My mother and I went on a flying trip to England from August
10-15, 2007.
We stayed at the five-star Crowne Plaza Hotel in the City,
across the road from Blackfriars tube station (and pub) and a block from Fleet
Street. The concierge was spectacularly helpful to us. I highly recommend this
quiet, comfortable hotel.
We arrived Saturday late morning and slept almost all day
from exhaustion due to the plane journey and the time change. That evening I walked down New Bridge Street to the
Embankment, along the Thames up to where the river cruise boats are moored;
then turning north, up Middle Temple Lane where I wandered through lawyer
territory looking for Queer Customers (that’s a Rumpole joke: QC’s are really
Queen’s Counsels). I came back to the hotel via Fleet Street, which on a
Saturday night is pretty dead.
Sunday, we were up with the (noon) lark. After a cold
breakfast (well, it had been hot at 8 AM when it arrived), we hopped a cab to
the British Museum, but it was crowded beyond belief, and very hot on the upper
floors. We decided to decamp after viewing the Sutton Hoo remains and my
favorite Lewis Chessmen, but not much else.
We made our way by taxi to Fortnum & Mason where we
enjoyed a traditional English tea in the plush hush of the St. James’s
Restaurant. Afterward we popped into Hatchards Bookshop and purchased a
Michelin Guide so we could brush up our history, and a PG Wodehouse book. As
you do.
We dined at the art deco Blackfriars Pub across the street
from the hotel. We loved the brass reliefs of monks doing their work which
covered the walls, and the plaques admonishing us to stay busy and not be
frivolous.
We were certainly in harmony with the monks’ modus operandi
the next day. Two blocks from our hotel was the charming St. Bride’s Church,
which is off the beaten track of tourist destinations. We started our sightseeing
there on Monday morning. There has been a building on the same site going back
to Roman times, and in fact the original Roman floor is visible in the Crypt.
St. Bride’s has been associated with the printing and news industries ever since
moveable type first came to Fleet Street. The airy spire atop the church was
designed by Christopher Wren, and it inspired (pun intended) a Fleet Street
baker to create a style of wedding cake consisting of tiers — the original
bride’s cake.
St. Bride’s was followed by a fascinating trip to St. Paul’s
Cathedral, another Wren masterpiece. Many famous people are buried here, from
the Duke of Wellington to John Donne, poet and former Dean of the Cathedral.
The latter had posed, wrapped in a shroud, for a full-length marble effigy to
be sculpted after his death. I had to wonder if he giggled under that somber
wrap while being sketched.
Mom and I were moved by the American Memorial Chapel. Its
handwritten roll of honour contains the names of more than 28,000 Americans who
gave their lives while defending the United Kingdom during World War II.
In St. Paul’s a priest addresses the crowd of visitors every
hour on the hour and asks them to pray for varying intentions. In our hour we
prayed for “those who keep us safe” – including the military, the police, and those
who labour in the Courts of Justice nearby (shout out again to Rumpole of the
Bailey).
From there we visited the Courtauld Institute of Art
Gallery, which was quite near our hotel. I was amazed at the number of famous
pieces it houses, including many impressionist works by Van Gogh, Renoir,
Toulouse-Lautrec, Seurat and Monet. We have to wait years for a special
exhibition to come around to Dallas to see so many famous paintings all in one
place. My favorite from the collection was the Monet vase of flowers, for
pretty; and the Van Gogh self-portrait after mutilating his own ear, for sheer
emotion. Mother’s favorite was the special Cranach exhibit on Adam and Eve.
After this big sightseeing day we still managed to see a
play, after a pre-theatre dinner at the gleaming and exotic-looking Criterion
Restaurant in Piccadilly. We saw a drama entitled The Last Confession starring
David Suchet, who plays Hercule Poirot on TV. I saw David Suchet in a musical
the last time I went to London – he keeps busy. I didn’t care for the substance
of the play but it was well acted, to be sure.
Tuesday was Oxford and Shakespeare Country, at last. We took
an Evan Evans bus tour (highly recommended) through the charming Cotswolds,
admiring the sheep, the green rolling hills, the half-timbered, thatch-roofed
houses and breathing in a strong smell of history (and rising damp).
First to Oxford University, where we visited the Tudor
Dining Hall at Christ Church College, Oxford. Walking around outdoors in the
rain (hence no photos), Christopher Wren’s hand was again evident in the Tom
Tower, marking the main entrance to Cardinal Wolsey’s Great Quadrangle. Sadly
we had to pass by many of the supreme destinations of Oxford to keep on
schedule, including the Bodleian Library and the Ashmolean Museum. Fodder for
another, longer visit.
Following Oxford we drove to Shakespeare’s birthplace in
Stratford-on-Avon – a long-held dream this, for me – and then Anne Hathaway’s
Cottage which was perhaps my favorite place on the whole trip. The gardens are
massed with beautiful flowers and very practical fruit trees and vegetables,
and the 16th Century houses where Will and Anne lived are in excellent
condition. Sadly Mother could not explore these ancient homes since they are
not fitted with elevators, for obvious reasons.
We had a good time, although it was wearing for my
octogenarian mother. Travel today is not for sissies. But I’ll be back.
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