Monday, June 29, 2009
The Cotswolds and Burford
I dreaded awakening this morning to discover that I could not move as my knee had swollen double through the night. Fortunately, nothing of the kind happened and though I awoke very late (at 8.00 am) and rushed to wash and dress and get to breakfast, I was relieved to find that the pain in my knee was much better than it had been before I fell asleep last night.
I ate a hasty breakfast, then returned to my room to continue working on my lecture. I worked steadily for the next two hours, making steady headway and only leaving my room about 11 am. I stopped en route at the Maison Francaise which is at the very beginning of Norham Road to check out the accommodation there as Amanda, the lodger from the States who left yesterday, had told me that their rates were better than what I am paying here. An assistant called Coreen took me around the premises and gave me a rate sheet. The place is very nice indeed—very quiet and the rooms are spacious. There are common baths at the end of the corridor but there is one en suite double room. These rooms are available during the months of June, July, August and a part of September only. A good place to consider if ever I return to Oxford again.
Then, I walked along Bevington Road to St. Antony’s and did finally get my ID card today. Not that I am going to be able to use the library and I am leaving tomorrow—but most of my library research is being conducted at the British Library in London anyway! I can use the card to get into the colleges, though, and that I shall do tomorrow. With my knee not doing too badly, I decided to buy the Stagecoach Daypass again and ride all the way to Burford which is the beginning of the Cotswolds.
Bus S2 came along in about fifteen minutes and took me to Witney where I had to change buses. This gave me a good 45 minutes in Witney to explore. I stepped into a few shops in the main Market Square and left with a fantastic buy—a brand new pair of Bally shoes with matching handbag which I snagged for only a few pounds. I just couldn’t believe my luck! I also found another cup and saucer (Aynsley) to add to my collection at home. Then, I stepped into the Information Center where I found bus time tables and was told again that it is very difficult to get to Kelmcott Manor and the Hidcote Manor Gardens without a car. So, since tomorrow is my last day at Oxford, I shall stay in the city itself and see those bits of it that I haven’t yet explored.
At 1. 20, the connecting bus (233) took me to Burford. It was a single decker, so I could not get the wide reaching glimpses of the beautiful Cotswolds countryside through which we drove. It was frightfully hot and people were frantically trying to stay cool. It was only 7 miles from Witney to Burford, a journey that took less than fifteen minutes and before I knew it, we were there.
Beautiful Burford:
I had never been to Burford though when I was at Oxford, many years ago, there had been a student trip organized to the town. It is really a very tiny village but quite visually pleasing because of the uniformity of the structures—all yellow Cotswold stone and black slate roofing, low ceilings, houses with exposed beams which seem to sag under their own weight.
Burford is constructed down a single High Street from which smaller lanes branch out, lined on both sides by similarly quaint houses and gardens brimful of summer flowers—clematis, hollyhocks, delphiniums, hydrangeas, roses and loads and loads of lavender. The English, as the whole world knows only too well, love their gardens and they lavish lots of time, effort and expense in keeping them pristine, Everywhere I looked, I was enchanted by the abundance of hanging baskets spilling over with petunias and bizzie-lizzies and window boxes full of fragrant blossoms. Truly, summer in England is an endless sensual delight.
Right behind the Main Street is a massive stone church—the Church of St. John The Baptist, which is reached by a short stroll along Church Lane. I explored the church yard with old, graying and moss-covered grave stones and memorials and paid a short visit. I had two hours to kill in this peaceful village, fortunately not yet mobbed by tourists or coach travelers. There were antiques stores and sweet shops, several good restaurants and the inevitable tea room and behind the church, a river with water front benches and picnic tables where I sat for a long while in the shade and watched the ducks and ducklings waddle by. It was much too hot to do anything very exciting and I have to say that climate change and global warming is certainly evident in England. Twenty-two years ago, I remember wearing a cardigan throughout the summer and not a single day saw me in a T-shirt. After two decades, I have to say that it is oppressively hot and humid and I was deeply uncomfortable being out in this weather and I badly missed my shorts and sandals.
Seeing a Doctor at the NHS:
Julie Irving at the Senior Associate Members Office at St. Antony’s College had made an appointment for me with the local NHS facility called the Summertown Health Center so that a doctor could take a look at my knee to make sure there was no cause for concern. Sine my appointment was for 4. 40 pm, I rushed back on the first available bus and reached North Oxford at about 4. 40 pm itself. It took me ten minutes to walk from the bus stop to the Health Center on Banbury Road which I reached from Woodstock Road by cutting across Lathbury Road. And as I walked across it, I spied a blue plaque on one of the gate posts of the houses which announced that Nirad Chaudhuri, Writer (from India, of course) had lived there for almost fifty years of his life. His best-known work is The Autobiography of an Unknown Indian and it is odd that I passed his house as I am in the process of preparing my lecture and have been looking at the earliest Indian Writing in English that came out of the UK and, of course, Chaudhuri features quite prominently in that category.
Well, the doctor did examine me—and in the old-fashioned manner in which medicine is still practiced in the UK as I have grown to realize, he diagnosed my condition right away without putting me through a battery of X-rays and tests. He simply told me that there was no fracture and no torn ligaments and no liquid accumulation in my knee. In other words, but for the trauma suffered by my knee cap at the point where it made impact with the ground, there was nothing more serious and I need not worry at all. He told me that the pain would probably persist for a week, gradually fading away and that the local application of a pain-killing ointment would be helpful. Well, it was a great relief to me and I must say, once again, that I am impressed by the working of the NHS in Great Britain as this is the second time that I have had to seek medical assistance for an emergency of sorts and both times I received prompt expert medical care without spending a penny. For that, I very grateful to this country indeed. Needless to say, in the States, no doctor would touch me unless fully assured that I had the resources to pay for the abominably expensive opinion he would offer at the end of which he would recommend further testing that would take a whole day and cost a thousand dollars!
A Trip to Wolvercote:
I took a bus back home to Norham Road where I set aside the bags I was carrying and took a bit of a rest. Then, realizing that I will be leaving tomorrow and returning to London, I decided to set out and accomplish another goal—a trip to Wolvercote to The Trout Inn, a famous pub on the banks of the River Thames. Only, I decided to take the bus there as I had the Stagecoach Daypass and I did not want to tax my knee too much.
The bus trundled along in about ten minutes on Woodstock Road and the driver put me off at the Turn End in Wolvercote (at the end of Woodstock Road) from where I walked for about 15 minutes, past the village of Wolvercote and arrived at The Trout. It was full of the most wonderful memories for me as I had last been there, two summers ago, when my friend Annalisa was spending a summer in Oxford with her sons, Giovanni and Giacomo, and their nanny Stella. At that time, we had walked from North Oxford, across Port Meadow, along the banks of the Thames and Godstow Lock to The Trout Inn where we had sat and nursed a drink as the sun slowly set behind the gushing weir which provides a musical backdrop to the space.
So, as a tribute to my dear friend, I entered the pub, ordered a Pimm’s with Lemonade, the legendary summer drink of Oxford (served in a tall and thin glass with a strawberry, a wedge of cucumber, lemon and lime slices and crushed mint). It was marvelously refreshing and I carried it to the waterside where I found myself a wooden bench on which I propped myself to read. Because, yes, I had carried my new book The Oxford Guide to Inspector Morse and right there in a spot that was frequently used as a very photogenic location for several scenes in the series, I sat and sipped my Pimms and thought of Morse whose great love for real ale took him to so many of Oxford’s most famous pubs and put them forever on the tourist map. I sat there for an hour and a half, people-watching and duck-watching and enjoying the softness of a light evening breeze as the sun set slowly and another summer’s day in Oxford came to an end.
A Memorable Walk Along the Thames Path:
It was about 8. 45 but still very bright when I got up to leave. I had intended, even up to that point, to walk the 15-20 minutes to the bus stop at Wolvercote and ride it back to North Oxford. But then I derived confidence from the fact that the doctor had told me that my knee was fine and I figured that if I walked for another 20 minutes, I would be close to home.
So, again, I relived that marvelous walk I had taken with Annalisa and Stella and her boys and walked along the banks of the river from The Trout Inn to North Oxford, past the ruined nunnery and the Godstow Lock and the flocks of noisy ducks and the colorful cows and the shaggy horses, all of whom crowded the banks along the Thames Path at different intervals. Oh, I so enjoyed the wild life to be found along this walk and though the crew members and their boats were missing (they had been an integral part of our walk, two years ago), there was the occasional kayaker and on the opposite bank, a couple walking four dogs—a breed called Grahams, very similar to Whippets. When I went through spells where there was no one ahead or behind me and my solitude was complete, I took consolation in the fact that they were on the other bank walking parallel to me and I took courage because they were only a scream away (I guess I have watched too much Morse)! Occasionally, I passed couples ‘snogging’ to use an old-fashioned English term, and a couple of cyclists whizzed past. It was a lovely lovely walk and I am so glad I decided on impulse to undertake it, for I have always wanted to walk at least a part of the Thames Path during this year.
When I saw a large number of houseboats moored by the river banks, I knew that I was nearing Oxford. I also saw the spires of the many churches and chapels of the city coming closer within range and in about 45 minutes, I was crossing the curving bridge that took me into Port Meadow, then another bridge that went over the railway track and then I was on Southmoor Road where Annalisa used to live, It wasn’t long before I arrived at Woodstock Road, then along St. Bernard’s Road to Bevington Road and then on to Norham Road. I was hot, really hot, when I reached home exactly an hour after I had started walking from The Trout Inn—it had been a fabulous walk and one I know I will always remember.
Back in my room, I ate a bit of pecan roulade and drank a large cup of coffee while watching the last bits of Andy Murray play a Russian whose name I did not get in what has turned out to be the longest Wimbledon game ever played! It was 10. 45 when the game ended and though Murray made it to the quarter-finals, he was given an amazing run for his money. Played in a closed court, the crowds were ecstatic by his well-deserved win.
I went down to the bathroom to wash and brush and floss my teeth, then I sat to write this blog and get ready for bed. What a day I had and how happily I will recall it!
Monday, June 29, 2009
In Stratford--Shakespeare Found--and the Cotswolds
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Stratford-on-Avon and Chipping Norton
I had no intentions to returning to Stratford-on-Avon while I was in Oxford. After all, I had been there the weekend of Shakespeare’s birthday (April 23) with Stephanie and would not have wanted to waste a day in the same venue. But just a couple of weeks after my return from Stratford, my colleague Karen began talking about a new Shakespeare Portrait that has just been unearthed and which is of supreme significance both for the literary and art worlds as it is suspected to be the only portrait for which Shakespeare ever posed during his lifetime. She told me that seeing it with her husband Douglas (who is a Renaissance scholar) was one of the highlights of her year in the UK--and I figured that if it is so special, I ought not to leave the UK without seeing it. I don’t believe that it was on display when I was in Stratford with Stephanie in April—maybe it was, maybe not. But in any case, since I was only 40 miles from Stratford here in Oxford, it made sense for me to take public transport to get there and have my own peek at this portrait.
And so I had ear marked today for this trip. I awoke about 7. 00, read Harry Potter for about 40 minutes, then left my bedroom to wash and get dressed for the 8 am Mass at The Oratory (a Jesuit-run church) on Woodstock Road near St. Giles. When I had passed by yesterday, I had discovered that there was a Mass at 8 am—a Mass that was described as “Old Rite”. I had no idea what this meant but I decided to find out since breakfast on Sunday is only served at 9 am. This left me time to attend Mass and get back in time for breakfast.
Old Rite Mass at The Oratory:
The Oratory is a very historic Catholic church in Oxford. It was established in 1845 which doesn’t make it old by Oxford standards, but it was the venue in which the famous Cardinal John Newman began his Ministry about the same time. I do not know enough about his Ministry (and the internet is not working efficiently enough here for me to get online and find out) but I do know that he initiated a chaplaincy that has resulted in Catholic ministry on every college campus world-wide—all of which are named after him. For example, the Catholic Center at the University of Hawai’i in Manoa, Honolulu, where I had spent a summer and attended Mass, is named the Cardinal Newman Center. These centers usually conduct masses for the Catholics on campus and provide ministerial support. Cardinal Newman was known to be an extraordinarily fine preacher and, no doubt, the pulpit in this oratory was the platform from which he gave his sermons.
The Oratory is famous for another reason: the early 20th century poet Gerald Manley Hopkins who was a Jesuit priest was a Curate in this church. Having studied his poems as an undergraduate student in India, I do remember reading that he was a Catholic priest and one who was especially drawn to Nature in attempting to find his way to God.
So I was very pleased to arrive at the church only to find that it had a strikingly beautiful interior. It isn’t very much to look at from the outside, but the inside is gorgeous, especially in the many beautifully carved saints that adorn the altar. But what amazed me about the church, more than anything else, was the congregation. I thought I had been whisked away in a Time Machine to the early 1960s (before Vatican II) when I used to attend Sunday masses in India with a veil in one hand and a Children’s Missal in the other. Upon entering the church, I would wear the veil on my head which my mother would often pin up as my hair is so silky and it would never stay put.
Well, most of the women in the congregation had veils on—in white or in black! I was stunned. It has been years since I have seen such a sight. Not only that, but the children in the church had missals in their hands and were actually following the service with the aid of these books. I was so struck by their good behavior. I saw no toys, no Cheerios, no books or anything of the kind to distract them (as I see in the churches in America where attending Mass is more playtime than anything else for a majority of the kids. These were old-fashioned children raised with old-fashioned parenting techniques that have gone with the wind. Needless to say, the Mass was in Latin, the priest facing the altar. Communion was distributed the traditional way at the Communion rails (you kneeled down to receive) and it was placed on your tongue and not in your hand! My God, I simply could not believe it! Seriously, one of the things I never thought I would take home with me to the States after my year in the UK was the variety of Christian forms of worship that I have experienced as I have gone to different churches every Sunday, representing various denominations of Christianity and conducted in vastly unique ways. As my stay here comes to an end, I am glad I had decided early in my stay here to do this: to try to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday. It has left me with fascinating observations and experiences and for those I am truly grateful.
