, I'm not kidding . . . saved by the Duke. Again. We had a pint in the bar and then went upstairs to the dining room, where we had a fantastic meal (lamb shank pie for me, steak for Greg) and warmed ourselves by the gas fire. The Duke of Wellington - I ask you, what were the odds!? Then we went off on the Ripper Walk and back to the hotel for Part 2 of Upstairs, Downstairs - yes, it's still delicious.

Watching the news afterwards, we saw that the NY/NJ metro airports have cancelled flights due to snow and now resemble Heathrow. Thank God we timed our flight just right, another day we might have been grounded. Of course, if it snows here now and we can't get out of Heathrow, I could care less. Yippeee says I. In the meantime, we have Eaton Place, the Tower, Madame Tussaud's, National Portrait Gallery, Cecil Court and who knows what else in store. Will keep posting . . . . . . Needless to say, having a wonderful time, wish you all were here.

A Lesson for American Tourists in London

The following account was taken from Letters on England, written by Joshua E. White (1816). The book contains a series of descriptive views of the areas he visited and his general observations. White was an American merchant who traveled to England in connection with business and left Savannah, Georgia bound for Liverpool in May of 1810. Eventually, Mr. White arrived in London, as do most visitors to England. Here is his account of his run-in with a disreputable hackney-coachman. And two prostitutes. And the law.




At Chiswick, on the bank of the Thames, I sometimes sought an asylum from the noise and confusion of London. My letters introduced me to the acquaintance of Mrs. Levett, (who resided here,) the young and beautiful widow of a gentleman who died in Georgia, in 1808. He had left his widow and two infant daughters in London; and after the melancholy tidings reached her, she sought a retreat with her respectable mother, Mrs. Wright, and her amiable sister, Miss Charlotte Wright, at the little village just mentioned. In this charming company I embraced every opportunity of spending a few hours. When tired of the noise of the city, I would visit this agreeable family, and I always met with a cordial and a kind reception. It will be for a long time to me a source of pleasure to reflect on the means which introduced me to the acquaintance of those females; and no period of my stay in England will be remembered with more fond delight than those hours I spent at Chiswick.

I cannot avoid noting an occurrence that took place after I had passed the day at Chiswick. Miss Wright had accompanied me with one of the little daughters of Mrs. Levett, up Chiswick lane into the main road from Windsor to London. Here I intended to take the first empty hackney coach I saw; but being engaged in conversation I permitted them to pass one after another, until night came, and I found myself on the high road, eight miles from my lodgings. It was very dark, but I did not apprehend any danger; for in my various walks through the city at almost all hours of the night, I was in no instance molested or insulted. I felt as much security as if I were in the midst of a hamlet. I walked on slowly, and having reached Leicester square a sudden and violent shower compelled me to increase my speed, and having reached the Strand, I saw a hackney-coach. I made a momentary stop, when I was addressed by a voice from within it, "do you want a coach?" I replied "yes;" and a man jumped from behind it, opened the door, and I took my seat.

There were two women and a young man seated in it. The former I very soon discovered to be common prostitutes, who were going to the Hay Market Theatre, and were desirous I should accompany them. I bade the coachman drive to my lodging in Aldersgate street, after he had put them down. They alighted at the Theatre, and I proceeded to the inn. Having arrived within a hundred yards of it, the coach was obliged to stop from having met with another, and there was no room to pass. I got out and proposed walking home.




Upon tendering the legal fare to the coachman, which was two shillings, he refused it, and demanded four shillings. This I positively objected to give him; and upon expostulating on the unreasonableness of his demand, he told me I "must pay for the ladies who were in the coach," and observed one of them told him
"the gentleman in the coach will pay for us." Irritated at this remark, and believing he intended a fraud, I determined to reject the fellow's demand; and after again offering to pay the fare for myself, I was about to proceed on, when he stopped me. I raised my cane to strike him, but at that moment I recollected that personal revenge in this way would be immediately cognizable by the law, and prudence bade me forbear.

The noise had collected the people from the neighbourhood, and among them the constable of the ward; demanding the cause of the noise, I told him; and he advised me to make the coachman drive me to the inn door, or otherwise he would say I intended to leave him without paying his fare; when there he directed me to take the number of his coach. This advice I followed, and I related to the master of the inn the whole of the circumstances, and what I deemed an imposition. He pushed the coachman from the door, and advised me not to pay him any thing. Believing him entitled by law to two shillings, I paid him that sum.

