London in 12, part 2

Cool Old Stuff

Tuesday, May 15

As Americans in London, we have to stay true to our disobedient—dare I say?—revolutionary roots. It’s OK that a statue of George Washington, almost as large as life and looking better than a dollar bill, stands in front of the National Gallery overlooking Trafalgar Square.

But today Joanna and I were going for even more fundamental stuff, the Magna Carta. Damn, it’s so important that it’s in Latin. In the old days it was at the British Museum, but now it is housed in the British Library, a few blocks away from Russell Square and next to the St. Pancras railroad station. The over-the-top Victoriana of St. Pancras is worth the walk by itself.

The top of St. Pancras station behind the British library.

In addition to the Magna Carta, there are all kinds of wonders in the Treasures of the British Library room. Early editions of Chaucer, manuscripts of Beatles songs, books in which authors have made notes for a second edition—you get the idea.

Outside the library is a monumental statue dedicated to Isaac Newton. The figure is based on a print by William Blake that depicts “The Great Artificer,” God making the world. This, then, is Newton figuring it out.

St. Bartholomew the Great is a spectacular place. We were there in the afternoon because it is near Smithfield market, and Smithfield market is close to the place where I had made dinner reservations a week earlier, when I was still in the States. We were going to St. John, which is so popular I couldn’t get near the place last year, and at the time I was trying to get a table two weeks in advance. But that’s another story, and you can read about that in the series of blog entries I called “London’s 11.”

St. Bartholomew’s, for you Ben Jonson fans, is connected with St. Bartholomew’s Fair. There is a St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in this neighborhood, too, and as I understand it, they were both founded by a member of Henry I’s court. Henry I didn’t get a Shakespeare play or kill Thomas a Beckett, so I don’t know a whole lot about him.

The courtier’s name was Rahere, and the story at the church is that he had malaria (didn’t know the Europeans had it back then) and was cured by the intercession of St. Bartholomew. He was, or became, a priest and founded the hospital and the church, which had a priory, which I learned is a monastery of priests, rather than brothers. There is a rumor, often denied by parishioners at St. Bartholomew’s, that Rahere, whose tomb is near the church altar, had been a jester at Henry’s court. It would be very cool indeed if that were true. but then, I’m an American, and therefore a revolutionary.

I had visited St. Bartholomew’s briefly on my first visit to London 16 years ago. But I had forgotten the details. It was wonderful to walk around inside while the thunder, lightning, and rain echoed outside. The weather had been threatening on and off all day, but this was the only serious rain. We were in a church, so God kept us dry.

We were told that the original church was much bigger, but when Henry VIII disbanded the priory, the original nave was torn down and the space was used as a burying ground. The current church consists of the quire, the place beyond the nave where the congregation of the priory used to worship.

One of the many entertaining things about St. Bartholomew the Great is that it has been used for a number of movies, including one of my favorites, “Shakespeare in Love.” There is a scene where Joseph Fiennes is on his knees in church, In the background there is a colorful tomb with an effigy, but you can only see the very bottom of it. From the first time I saw the film, I thought it was Southwark Cathedral and Gower’s tomb. In fact, the church is St. Bartholomew’s and the tomb is Rahere’s.

[Editor’s note: When Joanna and Harry returned to the States, the first movie they watched was “Shakespeare in Love.” Harry is reported to have laughed out loud when he recognized Rahere’s elbow at the top edge of the frame.]

We passed through a drizzle to Smithfield market. I had an idea of where to go but thought to stop and have a glass of wine first, giving me time to kind of mull and ponder. Great wine bar in Smithfield right across the street from the market.

I asked directions to St. John’s Lane and advice on using the public phone—the change I’d need, anything I’d need to know. The bartender told me exactly where the St. John restaurant was, about 50 yards on the other side of the market, and gave me his cell phone so I could call. There are three St. John’s in London and I wanted to be sure I was headed for the right one.

St. John Smithfield is fantastic. The restaurants serve food to go with the wine—Joanna had braised rabbit; I had venison—with Chateau Lascaux Coteaux de Languedoc, Le Clos Domaine Boudau Roussillon, La Chaussee Rouge la Grange aux Belles Anjou. Don’t ask me to describe them. Don’t ask me to pronounce them. They were overwhelmingly beautiful.

High Rent Districts

Wednesday, May 16

We got into Westminster Abbey this time. It seems the royal wedding fever has burned off. There were only two dozen or so people in line this morning.

It’s a great place. It is very old and very strange, right from the start and it keeps going.