Sunday Breakfast at Norham Road and Journey to Stratford:
My three fellow lodgers were already at table when I joined them for Breakfast this morning. Sunday breakfast meant hard boiled eggs (two for each of us). I toasted white sliced bread and make myself tasty sandwiches with my eggs—the sort my mother used to make for me when I was in school! I also ate cereal and drank two glasses of orange juice as I had a long way to go on the bus and wanted to get a hearty meal inside me.
I left my place at 9.45 to catch the 9. 55 bus (Stagecoach S3) to Chipping Norton (via Woodstock). I had found out that a Daypass offered unlimited travel on the bus for 7 pounds which was really a bargain. The bus rolled in about 10 minutes later (at 10. 05) and then we were off. Luckily, the day was gorgeous once again—lovely blue skies and bright sunshine—in fact, it turned a little too warm by the afternoon and I heard on the TV that tomorrow will be even warmer—28 degrees which is close to 86 Fahrenheit. The bus was crowded with teenagers, most of whom alighted at Blenheim Palace leaving the front seat wide open for me to enjoy.
The driver had told me that from Chipping Norton the bus S3 became the 50, so all I had to do was sit on the same bus. He also informed me that we would arrive in Stratford by 11. 20 am. The Daypass was really a bargain as the total distance was about 50 miles. We drove through beautiful bucolic Cotswold countryside passing charming little villages made of the typical honey-colored Cotswold stone for which this area is famed and the black slate roofs that give each village a marvelous uniformity but also a rural quaintness. Front and back gardens were full of summer blooms—dahlias brought vivid splashes of color to flower beds and tall hollyhocks and delphiniums were impressive in their stately height. I have to say that I am truly jealous of the enormous size and quality of the blooms that the English seem to be able to coax out of their soil without the use of expensive or damaging fertilizers. There is no way that we could produce the same results in the States—I am sure it has something to do with the presence of certain metals in the soil which provide those much-needed nutrients.
Arrival in Chipping Norton:
When we arrived in Chipping Norton, I recognized it at once as the little Cotswolds town in which Llew, Chriselle and I had once spent a night during our own tour of the Cotswold more than 10 years ago. Indeed, I even recognized The King’s Arms Hotel in which we had stayed and simply for old times’ sake, I decided that I would stop by there on my way back and explore the town on my own before catching the bus back to Oxford.
As we sailed on towards Stratford in the bus, I enjoyed the passing scenery. Mile after mile of field full of thriving plantings lent striking shades of green to the landscape. Sheep did dot the pastures and occasional farmhouses advertised themselves as being B&Bs while signs announced that “Afternoon Teas” were available in village churches. Next weekend, most of these villages will be having their annual summer fetes and I am sorry that I will be too far away to enjoy them, as I am seriously thinking of attending the sailing regatta at Henley-on-Thames with my friend Amy when she arrives from New York.
Arrival in Stratford-on-Avon:
When we did finally arrive in Stratford, I made a beeline straight away for Henley Street where Shakespeare’s birthplace is located. The Portrait Found Exhibit is in the Shakespeare Center right next door to his house. I was pleased that one could buy a ticket for just five pounds only to see the exhibit without needing to buy an expensive ticket to get into the Shakespearean houses—these I have seen several times before and did not think I needed to see them again.
The Shakespeare Portrait:
Ok, so here’s the reason why I made this pilgrimage to Stratford. In 2006, an Irishman named Alex Cobbe who lived in a grand mansion outside Dublin attended an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London entitled Portraits of Shakespeare. Upon looking at one of the portraits on display there, he was struck by the fact that it looked curiously similar to a portrait of an unknown gentleman that was hanging on the walls of one of the rooms in his house. He brought this fact to the notice of the powers-that-be and the painting in his house was examined and studied. Considerable scholarly opinion has come to the conclusion (led by a Prof. Stanley Wells) that this is a portrait of William Shakespeare and that indeed this might be the only one for which he ever posed during his lifetime!
This means, of course, that all of the portraits of Shakespeare that we have seen thus far were either created by people from memory after Shakespeare had passed away (in 1616 at the age of 54) or that they were copies of this one portrait for which he, Shakespeare, actually posed. One of the reasons why Wells and other scholars believe this to be an authentic posed portrait of Shakespeare is that Cobbe also has in his collection a portrait of another unknown Elizabethan whom he had thought to be a lady (based on her long hair that flows down one shoulder and her rather effeminate face). Scholars who have studied this portrait have come to the conclusion that this is not a woman at all but a rather feminine-looking man who was known to the world as Henry Wriosthesley, Earl of Southampton.
Now, not only is this Alex Cobbe a direct descendant of the Earl of Southampton (which is why the portrait has come down to him) but this Henry Wriosthesley was also Shakespeare’s fond patron and the one to whom, for a very long time and even today, his Sonnets are believed to have been dedicated (“To Mr. W.H.”)—the initials deliberately inverted by Shakespeare in order to keep his identity unknown.
Now, if we know (and it can be proved by genealogical data and records) that Alex Cobbe is a direct descendant of this Mr. W.H., then it is also easy to see the connection between Shakespeare and this newly ‘discovered’ portrait. For Mr. W.H. might well have paid the money to an unknown artist to have his dear friend’s portrait painted—a portrait that he wished to retain in his own possession. In his later years, Mr. W. H. fell badly out of royal favor for his involvement in a plot to destroy Elizabeth I and was imprisoned in the Tower of London. We do have another portrait of him created at this phase in his life (which is also at the exhibition) and when you look at the two together –of the younger Mr. W.H. (which is very decidedly androgynous) and the older one, you do see a distinct resemblance that leaves you in no doubt that the two portraits are of the same person made several decades apart.
When Mr. W.H. died in disgrace, his possessions (including his paintings) passed into the hands of his next-of-kin and all the way down into the hands of Alex Cobbe who simply did not know that the unknown Elizabethans whom he gazed at daily in his home were Shakespeare and his patron Mr. W.H. So the discovery of this portrait is significant because if Shakespeare had posed for it then it is the closest likeness we could ever have of Shakespeare—though of course, being dated as having been painted in 1606 (by X-rays, tree ring dating and based on the rich and very expensive garments he is wearing in the portrait, particularly the style of lace collar around his neck), we think that the artist flattered the poet who at the age of 46 years in 1606 could not have looked quite so young and unblemished of complexion as he appears in it.
The controversy (like so many associated with the life and times of Shakespeare) will continue endlessly until we can prove without any shadow of a doubt that it is actually Shakespeare--through some incontrovertible documentary evidence. Meanwhile, whether we are convinced that it is Shakespeare or not, we can all delight in the superb quality of the painting and its marvelous state of preservation. For the other portraits of Shakespeare (also in the same exhibition), supposedly based on this one original, newly unearthed portrait, are such poor imitations of the original as to seem almost amateurish.
For all of these reasons, I was glad I read everything about the exhibition and spoke at length to the guide who explained things to me in great detail. Since the two portraits (of the young Mr. W.H. and of Shakespeare) have been loaned to the Shakespeare Trust for only a limited period and since Mr. Alex Cobbe will be taking them back to his Irish estate in September, I was very pleased indeed that I had the chance to see it and to understand the complexity involved in its discovery and its provenance. So I am grateful to Karen who told me all about it.
Back to Oxford—and a Bad Fall in Chipping Norton:
I took the 2. 20 bus back towards Oxford (having spent quite a while lazing by the river and watching the world go by). On impulse, I got off at Chipping Norton and decided to walk around the town a little bit retracing my footsteps as I remembered them. It was here that I had a fall. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to stay on the bus to Oxford or get off and see the town. I needed to find out what times the buses run (as they are few and far between on Sunday) and while I was checking the timetable at the bus stop, the bus started to move. Attempting to run after it to board it, I fell over the pavement and hurt my knee badly where it made impact with the hard surface of the road.
Well, after I was able to get up, I decided to go out and find the church we had visited ten years ago and which I remembered clearly as well as the neighboring Alms Houses( all rather picturesque and reminiscent of illustrations in story books). Unfortunately, most shops had closed for the day and the town seemed rather deserted.
An hour later, I returned to the bus stop and took the 4. 10 bus back to Oxford but decided again on impulse to get off at Woodstock in order to return to Blenheim Palace to buy two postcards as I had left the ones I had bought a few days ago in the loo on my way out the other day! Well, I have to say that my knee seemed to be carrying me fine through the ten minute walk to the shop and the salesgirls were good enough to give me replacements postcards without my having to pay for them again—because they remembered me from the other day!
Then, I was boarding the 5. 30 pm bus back to Oxford. I got off near Bevington Road on Woodstock Road and it was only about 10 pm that my left knee started aching really badly. I got myself an ice pack (on Llew’s advice) and rubbed some Moov on it and after writing this blog, went to bed, hoping that I will not be completely incapacitated tomorrow.
Stratford-on-Avon and Chipping Norton
I had no intentions to returning to Stratford-on-Avon while I was in Oxford. After all, I had been there the weekend of Shakespeare’s birthday (April 23) with Stephanie and would not have wanted to waste a day in the same venue. But just a couple of weeks after my return from Stratford, my colleague Karen began talking about a new Shakespeare Portrait that has just been unearthed and which is of supreme significance both for the literary and art worlds as it is suspected to be the only portrait for which Shakespeare ever posed during his lifetime. She told me that seeing it with her husband Douglas (who is a Renaissance scholar) was one of the highlights of her year in the UK--and I figured that if it is so special, I ought not to leave the UK without seeing it. I don’t believe that it was on display when I was in Stratford with Stephanie in April—maybe it was, maybe not. But in any case, since I was only 40 miles from Stratford here in Oxford, it made sense for me to take public transport to get there and have my own peek at this portrait.
And so I had ear marked today for this trip. I awoke about 7. 00, read Harry Potter for about 40 minutes, then left my bedroom to wash and get dressed for the 8 am Mass at The Oratory (a Jesuit-run church) on Woodstock Road near St. Giles. When I had passed by yesterday, I had discovered that there was a Mass at 8 am—a Mass that was described as “Old Rite”. I had no idea what this meant but I decided to find out since breakfast on Sunday is only served at 9 am. This left me time to attend Mass and get back in time for breakfast.
Old Rite Mass at The Oratory:
The Oratory is a very historic Catholic church in Oxford. It was established in 1845 which doesn’t make it old by Oxford standards, but it was the venue in which the famous Cardinal John Newman began his Ministry about the same time. I do not know enough about his Ministry (and the internet is not working efficiently enough here for me to get online and find out) but I do know that he initiated a chaplaincy that has resulted in Catholic ministry on every college campus world-wide—all of which are named after him. For example, the Catholic Center at the University of Hawai’i in Manoa, Honolulu, where I had spent a summer and attended Mass, is named the Cardinal Newman Center. These centers usually conduct masses for the Catholics on campus and provide ministerial support. Cardinal Newman was known to be an extraordinarily fine preacher and, no doubt, the pulpit in this oratory was the platform from which he gave his sermons.
The Oratory is famous for another reason: the early 20th century poet Gerald Manley Hopkins who was a Jesuit priest was a Curate in this church. Having studied his poems as an undergraduate student in India, I do remember reading that he was a Catholic priest and one who was especially drawn to Nature in attempting to find his way to God.
So I was very pleased to arrive at the church only to find that it had a strikingly beautiful interior. It isn’t very much to look at from the outside, but the inside is gorgeous, especially in the many beautifully carved saints that adorn the altar. But what amazed me about the church, more than anything else, was the congregation. I thought I had been whisked away in a Time Machine to the early 1960s (before Vatican II) when I used to attend Sunday masses in India with a veil in one hand and a Children’s Missal in the other. Upon entering the church, I would wear the veil on my head which my mother would often pin up as my hair is so silky and it would never stay put.
Well, most of the women in the congregation had veils on—in white or in black! I was stunned. It has been years since I have seen such a sight. Not only that, but the children in the church had missals in their hands and were actually following the service with the aid of these books. I was so struck by their good behavior. I saw no toys, no Cheerios, no books or anything of the kind to distract them (as I see in the churches in America where attending Mass is more playtime than anything else for a majority of the kids. These were old-fashioned children raised with old-fashioned parenting techniques that have gone with the wind. Needless to say, the Mass was in Latin, the priest facing the altar. Communion was distributed the traditional way at the Communion rails (you kneeled down to receive) and it was placed on your tongue and not in your hand! My God, I simply could not believe it! Seriously, one of the things I never thought I would take home with me to the States after my year in the UK was the variety of Christian forms of worship that I have experienced as I have gone to different churches every Sunday, representing various denominations of Christianity and conducted in vastly unique ways. As my stay here comes to an end, I am glad I had decided early in my stay here to do this: to try to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday. It has left me with fascinating observations and experiences and for those I am truly grateful.
Sunday Breakfast at Norham Road and Journey to Stratford:
My three fellow lodgers were already at table when I joined them for Breakfast this morning. Sunday breakfast meant hard boiled eggs (two for each of us). I toasted white sliced bread and make myself tasty sandwiches with my eggs—the sort my mother used to make for me when I was in school! I also ate cereal and drank two glasses of orange juice as I had a long way to go on the bus and wanted to get a hearty meal inside me.
I left my place at 9.45 to catch the 9. 55 bus (Stagecoach S3) to Chipping Norton (via Woodstock). I had found out that a Daypass offered unlimited travel on the bus for 7 pounds which was really a bargain. The bus rolled in about 10 minutes later (at 10. 05) and then we were off. Luckily, the day was gorgeous once again—lovely blue skies and bright sunshine—in fact, it turned a little too warm by the afternoon and I heard on the TV that tomorrow will be even warmer—28 degrees which is close to 86 Fahrenheit. The bus was crowded with teenagers, most of whom alighted at Blenheim Palace leaving the front seat wide open for me to enjoy.