This adventure was of service to me: first, it reminded me that I had no right to get into a coach that was previously occupied: secondly, by remaining in the coach after the other passengers were discharged, I. became liable for the whole amount of the fare: thirdly, it convinced me that the police of London is as well regulated as any city perhaps can be, which has within its limits nearly a million of people. Personal injuries dare not be inflicted with impunity; and unlike what was the state of the people in France before the late revolution, individual rights, so far at least as they regard exemption from violence and assault, are most carefully preserved and protected.

Upstairs, Downstairs a Triumph

Well, they've done it. They've brought back the beloved BBC series and managed to achieve just the right measure of nostalgia and new, delicious storylines that run both upstairs and down. I won't give away any good bits nor run spoilers for those in the U.S. who won't see the series until April. I must tell you, however, that Rose's return to 165 Eaton Place is a tear-jerker thanks in parts to strains of the old theme song being played at appropriately poignant moments, whilst new grand dame Dame Eileen Atkins as Maud, Lady Holland, above, provides sly comedic overtones and spars deliciously with her daughter-in-law, Lady Agnes. UK reviewers are saying there's too much comedy in this version, that it's not as deep as the original, but really, they could never remake the original to anyone's satisfaction, so why try? It's every bit as good, IMHO, its got me hooked and how much soul searching/character development can you do in three episodes? You can read an article from the Telegraph about the new series here - it includes no spoilers. In short, the new Upstairs, Downstairs is, um, delicious and the only problem I can foresee is how they're going to wrap everything up in three episodes. No doubt the downside to this new version is that it will leave us all wanting more. I've only to wait till tomorrow night for Espisode 2 and shall dutifully report on it here.

Did anyone else in the UK watch Upstairs, Downstairs tonight? Please leave your comments and let me know what you thought of it.

Heaven, I'm In Heaven . . .

We made it, we're in London! Woo Hoo! No problems with the flight, arrived at our hotel around 11:30 a.m. and the room was ready. Unpacked and went to Victoria Station to get some money from the ATM, then on board the Hop On, Hop Off tour bus for a whirlwind trip round London. We crossed the Thames four times!? Wow, was Oxford Circus and Regent Street packed with people. Hamley's was jammed. Harrod's closed today - jinormous sale starts tomorrow. You can bet we won't be there. We plan to do the alternate bus tour tomorrow, then the river cruise, then the Tower, then dinner at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, then the Ripper Walk with Donald Rumbleow. It's cold here, but no worse than New Jersey.

Had dinner in the carvery here in the hotel - roast beef, Yorkshire pudd, gravy, veg and dessert - straight down the road to Gouts-ville, but who cares? Met a wonderful couple at the next table, got to talking about how I love UK telly, they love US telly, neither of us can access the other and so we've made a Devil's Bargain to email each other links to our favorite shows. We'll get around these restrictions or die trying. Speaking of which, Upstairs, Downstairs debuts here tonight, Antiques Roadshow is also on and they told me how to access the Royle Family Xmas special here (BBC Iplay, which you can't access from the States, hence the Devils' Pact). After dinner, Greg and I walked down the street to Buckingham Palace to see it lit up at night yes, Vicky, I did yell "Chuck!" even though I know he's not there. One day . . .

There are gobs of William and Kate tat in the stores here already (yipppeee!) and I'm on the verge of tears every time I see a pub or currency exchange bureau. I know, crazy. Oh, btw, we were on the bus tour and I was telling Greg (or so I thought) about the In and Out Club in Piccadilly and the tour guide overheard me and asked, "How do you know about the In and Out Club/Melbourne House?" and so he turned off his mike and we started talking about the Melbournes and Palmerstons, about Artie's having been at England's first railroad fatality, about the Marble Arch, Lady Caro Lamb, etc etc etc . . . . . God, it's good to be home. As you can see, the laptop is functioning fine, so I'll be posting more about our trip tomorrow. Off to shower and watch Upstairs, Downstairs. I know I shouldn't rub it in, but I promise to tell you all tomorrow. I can't wait to see Rose . . . .