One of the tombs near the entrance is for the loyal Duke of Newcastle and his second wife, “by whom he had no issue.” She was the Duke of Colchester’s daughter and of a good family, we are assured, because “all the sons were valiant and all the sisters virtuous.” Now, how did they really know that? She was witty and learned, and the epitaph makes reference to her books, but it isn’t clear if she wrote or merely owned them.

She was with her husband during his banishment and miseries. Say what? Turns out, he was with King Charles II in France when Cromwell ran England.

The abbey has another tomb of a knight who was involved in one of the plots against Henry IV that Shakespeare wrote about. The epitaph calmly reports that he had his head cut off at the Tower. But he still got a spot in the abbey with the generals and the dukes. I noticed that it seemed to be a short tomb.

Then there is this one: “Beneath this stone was buried the body of the blind scholar Ambrose Fisher, 1617, author of ‘A Defence of the Liturgy.’ “

The public restrooms in Westminster Abbey are appropriately sited just outside Poets’ Corner. When you get out there, you find more good stuff. A flying buttress, for instance. There is also a plaque on the wall that says “1476. Near this place William Caxton set up the first printing press in England.”

Pissoirs, poets, and printing. There’s something very appropriate about associating all that. And not only because they all start with “P.” It’s great how nature finds a way to have things fall into place.

The royal tombs are fun, too. There is the shrine of Edward the Confessor, the sainted king who founded the abbey in the middle of the 11th century. The original building, now long gone, was finished a few days before he died in 1065. You can’t go into the shrine now because it is considered a “delicate area.”

The sarcophagi of several kings are arranged around him and they are close enough to the aisle that you can see them. The kings include Henry VII. Henry IV got rid of Richard II and had himself buried at Canterbury near St. Thomas a Beckett, just to be safe. Henry VII knocked off Richard III and had himself put near St. Edward the Confessor for the same reason. Henry V of “once more into the breach, dear friends,” is also there.

Elizabeth I is around the back in another room, and near her is Mary Queen of Scots, whom Elizabeth beheaded. Mary’s is also short tomb.

So after all this funereal jollity, Joanna and I decided to head for the blue-blood country. We walked up Horse Guards Road and made our way to Piccadilly. It was mid-afternoon, and breakfast was in the remote past, so we went to the 1707 wine bar at Fortnum & Mason for a few appetizers and a selection of Italian wines. There was a light-hearted red called Dolcetto d’Alba that was mild but nice, another red called Terre de Talarato that was earthier and a little sharper, and white Bolettano Lugano that was spicy with a touch of sweet and made me think of another Italian white called Soave.

The store still sells the hampers of wine and delicacies that the gentlemen explorers were supposed have taken with them for sustenance in the heart of Africa.

Half a block from Fortnum & Mason is St. James’s Street. You turn left and there’s St. James’s Palace. Around the corner from there is the Mall, which leads to Buckingham Palace and is partly closed to traffic right now.

Everything here is under construction, as it was last year. Not only are the Olympics coming in July, but this is Queen Elizabeth’s diamond jubilee year. She has been queen for 60 years. Crews are working on cleaning the Queen Victoria Memorial outside Buckingham Palace. Others are putting up bleachers and light stands across from the palace. I guess there’s going to be one hell of a ceremony here in the first week of June.

There is a sign behind the palace fence about the changing of the guard. They do it every day from spring to autumn, but in the cold weather they change the guard every other day. Maybe that’s because they don’t sweat as much, but do they make those guys stand outside for 48 hours at a stretch in the winter?

I will fortunately miss the jubilee. Just as I missed the royal wedding (although not some of its fallout) last year. I am a lucky traveler,

The water fowl in the lake at St. James’s Park include storks.

Another travel tip: Gordon’s Wine Bar is worth a visit, but it can be tricky to find. It’s on Villiers Street, which is clearly marked, but you will miss it if you are looking at Charing Cross station instead.

So if you do go too far, and the Strand ends, remember that you are in the Temple, where all the lawyers are. You go up to any clutch of people in black outside a pub and tell them you want to go to Gordon’s. They’ll get you right there.

Gordon’s is very crowded, but we squeezed into one of the main attractions. The bar is in the cellar of an 18th century building that used to be a warehouse. There is a cellar hand-carved from the living rock that used to be a storage space. Now it is a dining room about 5 feet high. It is crammed with tables and there is no electricity, just candles on the tables. The atmosphere gets a little close with all the people and no ventilation.

Joanna and I shared a red Cotes du Rhone out in the alley, where they have more tables and fresh air.

Grabbed a quick bit of pie and a cab home.

That was a lot of walking, so I’m getting tired.

Good night, everyone.

Harry