The driver had told me that from Chipping Norton the bus S3 became the 50, so all I had to do was sit on the same bus. He also informed me that we would arrive in Stratford by 11. 20 am. The Daypass was really a bargain as the total distance was about 50 miles. We drove through beautiful bucolic Cotswold countryside passing charming little villages made of the typical honey-colored Cotswold stone for which this area is famed and the black slate roofs that give each village a marvelous uniformity but also a rural quaintness. Front and back gardens were full of summer blooms—dahlias brought vivid splashes of color to flower beds and tall hollyhocks and delphiniums were impressive in their stately height. I have to say that I am truly jealous of the enormous size and quality of the blooms that the English seem to be able to coax out of their soil without the use of expensive or damaging fertilizers. There is no way that we could produce the same results in the States—I am sure it has something to do with the presence of certain metals in the soil which provide those much-needed nutrients.
Arrival in Chipping Norton:
When we arrived in Chipping Norton, I recognized it at once as the little Cotswolds town in which Llew, Chriselle and I had once spent a night during our own tour of the Cotswold more than 10 years ago. Indeed, I even recognized The King’s Arms Hotel in which we had stayed and simply for old times’ sake, I decided that I would stop by there on my way back and explore the town on my own before catching the bus back to Oxford.
As we sailed on towards Stratford in the bus, I enjoyed the passing scenery. Mile after mile of field full of thriving plantings lent striking shades of green to the landscape. Sheep did dot the pastures and occasional farmhouses advertised themselves as being B&Bs while signs announced that “Afternoon Teas” were available in village churches. Next weekend, most of these villages will be having their annual summer fetes and I am sorry that I will be too far away to enjoy them, as I am seriously thinking of attending the sailing regatta at Henley-on-Thames with my friend Amy when she arrives from New York.
Arrival in Stratford-on-Avon:
When we did finally arrive in Stratford, I made a beeline straight away for Henley Street where Shakespeare’s birthplace is located. The Portrait Found Exhibit is in the Shakespeare Center right next door to his house. I was pleased that one could buy a ticket for just five pounds only to see the exhibit without needing to buy an expensive ticket to get into the Shakespearean houses—these I have seen several times before and did not think I needed to see them again.
The Shakespeare Portrait:
Ok, so here’s the reason why I made this pilgrimage to Stratford. In 2006, an Irishman named Alex Cobbe who lived in a grand mansion outside Dublin attended an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London entitled Portraits of Shakespeare. Upon looking at one of the portraits on display there, he was struck by the fact that it looked curiously similar to a portrait of an unknown gentleman that was hanging on the walls of one of the rooms in his house. He brought this fact to the notice of the powers-that-be and the painting in his house was examined and studied. Considerable scholarly opinion has come to the conclusion (led by a Prof. Stanley Wells) that this is a portrait of William Shakespeare and that indeed this might be the only one for which he ever posed during his lifetime!
This means, of course, that all of the portraits of Shakespeare that we have seen thus far were either created by people from memory after Shakespeare had passed away (in 1616 at the age of 54) or that they were copies of this one portrait for which he, Shakespeare, actually posed. One of the reasons why Wells and other scholars believe this to be an authentic posed portrait of Shakespeare is that Cobbe also has in his collection a portrait of another unknown Elizabethan whom he had thought to be a lady (based on her long hair that flows down one shoulder and her rather effeminate face). Scholars who have studied this portrait have come to the conclusion that this is not a woman at all but a rather feminine-looking man who was known to the world as Henry Wriosthesley, Earl of Southampton.
Now, not only is this Alex Cobbe a direct descendant of the Earl of Southampton (which is why the portrait has come down to him) but this Henry Wriosthesley was also Shakespeare’s fond patron and the one to whom, for a very long time and even today, his Sonnets are believed to have been dedicated (“To Mr. W.H.”)—the initials deliberately inverted by Shakespeare in order to keep his identity unknown.
Now, if we know (and it can be proved by genealogical data and records) that Alex Cobbe is a direct descendant of this Mr. W.H., then it is also easy to see the connection between Shakespeare and this newly ‘discovered’ portrait. For Mr. W.H. might well have paid the money to an unknown artist to have his dear friend’s portrait painted—a portrait that he wished to retain in his own possession. In his later years, Mr. W. H. fell badly out of royal favor for his involvement in a plot to destroy Elizabeth I and was imprisoned in the Tower of London. We do have another portrait of him created at this phase in his life (which is also at the exhibition) and when you look at the two together –of the younger Mr. W.H. (which is very decidedly androgynous) and the older one, you do see a distinct resemblance that leaves you in no doubt that the two portraits are of the same person made several decades apart.
When Mr. W.H. died in disgrace, his possessions (including his paintings) passed into the hands of his next-of-kin and all the way down into the hands of Alex Cobbe who simply did not know that the unknown Elizabethans whom he gazed at daily in his home were Shakespeare and his patron Mr. W.H. So the discovery of this portrait is significant because if Shakespeare had posed for it then it is the closest likeness we could ever have of Shakespeare—though of course, being dated as having been painted in 1606 (by X-rays, tree ring dating and based on the rich and very expensive garments he is wearing in the portrait, particularly the style of lace collar around his neck), we think that the artist flattered the poet who at the age of 46 years in 1606 could not have looked quite so young and unblemished of complexion as he appears in it.
The controversy (like so many associated with the life and times of Shakespeare) will continue endlessly until we can prove without any shadow of a doubt that it is actually Shakespeare--through some incontrovertible documentary evidence. Meanwhile, whether we are convinced that it is Shakespeare or not, we can all delight in the superb quality of the painting and its marvelous state of preservation. For the other portraits of Shakespeare (also in the same exhibition), supposedly based on this one original, newly unearthed portrait, are such poor imitations of the original as to seem almost amateurish.
For all of these reasons, I was glad I read everything about the exhibition and spoke at length to the guide who explained things to me in great detail. Since the two portraits (of the young Mr. W.H. and of Shakespeare) have been loaned to the Shakespeare Trust for only a limited period and since Mr. Alex Cobbe will be taking them back to his Irish estate in September, I was very pleased indeed that I had the chance to see it and to understand the complexity involved in its discovery and its provenance. So I am grateful to Karen who told me all about it.
Back to Oxford—and a Bad Fall in Chipping Norton:
I took the 2. 20 bus back towards Oxford (having spent quite a while lazing by the river and watching the world go by). On impulse, I got off at Chipping Norton and decided to walk around the town a little bit retracing my footsteps as I remembered them. It was here that I had a fall. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to stay on the bus to Oxford or get off and see the town. I needed to find out what times the buses run (as they are few and far between on Sunday) and while I was checking the timetable at the bus stop, the bus started to move. Attempting to run after it to board it, I fell over the pavement and hurt my knee badly where it made impact with the hard surface of the road.
Well, after I was able to get up, I decided to go out and find the church we had visited ten years ago and which I remembered clearly as well as the neighboring Alms Houses( all rather picturesque and reminiscent of illustrations in story books). Unfortunately, most shops had closed for the day and the town seemed rather deserted.
An hour later, I returned to the bus stop and took the 4. 10 bus back to Oxford but decided again on impulse to get off at Woodstock in order to return to Blenheim Palace to buy two postcards as I had left the ones I had bought a few days ago in the loo on my way out the other day! Well, I have to say that my knee seemed to be carrying me fine through the ten minute walk to the shop and the salesgirls were good enough to give me replacements postcards without my having to pay for them again—because they remembered me from the other day!
Then, I was boarding the 5. 30 pm bus back to Oxford. I got off near Bevington Road on Woodstock Road and it was only about 10 pm that my left knee started aching really badly. I got myself an ice pack (on Llew’s advice) and rubbed some Moov on it and after writing this blog, went to bed, hoping that I will not be completely incapacitated tomorrow.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Morse-ing Around Oxford
Saturday, June 29, 2009
Oxford
I wasn’t making too much progress with Harry Potter, so I was pleased to wake up at 7.00 and be able to read the novel for an hour. I thought breakfast would be at 8 am as usual but when I went downstairs to wash and dress, I found everything so quiet and there wasn’t the delicious aroma of toast that has woken me up on recent mornings. Because no one seemed to be stirring, I thought it was a great time to have a shower and that I did—and how much I enjoyed it!
Back in my room (which I just realized is right above the car port in a sort of addition to this rambling stone house), I checked the Breakfast Timings as printed in my room and realized that on Saturdays, breakfast is served at 8. 30 am. That left me ample time to get dressed and start working on my lecture on ‘Post-Colonial South Asian Literature from Great Britain’, which I have been invited to deliver at Exeter College, Oxford, on July 22. I worked very steadily and when I heard voices coming from the dining room, which is not too far from my room, I joined my three fellow-lodgers who were already at the table and spent the next 45 minutes eating a large breakfast—cereal with milk, toast with butter, orange juice and coffee. I knew I would not have much time for a big lunch as I had the ‘Inspector Morse Tour’ to take at 1. 30, so I decided to have a breakfast large enough to keep me going until at least teatime.
I spent the next couple of hours working steadily on my lecture and made good headway though I was rather disappointed that my inability to connect to the wireless internet in this house in North Oxford makes it impossible for me to back check facts when I need to footnote my lecture. However, I also enjoyed sitting in my room in this house in North Oxford and working. I thought our home in Southport, Connecticut, was quiet on weekend mornings and then I started to stay in the loft in Farringdon in London—and boy, is that quiet! And now here I am on Norham Road off Banbury Road in Oxford where the silence is so complete. There was not even a bird twittering in the trees and it wasn't until noon that the cobalt blue door of the house on the opposite side of the street opened and the family went out for a spin in their silver grey car. I am finally staying in a place in which I can actually feel a sense of community with my surroundings—and I am really enjoying it!
Off to Discover Morse’s Oxford:
When I had mentioned to my fellow lodgers that I was out today to see ‘Inspector Morse’s Oxford’, the Japanese chap had remarked, rather cleverly, that perhaps this would mean a pub crawl because all Morse does is drink in Oxford’s various pubs! Well, he was not far from the truth!
At 12 noon, I set out first to St. Antony’s College to find out if by any chance I had dropped my credit card there when I was over yesterday—as I am missing it! No such luck! So I walked briskly towards St. Giles, all the time praying that it would have been found in Blackwell’s coffee shop (Café Nero) where I had met Philip Imray for a coffee and a chat yesterday. En route, I saw a number of books on Morse and Oxford and thought that I should buy one of them as I need to find out more about the Oxford backdrop of the series.
Upstairs, I could have kissed the waitress who served me yesterday. Yes, she had found my credit card, which had fallen out of the pocket of my jeans as I was leaving and had shrugged into my hoodie. What luck someone had found it and just put it back on the table and hadn’t made off with it, as I am pretty sure would have happened in the States. That weight off my mind, I called Llew to inform him that my card had been found as he was very upset yesterday on the phone when I told him that I had misplaced it.
Crossing the street, I arrived at the Oxford Information Center where I saw a large crowd gathered for the start of the tour. I was shocked at the large numbers of people who wished to follow in the footsteps of dear Inspector Morse. Amazing how many people love the series and have made it their business to find out more about it. The crowd, comprising mainly English people, though there was a fair sprinkling of Americans, was then divided into three smaller groups and I chose to attach myself to a rather nice-looking older man with a booming voice and a twinkle in his eye called Alistair Lack dressed in a rather dapper beige linen suit. The other two group leaders were women. I hoped and I prayed that he would be better than the one who gave the 'Harry Potter Tour' yesterday which had been a huge disaster for me.
Well, I sure lucked out today! Let me tell you that Alistair Lack was just wonderful and the tour was splendid. There was so much I learned about the series—both the book series and the TV series. In addition, I learned a great deal about the creator of the character of Inspector Morse, Colin Dexter (who also lives in North Oxford, not too far from where I currently live), about the late John Thaw (who lovably played Inspector Morse in the TV series), about Kevin Whatley who played his side kick Sergeant Lewis, about Julian Mitchell who wrote the screenplays, about the late Academy-award winning Anthony Mingella who produced the earlier shows (until Kenny McBain took over) and about Barrington Phelong (whose music composition, I have always thought, simply makes the series). I learned that the crew filmed 33 episodes that were filmed and viewed over 13 years--an average of 3 shows a year. The show attracted 30 million viewers at its first screening and, 13 years later, had the exact same number watch the final episode--this meant that one in five people in Great Britain watched the episodes as they aired!
Not only had Lack read all the books, he had watched all the episodes and he had actually met Colin Dexter several times as well as Kevin Whatley. He brought all these anecdotes into his commentary which was extremely interesting and very succinctly delivered, interspersed as it was with jokes and that typical wry brand of British humor (which I know I will sorely miss when I return to the States). Because Lack is an Oxonian himself (he graduated from University College where he had read History eventually becoming a History teacher at the Scindia School in Gwalior, India, for a short while before joining the BBC in Delhi), he also told us a great deal about the history of the colleges and the university and about the educational system that prevails in this hallowed institution. But everywhere he stopped he brought his comments back to Inspector Morse. He led us through the Town versus Gown conflicts that have persisted for centuries and showed how they were worked into the plots and the scripts. He took us to hardware stores and clothiers from The High and Turl Street to the Broad and everywhere he brought Morse and his romantic interests into his own script.
And yes, he did talk about all the pubs that Morse frequents in the series—from The Bear on tiny medieval Magpie Lane to the rather touristy Trout Inn in Wolvercote from The Booksbinder’s Arms in Jericho (which he recommended highly) and which he said is one of his own favorite Oxford pubs to the White Horse right next door to Blackwell’s. He also talked about the cinematic role played by Morse’s pub-crawling, which I thought was rather interesting. Every time the director wanted a quiet bit in the plot, he took Morse to a pub. Thus, scenes of murder and mayhem are followed by a swift pint of finest ale. Having had a Pimm’s myself at The Trout with my friend Annalisa, a few years ago, I can say that there is nothing more enjoyable than a drink overlooking the river as the sun sinks low in the west on a summer’s evening and the muffled roar of the weir reaches one’s ears. I am hoping I will have a chance to do the walk along the banks of the Isis again to Godstow Lock and on to Wolvercote to The Trout before I leave from here.
