Churches on Sunday

Sept. 18

I hadn’t been to Sunday school in weeks, and since London is where my particular flavor of Sunday school was invented, it was a good time to go.

I got up late, but the service at St. Paul’s is also late, starting around 11:30. I got there in time for the Gospel. I might have made at least one of the lessons, but I got on the wrong train at Russell Square and had to turn around.

It was a sung Eucharist with a boy choir. They were very good. But of course, you can’t really hear any words distinctly. 

They amplify everything to make the sound carry, and it does. But so do the echoes off all the walls. 

I may have heard about every second or third word of the sermon. I believe several of the anthems were sung in Latin, but that is only a guess.

But it was beautiful nonetheless. 

Instead of exiting with the crowd, I walked around the monuments. 

I found Lord Cornwallis. Even though he surrendered at Yorktown, he is still a national hero. He died in India in 1803, on his way to take command of an army in the field.

I also found the cenotaph for two major generals who died at the battle of New Orleans. That’s really quite an astounding loss, to lose not one but two field officers on the same day. One was Edward Pakenham, a brother-in-law to the Duke of Wellington, and the other was Samuel Gibbs. 

Their monument was partly obscured by some furniture. 

What I couldn’t find this time was the memorial to another major general, Isaac Brock. He also died in the War of 1812, in Canada.

I had seen his monument several years ago. It was conspicuous, because among the several figures in it, besides the dying Brock, is a representation of Tecumseh, who was a British ally during the war.

I had remembered seeing it at the side of the nave, but it doesn’t appear to be there now. Maybe memory fails, and it was in the crypt. But that’s closed on Sunday, so I didn’t get to check.

A few months after I first saw Brock’s monument at St. Paul’s, I stumbled on Brockton, Ontario, on my way to Ottawa. There was a photo of the monument on the square outside the courthouse. Brock is a popular guy up there. After all, they named the town for him.

I wandered around the St. Paul’s neighborhood. There are still narrow medieval lanes, although the buildings and the paving are far newer.

Much of the area was demolished by Nazi bombs.  

Then I went to Christ Church Greyfriars in Newgate Street. This is an old Christopher Wren church that was destroyed by fire bombs during the blitz. The tower and a couple of walls were left standing.

Now there’s a garden where the nave was.

I looked at the map and decided to take the Underground to Charing Cross for lunch. 

Gordon’s Wine Bar is on Villiers Street, which runs next to the Charing Cross railroad station. I am not sure of the exact connection, but the business traces its roots to a decree in 1364 by Edward III. He granted the right to vintners to sell wine anywhere without a license, because he was unable to repay a debt he owed them.

Chaucer was not only alive then, but he was a young man.

The building isn’t that old, but it has been around for a while. Samuel Pepys, the 16th century diarist (whose portrait is in the National Gallery) lived there. So did Rudyard Kipling. 

Aside from its age, Gordon’s has another distinction. The bar is in the cellar, and the dining room is a series of low vaults carved out of the living rock. 

There is no electricity in there, just candles on the tables. That’s where I ate my quiche and couscous with a glass of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo. 

The wine of this country is beer, but I had a glass of Italian red at Gordon’s.

Those who used to watch the British mystery series on U.S. Public TV may remember that Rumpole of the Bailey used to hang out at Gordon’s.

Trafalgar Square, which is a block or two from Charing Cross, was hosting a demonstration by Kurds protesting a Turkish crackdown.

They wanted the U.K. to intervene in some way.

I visited the National Portrait Gallery for the first time. I concentrated mainly on the folks I wrote about yesterday who were involved in Greenwich. 

There were several images of Henry VIII. The oldest portrait in the gallery is of his father, Henry VII. I saw Anne Boleyn, Bloody Mary, Elizabeth I, William and Mary, and all the others. 

No Katherine Howard, though. Henry put two wives away for adultery. Anne Boleyn may have been railroaded. I’ve read a few things about how the charges against her were trumped up. 

Nobody doubts the charges against Katherine Howard.

There were paintings of a few mistresses of Charles II. It was OK for kings to fool around, but not queens. One of his girlfriends was painted as the Virgin Mary in blue and magenta robes and holding the oldest of the sons she had with Charles.

It’s a short walk down Whitehall from Trafalgar Square to Westminster Abbey.

Actually getting to the abbey can be a challenge. It’s like treading a maze to get across the streets legally. 

I saw a sign for the Underground and subway. Then I remembered that’s not redundant.

A subway here is a pedestrian tunnel under busy streets. I went down and came out on the other side of Whitehall. So far, so good.  

It took a few more crossings and some jay-walking, but I got there in one piece.

I went looking for information about tours, but the church was closed. Some people were standing by the fence, maybe waiting for an organ recital later on.

Twenty years ago a docent took me into the Jerusalem Chamber. It wasn’t open to the public without a tour guide. 

It’s famous mainly because it’s the room where Henry IV died, a legend or fact dramatized in Shakespeare.

Henry had deposed the legitimate king, Richard II, and probably instigated Richard’s murder in the Tower.

According to the play, he promised to lead a crusade to Jerusalem to make it up to God. He had a turbulent reign, though, and never got around to going.

He took comfort that he was dying in Jerusalem.

My reason to see it, though, was a little different: The editors of the King James Bible met there. When I told the volunteers that, they asked someone to take me in.

I expected a bare stone room, like the old cloisters. But no, the Jersualem Chamber is still an active meeting space, and a fancy one, too. The walls are covered in tapestries, the ceiling in fabrics, and when I went in, someone was preparing lunch in a galley kitchen. 

When I told Joanna that story, she was fascinated by the idea of seeing it for herself. 

I’m hoping that I can find a way to get us there.

I was thirsty after the walk when I got back to Trafalgar Square. I took a side street and in a narrow alley called Craven Passage, which is just off Craven Street below the Strand, came to the Sherlock Holmes pub.

I had a house ale that tasted much like a bitter, and so I was happy.

I stopped back at the hotel and then went to have dinner under the sign of the St. Bernard at the Friend at Hand pub. The chicken and mushroom pie was fun. 

So was Thomas Taylor’s Landlord, a cask bitter. Because it’s a cask ale, the carbonation is softer than conventional draft ales. It has a sharp touch of hops.

There was an NFL game on TV, and the bartender thought I might be interested in it. He came over and told me that he was going to change to “football,” but could keep one of the sets on the game. 

I would always rather watch soccer than American rules.

In the States, the bars turn off my soccer games to go the the NFL. I hate that.

It was Spanish soccer. Real Madrid shut out Espanyol 2-0.

I had one more pint at Night and Day, and now I’m calling it a night.

They ask you not to take pictures inside St. Paul’s. That’s why the picture of the day is a view of the outside.

Good night, all.

Harry