Throughout the tour, we were kept enthralled and engaged. The only downside (and that is not something for which we can blame either the guide or the Oxford Information Center), was that we were unable to enter any of the colleges as they were all closed as it is the very last day of the academic year. Students are leaving, their bag and baggage littered all over the quads as they move out. The last few remaining ones who were still taking the last final exams today could be seen walking or cycling along in their examination gear (as Oxford has a strict dress code for exam days—black gowns and mortar board caps with a red carnation pierced into the button holes of both males and females alike). He particularly wanted to take us to the quad of Exeter College where Morse actually has a heart attack and dies in the last episode, The Remorseless Day. Since I know the quad of Exeter College well (having spent endless hours sprawled on its green lawn in my youth), I was sorry that we were unable to enter it or indeed to see the beautiful chapel with its Edward Burne-Jones tapestry on The Adoration of the Magi and the lovely medieval mosaics that glint and shine in candlelight. Still (once I get my ID card, hopefully on Monday morning), I can enter any of the colleges and their libraries—which I hope I will still find the time to do.
I was also pleased to see that the rooftop of the Margary Quadrangle where my own room was located and which faces The Broad has been adorned by one of Anthony Gormley’s nude males—these look very similar to the casts of his own body that I had seen on Crosby Beach near Liverpool and the three male nude figures that adorn the lawn in my friend Loulou’s farmhouse home in Suffolk—only she had told me that though they looked like Gormley’s work, they were not.
The Tour ended in two hours, i.e. at 3. 30 pm. It is certainly one of the highlights of my year here in the UK and I do so wish that Llew was with me as I am sure he would have loved it as much as I did as we have watched all the Morse TV episodes together over the years and he remembers the plots much more than I do. I guess I am so focused on the locations, the music and the interaction between Morse and Lewis, not to mention the brilliant acting and directing, that the plots are of the least interest to me, really. But, I guess I can convey to Llew a great deal of what I learned this afternoon. Though it was a very warm afternoon, I did not mind the heat or the endless standing (we did not get a chance to sit anywhere) because the material was so absorbing.
The Rest of my Evening:
I then took a bus to Headington from Carfax as I wanted to check out some of the thrift shops there; but this took me less than an hour. I did not find anything except for some cold cuts (roast beef) at Waitrose, which I brought home to make myself a sandwich dinner with a croissant (which I had put aside at breakfast).
Once I got off the bus on The High, I walked quickly towards Blackwell’s to buy myself a copy of The Oxford of Inspector Morse by Bill Leonard, a hardbound book that was being offered at a 50% discount. I intend to use it as a companion piece when I watch the series again—as I had bought the whole lot at Christmastime and had sent them back with Llew. I look forward very much to the pleasure of seeing them all again on the new large screen TV that we intend to buy as soon as I reach Connecticut
Evensong at Christ Church Cathedral:
Left with just enough time to walk briskly to Christ Church College, I was let in easily when I said I wanted to attend Evensong in the Cathedral. I found myself a seat right near the choir and looked forward to a lovely one-hour long service. The Evensong I had attended at King’s College in Cambridge is another one of the highlights of my year—funny how I am now enumerating all the highlights as my year is coming to a close.
The service was as solemn and uplifting as I had imagined, though I have to say that the Cambridge one was more atmospheric because it was conducted in candle light which lent a golden glow to the plain gray granite walls of the towering nave of the chapel.
Just as the service ended and we made our way out of the Cathedral, it started to rain—great large drops filtered through the bright sunshine! It was so odd! We sheltered in the porch near the Porter’s Lodge for a good long time until the worst of the shower had passed; but all the way back home to Norham Road, I was dogged by spells of intermittently heavy and light rain that soaked me pretty thoroughly before I reached my front door.
Settling down for the evening, I changed out of my clothes, and then fixed myself a roast beef sandwich dinner and a pot of lovely tea with lemon—I drank two steaming cups. I ate my dinner while watching a British TV channel that offered old reruns of game shows—I saw something called Mr. and Mrs. followed by Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (British version) before a new TV comedy called Mumbai Calling starring Sanjeev Bhaskar (husband of Meera Syall) came on. I was keen to see it because of my own Bombay connections and because I had heard about it a few weeks ago on BBC’s Breakfast Show when the stars of the show were interviewed. As it turned out, I found it terribly lame and not even remotely funny.
I have to say that I am rather enjoying my summer days here in Oxford and am very glad that I have returned to this most beloved of cities. As a student I had stayed in Exeter College, which at that stage in my life was such a novel experience. Now that I am in, let us say my mature years, it feels great to be based in North Oxford where most of Oxford’s dons have homes. These are solid Victorian stone affairs with beautiful high steps leading to wooden front doors. The driveways are pebbly paths with pale pink roses spilling over stone walls and lavender borders fragrant with blooms that lend a purple tinge to the pavements. The occasional car drives lazily past and often I see couples stroll by, hand in had, dressed in formal evening clothing. This being the last week of classes, there have been parties and formal dos galore, followed by fireworks at night that I can hear in the distance. Students are out in their formal best creating the sort of memories that will stay with them for the rest of their lives even if they never see each other again.
Though I am a mere observer of the life I see around me, I feel like something of an intruder in the lives of these young folks. I walk along these honey toned streets thinking constantly of the scenes from Brideshead Revisited, that great great Oxford novel that so epitomized and romanticized for me the undergraduate life of this university town and I wonder how many of the beautiful students I see around me will carry forever in their hearts and minds the indelible scenes that Evelyn Waugh’s novel and Colin Dexter’s stories created in my own mind and heart to dwell there forever.
Oxford
I wasn’t making too much progress with Harry Potter, so I was pleased to wake up at 7.00 and be able to read the novel for an hour. I thought breakfast would be at 8 am as usual but when I went downstairs to wash and dress, I found everything so quiet and there wasn’t the delicious aroma of toast that has woken me up on recent mornings. Because no one seemed to be stirring, I thought it was a great time to have a shower and that I did—and how much I enjoyed it!
Back in my room (which I just realized is right above the car port in a sort of addition to this rambling stone house), I checked the Breakfast Timings as printed in my room and realized that on Saturdays, breakfast is served at 8. 30 am. That left me ample time to get dressed and start working on my lecture on ‘Post-Colonial South Asian Literature from Great Britain’, which I have been invited to deliver at Exeter College, Oxford, on July 22. I worked very steadily and when I heard voices coming from the dining room, which is not too far from my room, I joined my three fellow-lodgers who were already at the table and spent the next 45 minutes eating a large breakfast—cereal with milk, toast with butter, orange juice and coffee. I knew I would not have much time for a big lunch as I had the ‘Inspector Morse Tour’ to take at 1. 30, so I decided to have a breakfast large enough to keep me going until at least teatime.
I spent the next couple of hours working steadily on my lecture and made good headway though I was rather disappointed that my inability to connect to the wireless internet in this house in North Oxford makes it impossible for me to back check facts when I need to footnote my lecture. However, I also enjoyed sitting in my room in this house in North Oxford and working. I thought our home in Southport, Connecticut, was quiet on weekend mornings and then I started to stay in the loft in Farringdon in London—and boy, is that quiet! And now here I am on Norham Road off Banbury Road in Oxford where the silence is so complete. There was not even a bird twittering in the trees and it wasn't until noon that the cobalt blue door of the house on the opposite side of the street opened and the family went out for a spin in their silver grey car. I am finally staying in a place in which I can actually feel a sense of community with my surroundings—and I am really enjoying it!
Off to Discover Morse’s Oxford:
When I had mentioned to my fellow lodgers that I was out today to see ‘Inspector Morse’s Oxford’, the Japanese chap had remarked, rather cleverly, that perhaps this would mean a pub crawl because all Morse does is drink in Oxford’s various pubs! Well, he was not far from the truth!
At 12 noon, I set out first to St. Antony’s College to find out if by any chance I had dropped my credit card there when I was over yesterday—as I am missing it! No such luck! So I walked briskly towards St. Giles, all the time praying that it would have been found in Blackwell’s coffee shop (Café Nero) where I had met Philip Imray for a coffee and a chat yesterday. En route, I saw a number of books on Morse and Oxford and thought that I should buy one of them as I need to find out more about the Oxford backdrop of the series.
Upstairs, I could have kissed the waitress who served me yesterday. Yes, she had found my credit card, which had fallen out of the pocket of my jeans as I was leaving and had shrugged into my hoodie. What luck someone had found it and just put it back on the table and hadn’t made off with it, as I am pretty sure would have happened in the States. That weight off my mind, I called Llew to inform him that my card had been found as he was very upset yesterday on the phone when I told him that I had misplaced it.
Crossing the street, I arrived at the Oxford Information Center where I saw a large crowd gathered for the start of the tour. I was shocked at the large numbers of people who wished to follow in the footsteps of dear Inspector Morse. Amazing how many people love the series and have made it their business to find out more about it. The crowd, comprising mainly English people, though there was a fair sprinkling of Americans, was then divided into three smaller groups and I chose to attach myself to a rather nice-looking older man with a booming voice and a twinkle in his eye called Alistair Lack dressed in a rather dapper beige linen suit. The other two group leaders were women. I hoped and I prayed that he would be better than the one who gave the 'Harry Potter Tour' yesterday which had been a huge disaster for me.
Well, I sure lucked out today! Let me tell you that Alistair Lack was just wonderful and the tour was splendid. There was so much I learned about the series—both the book series and the TV series. In addition, I learned a great deal about the creator of the character of Inspector Morse, Colin Dexter (who also lives in North Oxford, not too far from where I currently live), about the late John Thaw (who lovably played Inspector Morse in the TV series), about Kevin Whatley who played his side kick Sergeant Lewis, about Julian Mitchell who wrote the screenplays, about the late Academy-award winning Anthony Mingella who produced the earlier shows (until Kenny McBain took over) and about Barrington Phelong (whose music composition, I have always thought, simply makes the series). I learned that the crew filmed 33 episodes that were filmed and viewed over 13 years--an average of 3 shows a year. The show attracted 30 million viewers at its first screening and, 13 years later, had the exact same number watch the final episode--this meant that one in five people in Great Britain watched the episodes as they aired!
Not only had Lack read all the books, he had watched all the episodes and he had actually met Colin Dexter several times as well as Kevin Whatley. He brought all these anecdotes into his commentary which was extremely interesting and very succinctly delivered, interspersed as it was with jokes and that typical wry brand of British humor (which I know I will sorely miss when I return to the States). Because Lack is an Oxonian himself (he graduated from University College where he had read History eventually becoming a History teacher at the Scindia School in Gwalior, India, for a short while before joining the BBC in Delhi), he also told us a great deal about the history of the colleges and the university and about the educational system that prevails in this hallowed institution. But everywhere he stopped he brought his comments back to Inspector Morse. He led us through the Town versus Gown conflicts that have persisted for centuries and showed how they were worked into the plots and the scripts. He took us to hardware stores and clothiers from The High and Turl Street to the Broad and everywhere he brought Morse and his romantic interests into his own script.
And yes, he did talk about all the pubs that Morse frequents in the series—from The Bear on tiny medieval Magpie Lane to the rather touristy Trout Inn in Wolvercote from The Booksbinder’s Arms in Jericho (which he recommended highly) and which he said is one of his own favorite Oxford pubs to the White Horse right next door to Blackwell’s. He also talked about the cinematic role played by Morse’s pub-crawling, which I thought was rather interesting. Every time the director wanted a quiet bit in the plot, he took Morse to a pub. Thus, scenes of murder and mayhem are followed by a swift pint of finest ale. Having had a Pimm’s myself at The Trout with my friend Annalisa, a few years ago, I can say that there is nothing more enjoyable than a drink overlooking the river as the sun sinks low in the west on a summer’s evening and the muffled roar of the weir reaches one’s ears. I am hoping I will have a chance to do the walk along the banks of the Isis again to Godstow Lock and on to Wolvercote to The Trout before I leave from here.
Throughout the tour, we were kept enthralled and engaged. The only downside (and that is not something for which we can blame either the guide or the Oxford Information Center), was that we were unable to enter any of the colleges as they were all closed as it is the very last day of the academic year. Students are leaving, their bag and baggage littered all over the quads as they move out. The last few remaining ones who were still taking the last final exams today could be seen walking or cycling along in their examination gear (as Oxford has a strict dress code for exam days—black gowns and mortar board caps with a red carnation pierced into the button holes of both males and females alike). He particularly wanted to take us to the quad of Exeter College where Morse actually has a heart attack and dies in the last episode, The Remorseless Day. Since I know the quad of Exeter College well (having spent endless hours sprawled on its green lawn in my youth), I was sorry that we were unable to enter it or indeed to see the beautiful chapel with its Edward Burne-Jones tapestry on The Adoration of the Magi and the lovely medieval mosaics that glint and shine in candlelight. Still (once I get my ID card, hopefully on Monday morning), I can enter any of the colleges and their libraries—which I hope I will still find the time to do.
I was also pleased to see that the rooftop of the Margary Quadrangle where my own room was located and which faces The Broad has been adorned by one of Anthony Gormley’s nude males—these look very similar to the casts of his own body that I had seen on Crosby Beach near Liverpool and the three male nude figures that adorn the lawn in my friend Loulou’s farmhouse home in Suffolk—only she had told me that though they looked like Gormley’s work, they were not.
The Tour ended in two hours, i.e. at 3. 30 pm. It is certainly one of the highlights of my year here in the UK and I do so wish that Llew was with me as I am sure he would have loved it as much as I did as we have watched all the Morse TV episodes together over the years and he remembers the plots much more than I do. I guess I am so focused on the locations, the music and the interaction between Morse and Lewis, not to mention the brilliant acting and directing, that the plots are of the least interest to me, really. But, I guess I can convey to Llew a great deal of what I learned this afternoon. Though it was a very warm afternoon, I did not mind the heat or the endless standing (we did not get a chance to sit anywhere) because the material was so absorbing.
The Rest of my Evening:
I then took a bus to Headington from Carfax as I wanted to check out some of the thrift shops there; but this took me less than an hour. I did not find anything except for some cold cuts (roast beef) at Waitrose, which I brought home to make myself a sandwich dinner with a croissant (which I had put aside at breakfast).
Once I got off the bus on The High, I walked quickly towards Blackwell’s to buy myself a copy of The Oxford of Inspector Morse by Bill Leonard, a hardbound book that was being offered at a 50% discount. I intend to use it as a companion piece when I watch the series again—as I had bought the whole lot at Christmastime and had sent them back with Llew. I look forward very much to the pleasure of seeing them all again on the new large screen TV that we intend to buy as soon as I reach Connecticut
Evensong at Christ Church Cathedral:
Left with just enough time to walk briskly to Christ Church College, I was let in easily when I said I wanted to attend Evensong in the Cathedral. I found myself a seat right near the choir and looked forward to a lovely one-hour long service. The Evensong I had attended at King’s College in Cambridge is another one of the highlights of my year—funny how I am now enumerating all the highlights as my year is coming to a close.
The service was as solemn and uplifting as I had imagined, though I have to say that the Cambridge one was more atmospheric because it was conducted in candle light which lent a golden glow to the plain gray granite walls of the towering nave of the chapel.
Just as the service ended and we made our way out of the Cathedral, it started to rain—great large drops filtered through the bright sunshine! It was so odd! We sheltered in the porch near the Porter’s Lodge for a good long time until the worst of the shower had passed; but all the way back home to Norham Road, I was dogged by spells of intermittently heavy and light rain that soaked me pretty thoroughly before I reached my front door.
Settling down for the evening, I changed out of my clothes, and then fixed myself a roast beef sandwich dinner and a pot of lovely tea with lemon—I drank two steaming cups. I ate my dinner while watching a British TV channel that offered old reruns of game shows—I saw something called Mr. and Mrs. followed by Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (British version) before a new TV comedy called Mumbai Calling starring Sanjeev Bhaskar (husband of Meera Syall) came on. I was keen to see it because of my own Bombay connections and because I had heard about it a few weeks ago on BBC’s Breakfast Show when the stars of the show were interviewed. As it turned out, I found it terribly lame and not even remotely funny.
I have to say that I am rather enjoying my summer days here in Oxford and am very glad that I have returned to this most beloved of cities. As a student I had stayed in Exeter College, which at that stage in my life was such a novel experience. Now that I am in, let us say my mature years, it feels great to be based in North Oxford where most of Oxford’s dons have homes. These are solid Victorian stone affairs with beautiful high steps leading to wooden front doors. The driveways are pebbly paths with pale pink roses spilling over stone walls and lavender borders fragrant with blooms that lend a purple tinge to the pavements. The occasional car drives lazily past and often I see couples stroll by, hand in had, dressed in formal evening clothing. This being the last week of classes, there have been parties and formal dos galore, followed by fireworks at night that I can hear in the distance. Students are out in their formal best creating the sort of memories that will stay with them for the rest of their lives even if they never see each other again.
Though I am a mere observer of the life I see around me, I feel like something of an intruder in the lives of these young folks. I walk along these honey toned streets thinking constantly of the scenes from Brideshead Revisited, that great great Oxford novel that so epitomized and romanticized for me the undergraduate life of this university town and I wonder how many of the beautiful students I see around me will carry forever in their hearts and minds the indelible scenes that Evelyn Waugh’s novel and Colin Dexter’s stories created in my own mind and heart to dwell there forever.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Pottering in Harry's Footsteps
Friday, June 26, 2009
Oxford and Witney
I guess the great weather had to come to an end sometime and that happened today. I awoke to the drumming of raindrops on my windowpane and though my curtains were drawn and didn’t allow me to see the falling droplets, I could hear them. I awoke at 7. 00 am, read Harry Potter for about 45 minutes, then got up to wash and dress and start breakfast at 9 am. It was a Continental affair again with a new face at the table—a girl from Johns Hopkins whose name I did not catch. We had a companionable breakfast and then it was time for me to get dressed and get to St. Antony’s College to pick up my ID card.
But great disappointment awaited me there as the card had not arrived (stuck somewhere in in an inter-office mailbag) and since today is Friday, I cannot expect to get it until Monday morning. Needless to say, I was annoyed as I walked towards The Broad. I had an 11.oo am appointment with an Anglo-Indian called Philip who had agreed to drive up to Oxford to meet me as he lives in nearby Bicester (pronounced 'Bister'--bizaare!). The rain had stopped but the rain-washed scent of fresh summer flowers wafted towards me from the passing gardens along Woodstock Road with each step I took. The air was fresh and clean and despite the lack of sunshine, it was warm and rather humid and I had to pull my hoodie off.
An Interview with another Anglo-Indian:
Philip was already at the Blackwell’s Bookstore coffee shop when I arrived there. Every time I need to meet someone in Oxford, this has become the spot for our rendezvous—being opposite the Sheldonian Theater, it is very easy to spot—though as Philip pointed out to me, there are two or three Blackwell’s Bookstores in town. Over a café latte, Philip answered all my questions very patiently indeed. I found a great deal in him to admire especially his dedication to fund raising which allows him to help destitute Anglo-Indians in India. Our conversation was very interesting with never a dull moment. As always, the stories of these individuals inspire me deeply and make my fieldwork really stimulating.
The Harry Potter Tour:
It was almost 1. 30 by the time we left Blackwell’s. I crossed Broad Street (The Broad) to get to the Oxford Information Center but found that the folks who wished to take the Harry Potter Tour had already gathered outside the store. I joined them, produced my ticket and was introduced to the guide who would start to lead the tour in a few minutes. There were 20 people on the tour, of which at least half the number were children between the ages of six and eleven. The tour began with an introduction outside the store and from then on, it continued for two hours, the bulk of which I found deeply uninteresting.
In fact, I believe that this tour is a real misnomer. It merely cashes in on the Harry Potter hype and left me felling deeply disappointed. As the tour guide stated at the outset, “This is a tour about Oxford with a little bit of Harry Potter thrown in”. Granted I have only seen the first Harry Potter film, but the fact that I have read all the books (and recently at that) ought to have made it fascinating for me. Instead of which, I found myself bored stiff for most of the tour. The commentary was slow and lack luster and just very monotonously delivered and I found the kids just wilting with boredom. I doubt many of the adults were deeply stimulated either.
The group was led to just three spots associated with the Harry Potter films: the Divinity School where we were told about one of the scenes (when Harry is in the sanatorium in Book Four—The Goblet of Fire) and then we were shown pictures of Duke Humphrey’s Library where a part of the first film was shot. But we were not allowed into the library. When I asked the guide why he weren’t taken there, he said we’d have had to pay more. But we had already paid over 10 pounds for this tour! It wasn’t inexpensive, so why wasn’t Duke Humphrey’s Library included? Such a rip off!!!
Next, we went to New College where, in the cloisters, we were shown the spot where Malfoy is turned into a ferret under the shady branches of a spreading oak. Inside, in New College Chapel, we were shown the Joshua Reynolds stained glass windows and an El Greco painting of St. James--but there were no further associations with Potter.
The third location associated with the film was Christ Church College where we taken up the stairs with the spectacular fan-vaulted ceiling (where Prof. McGonnagal greets the new freshman students to Hogwarts) to the Great Hall (which was the inspiration for the Hall in the films—I repeat, this was the inspiration for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, but the film was not shot on location here.)
So, basically, we were taken into Christ Church College to see the Hall and the Cathedral (both of which we could have done on our own without joining a Harry Potter Tour). Needless to say, I was deeply irritated with the entire tour, which I thought was a complete waste of money. I certainly hope that the Inspector Morse Tour which I am taking tomorrow will be more interesting and will have a younger and livelier guide and one who can make the commentary more humorous and more absorbing.
My Tour of Christ Church Cathedral:
I have to say that I found the tour of Christ Church Cathedral very interesting (but it had nothing whatsoever to do with Harry Potter). In fact, the guide had left us by this point and said goodbye, so we wandered around on our own. I have never been in here before and have decided that I will try to attend Evensong here tomorrow at 6 pm. Christ Church Choir is world famous (like King’s College Choir in Cambridge) and one of the highlights of my stay in England had been the opportunity to listen to them last December when I was in Cambridge.
Christ Church College has a rich and unique history. Not only was it founded by Cardinal Wolsey who began building it with his own colossal fortune (which explains why the symbol of the college is a Cardinal’s hat) but when he fell out of favor with the king, construction was abandoned until King Henry VIII took interest in it once again, called it King’s College for a while and later called it Christ Church College.The foundations of what were intended to become the cloisters can still be seen around the quadrangle. These were never completed. It is a Cathedral because it contains the seat or chair (‘cathedra’ in Latin) of a bishop. Thus, it is both a cathedral as well as a college chapel—the only one of its kind in the UK. It was used during the Civil War by Charles I as a refuge until he tried to escape from Oxford, was caught and led to his execution. It has some beautiful stained glass windows by Edward Burne-Jones done in the distinctive style of the Pre-Raphaelites. I found all of this material much more interesting than anything I saw on the Harry Potter Tour.
A Trip to Witney to Meet A Friend:
I hurried out of Christ Church College to try to find a bus that would take me to Witney where I had made plans to meet an old Oxford friend, Stan Fuller, once Hall Stewart at Exeter College when I was a student there. Stan and I have stayed friends over the years only through letters and the annual Christmas cards as he does not use email. Over the years, on my many trips to Oxford, I have met him for a cup of coffee and each time, I have found that his health has deteriorated some more. In recent years, he has become practically disabled with a knee injury that had rendered him bound to a wheel chair at home (he is now 77 years old). Though he does walk about with the aid of a walker, it is very difficult for him to move about.
I would have been pleased to have seen him in his own home, but clearly he did not wish to have me over in his house in Eynsham (pronounced En-shim). He suggested we meet in Witney Market Square and I took the Stagecoach S1 from Gloucester Green to meet him—a lovely journey that took about 45 minutes, given the rush hour traffic. I had a lively conversation on the bus with a lady who pointed out very interesting things to me along the way as the bus wound through the patch work quilt of the fields, past the little picturesque, typically English villages of the Cotswolds and a multitude of animals—horses, sheep and dappled cows were all in pasture .
Stan was waiting for me and I have to say that I was shocked to see how much he has aged since we last met—which must have been about eight to ten years ago. He has put on an enormous amount of weight (probably from lack of exercise) and he has black bags or pouches hanging under his eyes which I do not recall seeing before. My heart went out to him and I was so saddened by the manner in which he has aged. Given the hardships he had encountered to meet me, I was deeply touched by the effort he put into our meeting.
I suggested we get to a pub for a meal and that’s where we ended. Witney is a small medieval market town with its little market square, its stone shelter, its clock tower, its village green abutting a church with a brown stone turret-like spire. There is the sprinkling of shops and pubs in the market square and it was in one if these that we settled down for a natter. I ordered a half pint of cider for myself and a ginger ale for Stan who chose fish and chips while I had the steak and ale pie. There was rather a lot to talk about and Stan was eager to tell me everything about his family—his wife, his children and grand children. His interest in British History is very impressive and he always fills me in on valuable local historical information when we get together. He told me, for instance, that Witney used to be the center of the wool blanket industry—sadly, the last factory closed over ten years ago. He also told me that the native Americans were very partial to Witney blankets and that they once averted a massacre by using Witney blankets that they knotted together to shimmy down a ravine while the US Cavalry settled down for the night intending to attack them the next morning. I thought it was amusing that Stan referred to them as “red Indians”—a phrase that we used to use for native Americans when we lived in India. It has been a long time since I have heard that phrase!
Twenty-two years ago, it was a much younger and more vigorous Stan who had driven my friend Dr. Firdaus Gandavia (then a young doctoral student like myself) and me to Boar’s Hill to Matthew Arnold’s field to see his “dreaming spires of Oxford” from the vantage point at which he had sat and composed his famous poem The Scholar Gypsy. I still have a picture that I had taken then as I had perched on a wooden stile that protected the field from straying cattle. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since that lovely summer’s evening, so many years ago, and these memories were very much on my mind as I recalled how much local history Stan had introduced us to then. If only we could stop the Hand of Time from marching on in its destructive fashion, robbing us of our vitality and energy and leaving us to nurse wounded shadows of ourselves in our old age. All these thoughts made my meeting with Stan very poignant indeed and I am very glad that I made the effort to get together with him. Who knows, but the next time I return to Oxford, Stan might no longer by able to meet me anywhere!
It was finally time to say goodbye to Stan at 8. 20 pm when we stood together at the bus stop to wait for the bus that would drop him off at Eynsham and take me on to Oxford. It was while we were at the bus stop that he broke the news to me that a famous singer had died last night,. He could not get his name and asked the young girl sitting at the bus stop, “Who was the singer who passed away last night?” and she replied, “Michael Jackson”. You could have struck me down with a feather! Of course, I have no access to news media of any kind…so I had no idea anything of the sort had happened. Needless to say, I was speechless and when I finally did receive the details, the young girl told me he had died of a heart attack.
I have to say that I was still reeling with shock when I got off the bus at Oxford and walked on the Banbury Road to my place.
I spent the evening typing this blog and chatting with Llew and then getting ready for bed as I was suddenly very tired indeed.
Oxford and Witney
I guess the great weather had to come to an end sometime and that happened today. I awoke to the drumming of raindrops on my windowpane and though my curtains were drawn and didn’t allow me to see the falling droplets, I could hear them. I awoke at 7. 00 am, read Harry Potter for about 45 minutes, then got up to wash and dress and start breakfast at 9 am. It was a Continental affair again with a new face at the table—a girl from Johns Hopkins whose name I did not catch. We had a companionable breakfast and then it was time for me to get dressed and get to St. Antony’s College to pick up my ID card.
But great disappointment awaited me there as the card had not arrived (stuck somewhere in in an inter-office mailbag) and since today is Friday, I cannot expect to get it until Monday morning. Needless to say, I was annoyed as I walked towards The Broad. I had an 11.oo am appointment with an Anglo-Indian called Philip who had agreed to drive up to Oxford to meet me as he lives in nearby Bicester (pronounced 'Bister'--bizaare!). The rain had stopped but the rain-washed scent of fresh summer flowers wafted towards me from the passing gardens along Woodstock Road with each step I took. The air was fresh and clean and despite the lack of sunshine, it was warm and rather humid and I had to pull my hoodie off.
An Interview with another Anglo-Indian:
Philip was already at the Blackwell’s Bookstore coffee shop when I arrived there. Every time I need to meet someone in Oxford, this has become the spot for our rendezvous—being opposite the Sheldonian Theater, it is very easy to spot—though as Philip pointed out to me, there are two or three Blackwell’s Bookstores in town. Over a café latte, Philip answered all my questions very patiently indeed. I found a great deal in him to admire especially his dedication to fund raising which allows him to help destitute Anglo-Indians in India. Our conversation was very interesting with never a dull moment. As always, the stories of these individuals inspire me deeply and make my fieldwork really stimulating.
The Harry Potter Tour:
It was almost 1. 30 by the time we left Blackwell’s. I crossed Broad Street (The Broad) to get to the Oxford Information Center but found that the folks who wished to take the Harry Potter Tour had already gathered outside the store. I joined them, produced my ticket and was introduced to the guide who would start to lead the tour in a few minutes. There were 20 people on the tour, of which at least half the number were children between the ages of six and eleven. The tour began with an introduction outside the store and from then on, it continued for two hours, the bulk of which I found deeply uninteresting.
In fact, I believe that this tour is a real misnomer. It merely cashes in on the Harry Potter hype and left me felling deeply disappointed. As the tour guide stated at the outset, “This is a tour about Oxford with a little bit of Harry Potter thrown in”. Granted I have only seen the first Harry Potter film, but the fact that I have read all the books (and recently at that) ought to have made it fascinating for me. Instead of which, I found myself bored stiff for most of the tour. The commentary was slow and lack luster and just very monotonously delivered and I found the kids just wilting with boredom. I doubt many of the adults were deeply stimulated either.
The group was led to just three spots associated with the Harry Potter films: the Divinity School where we were told about one of the scenes (when Harry is in the sanatorium in Book Four—The Goblet of Fire) and then we were shown pictures of Duke Humphrey’s Library where a part of the first film was shot. But we were not allowed into the library. When I asked the guide why he weren’t taken there, he said we’d have had to pay more. But we had already paid over 10 pounds for this tour! It wasn’t inexpensive, so why wasn’t Duke Humphrey’s Library included? Such a rip off!!!
Next, we went to New College where, in the cloisters, we were shown the spot where Malfoy is turned into a ferret under the shady branches of a spreading oak. Inside, in New College Chapel, we were shown the Joshua Reynolds stained glass windows and an El Greco painting of St. James--but there were no further associations with Potter.
The third location associated with the film was Christ Church College where we taken up the stairs with the spectacular fan-vaulted ceiling (where Prof. McGonnagal greets the new freshman students to Hogwarts) to the Great Hall (which was the inspiration for the Hall in the films—I repeat, this was the inspiration for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, but the film was not shot on location here.)
So, basically, we were taken into Christ Church College to see the Hall and the Cathedral (both of which we could have done on our own without joining a Harry Potter Tour). Needless to say, I was deeply irritated with the entire tour, which I thought was a complete waste of money. I certainly hope that the Inspector Morse Tour which I am taking tomorrow will be more interesting and will have a younger and livelier guide and one who can make the commentary more humorous and more absorbing.
My Tour of Christ Church Cathedral:
I have to say that I found the tour of Christ Church Cathedral very interesting (but it had nothing whatsoever to do with Harry Potter). In fact, the guide had left us by this point and said goodbye, so we wandered around on our own. I have never been in here before and have decided that I will try to attend Evensong here tomorrow at 6 pm. Christ Church Choir is world famous (like King’s College Choir in Cambridge) and one of the highlights of my stay in England had been the opportunity to listen to them last December when I was in Cambridge.
Christ Church College has a rich and unique history. Not only was it founded by Cardinal Wolsey who began building it with his own colossal fortune (which explains why the symbol of the college is a Cardinal’s hat) but when he fell out of favor with the king, construction was abandoned until King Henry VIII took interest in it once again, called it King’s College for a while and later called it Christ Church College.The foundations of what were intended to become the cloisters can still be seen around the quadrangle. These were never completed. It is a Cathedral because it contains the seat or chair (‘cathedra’ in Latin) of a bishop. Thus, it is both a cathedral as well as a college chapel—the only one of its kind in the UK. It was used during the Civil War by Charles I as a refuge until he tried to escape from Oxford, was caught and led to his execution. It has some beautiful stained glass windows by Edward Burne-Jones done in the distinctive style of the Pre-Raphaelites. I found all of this material much more interesting than anything I saw on the Harry Potter Tour.
A Trip to Witney to Meet A Friend:
I hurried out of Christ Church College to try to find a bus that would take me to Witney where I had made plans to meet an old Oxford friend, Stan Fuller, once Hall Stewart at Exeter College when I was a student there. Stan and I have stayed friends over the years only through letters and the annual Christmas cards as he does not use email. Over the years, on my many trips to Oxford, I have met him for a cup of coffee and each time, I have found that his health has deteriorated some more. In recent years, he has become practically disabled with a knee injury that had rendered him bound to a wheel chair at home (he is now 77 years old). Though he does walk about with the aid of a walker, it is very difficult for him to move about.
I would have been pleased to have seen him in his own home, but clearly he did not wish to have me over in his house in Eynsham (pronounced En-shim). He suggested we meet in Witney Market Square and I took the Stagecoach S1 from Gloucester Green to meet him—a lovely journey that took about 45 minutes, given the rush hour traffic. I had a lively conversation on the bus with a lady who pointed out very interesting things to me along the way as the bus wound through the patch work quilt of the fields, past the little picturesque, typically English villages of the Cotswolds and a multitude of animals—horses, sheep and dappled cows were all in pasture .
Stan was waiting for me and I have to say that I was shocked to see how much he has aged since we last met—which must have been about eight to ten years ago. He has put on an enormous amount of weight (probably from lack of exercise) and he has black bags or pouches hanging under his eyes which I do not recall seeing before. My heart went out to him and I was so saddened by the manner in which he has aged. Given the hardships he had encountered to meet me, I was deeply touched by the effort he put into our meeting.
I suggested we get to a pub for a meal and that’s where we ended. Witney is a small medieval market town with its little market square, its stone shelter, its clock tower, its village green abutting a church with a brown stone turret-like spire. There is the sprinkling of shops and pubs in the market square and it was in one if these that we settled down for a natter. I ordered a half pint of cider for myself and a ginger ale for Stan who chose fish and chips while I had the steak and ale pie. There was rather a lot to talk about and Stan was eager to tell me everything about his family—his wife, his children and grand children. His interest in British History is very impressive and he always fills me in on valuable local historical information when we get together. He told me, for instance, that Witney used to be the center of the wool blanket industry—sadly, the last factory closed over ten years ago. He also told me that the native Americans were very partial to Witney blankets and that they once averted a massacre by using Witney blankets that they knotted together to shimmy down a ravine while the US Cavalry settled down for the night intending to attack them the next morning. I thought it was amusing that Stan referred to them as “red Indians”—a phrase that we used to use for native Americans when we lived in India. It has been a long time since I have heard that phrase!
Twenty-two years ago, it was a much younger and more vigorous Stan who had driven my friend Dr. Firdaus Gandavia (then a young doctoral student like myself) and me to Boar’s Hill to Matthew Arnold’s field to see his “dreaming spires of Oxford” from the vantage point at which he had sat and composed his famous poem The Scholar Gypsy. I still have a picture that I had taken then as I had perched on a wooden stile that protected the field from straying cattle. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since that lovely summer’s evening, so many years ago, and these memories were very much on my mind as I recalled how much local history Stan had introduced us to then. If only we could stop the Hand of Time from marching on in its destructive fashion, robbing us of our vitality and energy and leaving us to nurse wounded shadows of ourselves in our old age. All these thoughts made my meeting with Stan very poignant indeed and I am very glad that I made the effort to get together with him. Who knows, but the next time I return to Oxford, Stan might no longer by able to meet me anywhere!
It was finally time to say goodbye to Stan at 8. 20 pm when we stood together at the bus stop to wait for the bus that would drop him off at Eynsham and take me on to Oxford. It was while we were at the bus stop that he broke the news to me that a famous singer had died last night,. He could not get his name and asked the young girl sitting at the bus stop, “Who was the singer who passed away last night?” and she replied, “Michael Jackson”. You could have struck me down with a feather! Of course, I have no access to news media of any kind…so I had no idea anything of the sort had happened. Needless to say, I was speechless and when I finally did receive the details, the young girl told me he had died of a heart attack.
I have to say that I was still reeling with shock when I got off the bus at Oxford and walked on the Banbury Road to my place.
I spent the evening typing this blog and chatting with Llew and then getting ready for bed as I was suddenly very tired indeed.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Blenheim Palace and Wandering in Woodstock
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Woodstock, Oxfordshire
Ah, the supreme joys of awaking in Oxford! It was not a minute before 7. 45 when I awoke with a start and realized that breakfast was at 8am. There was not a moment to be lost! I jumped out of bed, gathered my toiletries and clothes together and padded downstairs to my basement bathroom. At exactly 8 am, I heard voices coming from the Dining Room and on getting there at 8. 05, I found that three of my fellow lodgers, academics all, were already at breakfast!
We spent the next few minutes getting introduced: a New Zealander named Marni, a Japanese named Atsushi and an American named Andrea from Seton Hall in New Jersey! The first two are long-term guests and will be staying for several weeks more, the last is only here for a night. She is on a year-long Sabbatical at Somerville College and hopes to move into her own flat soon. Breakfast was Continental (no full English--bummer!!!--I was looking forward to some scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon!) but over muesli with milk, toast and hot rolls with marmalade and a selection of jams, we ate well. However, I did not linger too long as I had a
9. 35 am bus to catch on the Woodstock Road and I did not want to miss it.
So I grabbed my things and left at 9. 15, and was at the bus stop at 9. 20. I thought so much of my friend Annalisa and her boys as I passed right by the school that her little one Giacomo used to attend when she had spent the summer in Oxford, two years ago. I had visited her then and we had walked to the school together to pick him up. The bus was late and I began to despair and while I waited, I called my parents in Bombay and told them I was in Oxford and we caught up. Then, my bus came along and I was off (five pounds return ticket to Blenheim Palace--Stagecoach Bus Number S3). The journey took exactly half an hour and I do so wish I could find out which public bus would just take me winding through this beautiful network of Cotswold villages as it had done in Cornwall. From the bus stop to the Palace gates, it was a ten minute walk but it turned out to be another spectacular morning and I could not start complaining so early in the day!
The ticket granting admission to the park, gardens and house is a pricey 17. 50 pounds but I was fortunate enough to be able to avail of a pass that is valid for a whole year at the same price! Well, I might not return to Blenheim (pronounced 'Blen-um') ever again (though I have now learned never to say never--I remember, as a graduate student 22 years ago, I had thought that I would never return to Oxford and I came back so many times over the years!) but I figured the card would make a good souvenir--so I had my mug shot taken and was presented with a lovely gold printed laminated card!
Thus began my forays into one of the world's most magnificent homes, the handiwork of the famous John Vanbrugh, who, unbelievably never had any architectural training whatsoever--he was a dramatist by profession. Yes, he is the same one who created Castle Howard, another architectural masterpiece in Yorkshire which Llew and I had visited last August. Upon arriving at the main entrance (I was, by the way, the first visitor to enter the palace today!), we were informed that a bonus free tour of the garden would soon be conducted by Karen Wiseman, garden historian, and we could take that if we chose. Our tour of the house could begin after that.
Tour of the Gardens:
Well...naturally, this was too good a chance to pass up and sign up I did. A few minutes later, Karen did arrive and led us past the gravel terraces to the vast spread of green parkland (the handiwork, of course, of the renowned Capability Brown). She told us a little bit about the history of the house at this point and then about the gardens. She did encourage questions and several visitors did ask very sensible ones. They were obviously all enthusiastic gardeners themselves and I thoroughly enjoyed the tour. She also pointed out the flag that was flying to indicate that John, the current 11th Duke of Marlborough was in residence today.
In a nutshell, Blenheim has been around for so long (since 1705) and has been in the hands of so many well-known gardeners starting with Robert Wise (none of whose work exists today). Each left his particular mark upon the property and the end result is, like Cliveden, a series of separate gardens each with a distinctive style and aura. We started at the Italian garden with its neat yew hedging, classical statuary and water fountains, then went on to the Rose Garden (quite lovely at this time of year with every flower in bloom and loads of buds on each bush).
Our next stop was the Duke's private Italian garden which was also quite lovely though very formal. Visitors are not allowed into it though we could glimpse it from the edge. The last stop was at the Secret Garden, quite the most beautiful of them all with a Japanese style bridge fording a small lyrical stream and a variety of flowers such as deep blue irises and maroon day lilies bringing patches of color to the space that alternated between shady spots and brightly lit ones.
By this point, we had already trekked through the property for an hour and my feet were beginning to ache. My sneakers are not very comfortable and I have started to develop corns, so I should get myself some medication right away as I know I shall be doing a lot of walking during the next few days. When we got back to the house, I was told that we should start our tour on the ground floor with the special exhibit on Winston Churchill who was born at Blenheim Palace as his father Randolph was the brother of the then Duke of Marlborough.
The Winston Churchill Exhibition:
Having visited the Churchill Museum and the Cabinet War Rooms at Whitehall in London, I have to say that I did not expect too much on this tour; but let me tell you that this was one of the best exhibitions I have ever seen. It is quite brilliantly curated and takes us right into the very room in which Churchill was born. There is a letter framed on the wall from his father Randolf to the doctor who attended the birth, thanking him for his pains and paying him the fee of 12 guineas (I have no idea how much that would translate into modern currency).
The exhibition then wound us through the early years of this man who turned out to be one of the finest statesmen England has ever known and about his poignant connection with Blenheim. He wrote somewhere: "Two of the happiest things in my life happened here--I was born here and I asked my wife Clementine to marry me here". As it turned out, Karen had taken us to the Temple of Diana, a classical folly in the garden, and to the marble bench on which Winston had proposed. It was a supremely happy marriage and one based on a good solid romance.
We saw so many of his early letters to his "dear Pappa" and "darling Mamma", written when just a lad of eight and then whilst a student at Harrow and then from the front where he served himself with the Hussars together with his cousin, then Lord Blanford (who became the 10th Duke of Marlborough). All the time, we could hear recordings in the background of some of his most stirring war-time speeches and, believe, me, the quality of the oration and the passion and the conviction with which they were delivered brought tears to my eyes that ran down my cheeks, much to my embarrassment! It was just too moving for words! Possibly because I expected so little, I was overwhelmed and my response was just as impassioned! How marvelous it was to walk through the most significant milestones of "Winnie's" life and to realize the forces that shaped him into the steely man he became-- a hedonist with a healthy love for the best things in life as well as a clear head and a determination to overcome.
But I suppose for me the most amazing thing of all (as this year for me has been, among many things, a matter of art education of the highest quality) was that Churchill was an accomplished painter (who knew??!!) and that so many of his oil paintings that I saw were based on his years at Blenheim to which he was a regular visitor. Indeed, he said, "When I die, I will spend the first one thousand year in heaven painting so that I might get a sense of exactly how it is done". Such colossal talent in this most Renaissance of men and such modesty too!!! His paintings are truly good and were actually exhibited at the Royal Academy to which he submitted entries under a pseudonym so that no one could accuse him of being favored! If for no other reason than to achieve insights into the life and times and paintings of Winston Churchill, one ought to visit Blenheim!
Guided Tour and History of Blenheim:
At the end of the Churchill exhibition, we were joined by a guide who gave us a brief history of the Palace. Blenheim Palace came into existence after the Battle of Blenheim which ended on August 13, 1704, when the French commander Tallard surrendered to the English John Churchill bringing glorious victory to the British troops. John Churchill scribbled the news of the victory on a French tavern bill he had in his pocket and dispatched it to his wife, Sarah, requesting her to inform the Queen (Anne) of his triumph. The Queen was so delighted, she gave him 1000 gold guineas as a reward and about 12,000 acres of land in Woodstock. She also gave him the title Duke of Marlborough and John Churchill became the first one!
A year later, in 1704, John and Sarah chose John Vanbrugh to build them a magnificent house. Vanbrugh used Nicholas Hawksmoor as his assistant and with the contribution of the inimitable Grindling Gibbons who was in-charge of the stone carvings, work began on the Palace. Hence, it is incorrect (as the guides kept saying) that John Churchill was given the Palace as a gift for his victory at Blenheim by Queen Anne. In actual fact, he was given the land and the money--he built the Palace with it...the Palace did not exist prior to the Battle of Blenheim--so it is a typically 18th century piece of work with its emphasis on symmetry and balance and a nod to the achievements of Classical Antiquity--the true hallmarks of the English Baroque style. It was finished in 1713 but poor John Churchill only lived for a few years to enjoy it. He was dead by 1718 when the Dukedom and the Palace passed into the hands of his oldest daughter Henrietta as he had no male heirs. Clearly, there was an exception made in England's then normal rules of inheritance that allowed a female heir to inherit both the title and the property. A series of Dukes followed, some more profligate than others, each bringing his own stamp to the residence and gardens and making Blenheim what it is today.
The American connection comes in with the 9th Duke who finding himself bankrupt and wanting to keep the house within the family rather than letting it fall into the hands of the National Trust or English Heritage, decided to marry for money rather than for love. He consented to an arranged marriage with Consuelo Vanderbilt who was only one of the richest women in the world. Her social-climbing mother, not content with being a Vanderbilt, wanted a title for her daughter and was thrilled when she became a Duchess. Consuelo and the Duke were bitterly unhappy though she bore him three children and brought gazillion millions as her dowry into the marriage. This saved the Churchill estate but it did not bring any personal happiness to either of the spouses who could not stand each other. They were subsequently divorced and Consuelo remarried a Frenchman. The current Duke of Marlborough is in his 80s, recently remarried for the fourth time (his wife is at least half his age) and has four children: two by his first wife, two by his third wife (and he has two step-children). Of these, the one with whom I am most familiar is Lady Henrietta Spencer-Churchill who owns an interior decorating company, has written several books on interior design (all of which I own) and has a Woodstock-based shop called Woodstock Designs. It was easy for me to see where her love for interior design and decoration was nurtured, as I toured the home in which she grew up and where she is a still a frequent resident.
All this history was made known to us through a tour of the State Rooms of the House which we took in the company of another very good and very humorous guide. Needless to say, he paused to explain the history of the people depicted in a number of paintings and of the grand accoutrements of the rooms. In particular, he pointed out the Boule furniture in the last room which is the best example of French Baroque. The tour ended with what must be one of the most spectacular rooms I have seen thus far in my travels--the Long Library, whose plasterwork ceiling and walls are entirely the work of Nicholas Hawksmoor. It is simply exquisite, combining pastel peach shades with white ivory ornamentation. A really massive marble sculpture of Queen Anne, great patroness and close friend of Sarah Churchill, graces one end of the room while a massive organ is present at the other end. There is really no part of this staggeringly beautiful home that I would want to miss.
Then, drooping with fatigue, I sat on the grand steps outside the Palace and ate my picnic lunch: Roast Chicken baguette from Sainsbury and a bottle of Diet Coke. This allowed me to admire Vanbrugh's design and the special honey color of the walls all made of Cotswold stone quarried nearby! The second session began upstairs where I undertook a self-guided audio-visual tour that was very interestingly done. It takes another 40 minutes but was so worth it as it took us once more through the history of Blenheim and its colorful occupants through the centuries. This bit ended in the Shop where I spied the most darling porcelain spoons in exactly the same design as the Herend porcelain tea and coffee service that Llew and I had purchased from Budapest, Hungary, a few years ago. I had to have them and, a few minutes later, the attendant was packing 8 little spoons for me in bubble wrap and Blenheim Palace tissue paper!
Wandering in Woodstock:
Then I was hurrying out of the Palace and cutting across Capability Brown's landscaped lakeside to arrive at the village of Woodstock which is so picture perfect I simply could not stop clicking. I entered a number of shops and found two perfect little cut crystal whisky glasses in a thrift shop for just two pounds each and which I could see as votive candle holders on my dining table! I did browse through Lady Henrietta's shop, Woodstock Designs, but I have to say that I was so dead by then that I simply had to get back on the bus and return to Oxford. Woodstock is so pretty and being located on the very edge of the Cotswolds, it is the ideal spot to visit in case travelers have no time to see the rest of the more renowned villages. It has superb antiques shops, interior decorating places, tea rooms and all sorts of other enticing enclaves in which to browse as well as a collection of extraordinarily pretty stone churches, buildings and cottages.
Christ Church Meadows at Last and the Oxford Union:
I alighted at Oxford City Center and made my way to the Broad Walk at Christ Church Meadows to complete the walk to the River Thames' banks that I wasn't able to do yesterday. It was very warm today though and I settled on the grass to watch crew members row in unison down the river as more relaxed kayakers breezed alongside. The cows were in the meadows and in the distance, I could see some of Matthew Arnold's "dreaming spires". All was well with this bucolic little world and I felt deeply content.
On my way back home to Norham Road, I made it a point to stop at the famous Oxford Union, the place that is renowned for its weekly debates (Benazir Bhutto was the first female President of the Oxford Union). Since this is Week Nine, only a few students are still on campus; (most of them are finishing finals this week and leaving) but a few stragglers were sipping beers at the bar and in the garden. I poked my head into the various rooms and discovered that as a member of St. Antony's College, I could become a life member of the Oxford Union for 180 pounds (a bargain if you ask me!). Then, since I was fairly collapsing with fatigue, I walked straight home, took a shower, made myself a cup of tea, ate the other half of my sandwich, wrote this blog and went to bed.
Woodstock, Oxfordshire
Ah, the supreme joys of awaking in Oxford! It was not a minute before 7. 45 when I awoke with a start and realized that breakfast was at 8am. There was not a moment to be lost! I jumped out of bed, gathered my toiletries and clothes together and padded downstairs to my basement bathroom. At exactly 8 am, I heard voices coming from the Dining Room and on getting there at 8. 05, I found that three of my fellow lodgers, academics all, were already at breakfast!
We spent the next few minutes getting introduced: a New Zealander named Marni, a Japanese named Atsushi and an American named Andrea from Seton Hall in New Jersey! The first two are long-term guests and will be staying for several weeks more, the last is only here for a night. She is on a year-long Sabbatical at Somerville College and hopes to move into her own flat soon. Breakfast was Continental (no full English--bummer!!!--I was looking forward to some scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon!) but over muesli with milk, toast and hot rolls with marmalade and a selection of jams, we ate well. However, I did not linger too long as I had a
9. 35 am bus to catch on the Woodstock Road and I did not want to miss it.
So I grabbed my things and left at 9. 15, and was at the bus stop at 9. 20. I thought so much of my friend Annalisa and her boys as I passed right by the school that her little one Giacomo used to attend when she had spent the summer in Oxford, two years ago. I had visited her then and we had walked to the school together to pick him up. The bus was late and I began to despair and while I waited, I called my parents in Bombay and told them I was in Oxford and we caught up. Then, my bus came along and I was off (five pounds return ticket to Blenheim Palace--Stagecoach Bus Number S3). The journey took exactly half an hour and I do so wish I could find out which public bus would just take me winding through this beautiful network of Cotswold villages as it had done in Cornwall. From the bus stop to the Palace gates, it was a ten minute walk but it turned out to be another spectacular morning and I could not start complaining so early in the day!
The ticket granting admission to the park, gardens and house is a pricey 17. 50 pounds but I was fortunate enough to be able to avail of a pass that is valid for a whole year at the same price! Well, I might not return to Blenheim (pronounced 'Blen-um') ever again (though I have now learned never to say never--I remember, as a graduate student 22 years ago, I had thought that I would never return to Oxford and I came back so many times over the years!) but I figured the card would make a good souvenir--so I had my mug shot taken and was presented with a lovely gold printed laminated card!
Thus began my forays into one of the world's most magnificent homes, the handiwork of the famous John Vanbrugh, who, unbelievably never had any architectural training whatsoever--he was a dramatist by profession. Yes, he is the same one who created Castle Howard, another architectural masterpiece in Yorkshire which Llew and I had visited last August. Upon arriving at the main entrance (I was, by the way, the first visitor to enter the palace today!), we were informed that a bonus free tour of the garden would soon be conducted by Karen Wiseman, garden historian, and we could take that if we chose. Our tour of the house could begin after that.
Tour of the Gardens:
Well...naturally, this was too good a chance to pass up and sign up I did. A few minutes later, Karen did arrive and led us past the gravel terraces to the vast spread of green parkland (the handiwork, of course, of the renowned Capability Brown). She told us a little bit about the history of the house at this point and then about the gardens. She did encourage questions and several visitors did ask very sensible ones. They were obviously all enthusiastic gardeners themselves and I thoroughly enjoyed the tour. She also pointed out the flag that was flying to indicate that John, the current 11th Duke of Marlborough was in residence today.
In a nutshell, Blenheim has been around for so long (since 1705) and has been in the hands of so many well-known gardeners starting with Robert Wise (none of whose work exists today). Each left his particular mark upon the property and the end result is, like Cliveden, a series of separate gardens each with a distinctive style and aura. We started at the Italian garden with its neat yew hedging, classical statuary and water fountains, then went on to the Rose Garden (quite lovely at this time of year with every flower in bloom and loads of buds on each bush).
Our next stop was the Duke's private Italian garden which was also quite lovely though very formal. Visitors are not allowed into it though we could glimpse it from the edge. The last stop was at the Secret Garden, quite the most beautiful of them all with a Japanese style bridge fording a small lyrical stream and a variety of flowers such as deep blue irises and maroon day lilies bringing patches of color to the space that alternated between shady spots and brightly lit ones.
By this point, we had already trekked through the property for an hour and my feet were beginning to ache. My sneakers are not very comfortable and I have started to develop corns, so I should get myself some medication right away as I know I shall be doing a lot of walking during the next few days. When we got back to the house, I was told that we should start our tour on the ground floor with the special exhibit on Winston Churchill who was born at Blenheim Palace as his father Randolph was the brother of the then Duke of Marlborough.
The Winston Churchill Exhibition:
Having visited the Churchill Museum and the Cabinet War Rooms at Whitehall in London, I have to say that I did not expect too much on this tour; but let me tell you that this was one of the best exhibitions I have ever seen. It is quite brilliantly curated and takes us right into the very room in which Churchill was born. There is a letter framed on the wall from his father Randolf to the doctor who attended the birth, thanking him for his pains and paying him the fee of 12 guineas (I have no idea how much that would translate into modern currency).
The exhibition then wound us through the early years of this man who turned out to be one of the finest statesmen England has ever known and about his poignant connection with Blenheim. He wrote somewhere: "Two of the happiest things in my life happened here--I was born here and I asked my wife Clementine to marry me here". As it turned out, Karen had taken us to the Temple of Diana, a classical folly in the garden, and to the marble bench on which Winston had proposed. It was a supremely happy marriage and one based on a good solid romance.
We saw so many of his early letters to his "dear Pappa" and "darling Mamma", written when just a lad of eight and then whilst a student at Harrow and then from the front where he served himself with the Hussars together with his cousin, then Lord Blanford (who became the 10th Duke of Marlborough). All the time, we could hear recordings in the background of some of his most stirring war-time speeches and, believe, me, the quality of the oration and the passion and the conviction with which they were delivered brought tears to my eyes that ran down my cheeks, much to my embarrassment! It was just too moving for words! Possibly because I expected so little, I was overwhelmed and my response was just as impassioned! How marvelous it was to walk through the most significant milestones of "Winnie's" life and to realize the forces that shaped him into the steely man he became-- a hedonist with a healthy love for the best things in life as well as a clear head and a determination to overcome.
But I suppose for me the most amazing thing of all (as this year for me has been, among many things, a matter of art education of the highest quality) was that Churchill was an accomplished painter (who knew??!!) and that so many of his oil paintings that I saw were based on his years at Blenheim to which he was a regular visitor. Indeed, he said, "When I die, I will spend the first one thousand year in heaven painting so that I might get a sense of exactly how it is done". Such colossal talent in this most Renaissance of men and such modesty too!!! His paintings are truly good and were actually exhibited at the Royal Academy to which he submitted entries under a pseudonym so that no one could accuse him of being favored! If for no other reason than to achieve insights into the life and times and paintings of Winston Churchill, one ought to visit Blenheim!
Guided Tour and History of Blenheim:
At the end of the Churchill exhibition, we were joined by a guide who gave us a brief history of the Palace. Blenheim Palace came into existence after the Battle of Blenheim which ended on August 13, 1704, when the French commander Tallard surrendered to the English John Churchill bringing glorious victory to the British troops. John Churchill scribbled the news of the victory on a French tavern bill he had in his pocket and dispatched it to his wife, Sarah, requesting her to inform the Queen (Anne) of his triumph. The Queen was so delighted, she gave him 1000 gold guineas as a reward and about 12,000 acres of land in Woodstock. She also gave him the title Duke of Marlborough and John Churchill became the first one!
A year later, in 1704, John and Sarah chose John Vanbrugh to build them a magnificent house. Vanbrugh used Nicholas Hawksmoor as his assistant and with the contribution of the inimitable Grindling Gibbons who was in-charge of the stone carvings, work began on the Palace. Hence, it is incorrect (as the guides kept saying) that John Churchill was given the Palace as a gift for his victory at Blenheim by Queen Anne. In actual fact, he was given the land and the money--he built the Palace with it...the Palace did not exist prior to the Battle of Blenheim--so it is a typically 18th century piece of work with its emphasis on symmetry and balance and a nod to the achievements of Classical Antiquity--the true hallmarks of the English Baroque style. It was finished in 1713 but poor John Churchill only lived for a few years to enjoy it. He was dead by 1718 when the Dukedom and the Palace passed into the hands of his oldest daughter Henrietta as he had no male heirs. Clearly, there was an exception made in England's then normal rules of inheritance that allowed a female heir to inherit both the title and the property. A series of Dukes followed, some more profligate than others, each bringing his own stamp to the residence and gardens and making Blenheim what it is today.
The American connection comes in with the 9th Duke who finding himself bankrupt and wanting to keep the house within the family rather than letting it fall into the hands of the National Trust or English Heritage, decided to marry for money rather than for love. He consented to an arranged marriage with Consuelo Vanderbilt who was only one of the richest women in the world. Her social-climbing mother, not content with being a Vanderbilt, wanted a title for her daughter and was thrilled when she became a Duchess. Consuelo and the Duke were bitterly unhappy though she bore him three children and brought gazillion millions as her dowry into the marriage. This saved the Churchill estate but it did not bring any personal happiness to either of the spouses who could not stand each other. They were subsequently divorced and Consuelo remarried a Frenchman. The current Duke of Marlborough is in his 80s, recently remarried for the fourth time (his wife is at least half his age) and has four children: two by his first wife, two by his third wife (and he has two step-children). Of these, the one with whom I am most familiar is Lady Henrietta Spencer-Churchill who owns an interior decorating company, has written several books on interior design (all of which I own) and has a Woodstock-based shop called Woodstock Designs. It was easy for me to see where her love for interior design and decoration was nurtured, as I toured the home in which she grew up and where she is a still a frequent resident.
All this history was made known to us through a tour of the State Rooms of the House which we took in the company of another very good and very humorous guide. Needless to say, he paused to explain the history of the people depicted in a number of paintings and of the grand accoutrements of the rooms. In particular, he pointed out the Boule furniture in the last room which is the best example of French Baroque. The tour ended with what must be one of the most spectacular rooms I have seen thus far in my travels--the Long Library, whose plasterwork ceiling and walls are entirely the work of Nicholas Hawksmoor. It is simply exquisite, combining pastel peach shades with white ivory ornamentation. A really massive marble sculpture of Queen Anne, great patroness and close friend of Sarah Churchill, graces one end of the room while a massive organ is present at the other end. There is really no part of this staggeringly beautiful home that I would want to miss.
Then, drooping with fatigue, I sat on the grand steps outside the Palace and ate my picnic lunch: Roast Chicken baguette from Sainsbury and a bottle of Diet Coke. This allowed me to admire Vanbrugh's design and the special honey color of the walls all made of Cotswold stone quarried nearby! The second session began upstairs where I undertook a self-guided audio-visual tour that was very interestingly done. It takes another 40 minutes but was so worth it as it took us once more through the history of Blenheim and its colorful occupants through the centuries. This bit ended in the Shop where I spied the most darling porcelain spoons in exactly the same design as the Herend porcelain tea and coffee service that Llew and I had purchased from Budapest, Hungary, a few years ago. I had to have them and, a few minutes later, the attendant was packing 8 little spoons for me in bubble wrap and Blenheim Palace tissue paper!
Wandering in Woodstock:
Then I was hurrying out of the Palace and cutting across Capability Brown's landscaped lakeside to arrive at the village of Woodstock which is so picture perfect I simply could not stop clicking. I entered a number of shops and found two perfect little cut crystal whisky glasses in a thrift shop for just two pounds each and which I could see as votive candle holders on my dining table! I did browse through Lady Henrietta's shop, Woodstock Designs, but I have to say that I was so dead by then that I simply had to get back on the bus and return to Oxford. Woodstock is so pretty and being located on the very edge of the Cotswolds, it is the ideal spot to visit in case travelers have no time to see the rest of the more renowned villages. It has superb antiques shops, interior decorating places, tea rooms and all sorts of other enticing enclaves in which to browse as well as a collection of extraordinarily pretty stone churches, buildings and cottages.
Christ Church Meadows at Last and the Oxford Union:
I alighted at Oxford City Center and made my way to the Broad Walk at Christ Church Meadows to complete the walk to the River Thames' banks that I wasn't able to do yesterday. It was very warm today though and I settled on the grass to watch crew members row in unison down the river as more relaxed kayakers breezed alongside. The cows were in the meadows and in the distance, I could see some of Matthew Arnold's "dreaming spires". All was well with this bucolic little world and I felt deeply content.
On my way back home to Norham Road, I made it a point to stop at the famous Oxford Union, the place that is renowned for its weekly debates (Benazir Bhutto was the first female President of the Oxford Union). Since this is Week Nine, only a few students are still on campus; (most of them are finishing finals this week and leaving) but a few stragglers were sipping beers at the bar and in the garden. I poked my head into the various rooms and discovered that as a member of St. Antony's College, I could become a life member of the Oxford Union for 180 pounds (a bargain if you ask me!). Then, since I was fairly collapsing with fatigue, I walked straight home, took a shower, made myself a cup of tea, ate the other half of my sandwich, wrote this blog and went to bed.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
It's Deja-Vu All Over Again! An Oxonian after 22 Years!
Wednesday, Jun 24, 2009
Oxford
For some reason, I did not sleep well at all last night—I mean not a wink! Could have been nervousness or excitement about the fact that after working at this for such a long time, I would finally be in Oxford again on attachment to St. Antony’s College where I have the position of Senior Associate Member for the summer. I had set my alarm for 6. 15 am but I don’t believe I slept for more than 2 hours. No wonder I was still bleary-eyed and dazed when I awoke at 5. 45 and decided to have a shower, get dressed, finish the last bits of my packing, eat my breakfast and leave.
Journey To Oxford:
It was 6. 45 when I left my Farringdon flat. I took the 63 bus from Farringdon to Fleet Street from where I boarded the No. 11 directly to Victoria Coach Station. I arrived there at 7. 30 am, well in time for my 8 am departure. The coach was empty but just before it left, I was joined by a lovely black lady in the very front of the upper deck where I parked myself and hoped to sleep once the bus left the city environs. Her name was Ranti and she happened to be an Oxonian too—she had read English at Magdalen graduating about 12 years ago. It was a meeting that was taking her back to Oxford and at the end of the chat we had en route, she offered me a lift to my new lodgings at Norham Road in North Oxford from St. Clements where she would be alighting. I thanked my good fortune at such a helpful encounter and tried to catch some ZZZZs as our bus ate up the miles.
My New Digs on Norham Road:
An hour later, we were alighting at St. Clement’s and Ranti’s colleague Cat arrived in her car. Less than 5 minutes later, I was ringing the old-fashioned pull bell at Norham Road and was greeted by the couple who run this lodging for international scholars who come to Oxford to teach or do research. Mrs. Longrigg showed me to my room—a darling little Sun Room on the ground floor decorated in pink—a very feminine room indeed. Sunlight flooded the space from the wide windows and I found myself looking into a room with a narrow single bed, a bureau-desk with a chair, a very comfortable sofa chair, an armoire, a chest of drawers, a small table with a TV set on it and yet another table with a microwave oven, and a tray for tea and coffee. Unbelievable how much furniture was stashed in this tiny room—and yet it all seemed to work. It was very English indeed, the feel of well-worn furniture that spelled scholarly pursuits. I like it immediately even though I thought the fact that my bathroom was one floor below in the basement was a bit odd—but then I did not share the bathroom with anyone and had it all to myself (which is a big advantage, I guess, though I am not the sort to spend oodles of time in a bathroom).
Getting on at St. Antony’s College:
As soon as I registered and paid for my stay, I left the house without even unpacking and rushed off to St. Antony’s College to meet Julie Irving who is in-charge of the SAMs. She too put me through the formalities but we ran into a snag when she needed a real passport sized photograph for my official Oxford University ID card without which I cannot use the library or computer facilities. Well, I had no choice but to get to the City Center (a good ten minute walk away) to have a picture taken at Boot’s. Only Boot’s no longer have this service so it was off to W.H. Smith and I was four quid poorer after I had my picture taken and printed.
Instead of going straight back to the college, however, I stopped at the Oxford Information Center to find out about travel arrangements for the next few days as I do wish to cover some local sights when I am not in the library or drafting my lecture. I found the assistant very helpful and I left with maps and time tables for local buses and trains as well as the tickets I had booked earlier on the phone for the two walking tours—“Inspector Morse’s Oxford” and “Pottering in Harry’s Footsteps”. With all this information under my belt, I headed back to St. Antony’s. But Julie was at lunch at the Buttery which is where I headed too for I was suddenly starving. One large plate of salad later, I felt deeply fortified. Julie had already given me my Dining Hall card, which allowed me to take meals in the College Hall, and I joined a large group of students and faculty for my first meal there.
The Museum of Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum:
Then, it was time to go out and explore a bit of Oxford on what was a brilliant summer’s day. Skies were a piercing blue with loads of cushiony clouds and there was just that slightest bit of a breeze stirring the leaves on the trees. Just beautiful! I recalled the last time I had traveled to Oxford in mid-December of last year when I had arrived to tour St. Anthony’s and finalize arrangements for my attachment here. How bleak it had seemed! It was dreadfully cold and rainy and the entire atmosphere was so depressing that I seriously wondered whether I would enjoy my stay in Oxford. But after just ten minutes in the city of dreaming spires, I was left in no doubt whatsoever. I am so excited to be back here again to roam the familiar streets to which I became permanently endeared in my youth that my heart is exhilarated at the prospect of spending the next few days among these beloved buildings.
The golden tone of the Cotswold stone of which these buildings are constructed glowed warmly in the afternoon haze as I found my way along Parks Road to the Oxford Museum of Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum—two of the museums that I was determined to see on this visit because, somewhat incredibly, I had never been to this part of the city before. It was an episode of Inspector Morse that had actually introduced me to this rather unconventional space in Oxford and since the museum was closed for a while for renovation and has just reopened, I was determined to make a visit there a priority.
What a coincidence that I saw two Museums of Natural History (one in London and one here in Oxford) pretty much on two consecutive days! This one too is an imposing Victorian edifice with columns and pillars and a turreted façade. Its vast central hall, just like the one in London, is filled with dinosaur skeletons though its most impressive exhibit is the skeleton and stuffed Dodo that I realized (ignorant me!) was actually a real bird and not a mythological creation! The Dodo really did become extinct—hence the famous comparison, “As dead as the Dodo!” Lewis Carol included the Dodo in Alice in Wonderland because he often brought Alice to this museum where they would pause at this very same showcase and comment on the strange bird!
But my real interest in coming to the Pitt Rivers Museum was to see the famed shrunken heads and these were at the back in the adjoining building (the front building, the older one, contains the dinosaurs and the Dodo). The actual Pitt Rivers Museum contains the anthropological collections of thousands of pieces of a man named Pitt Rivers who donated it to the University on condition that a building should be constructed to house it and that the curators of the museum should also be involved in teaching about the cultures represented by his collection. It is impossible for me to explain how varied and fascinating this collection is and, no doubt, it would take a whole day to inspect every object carefully. Instead I headed straight to the shrunken heads and gazed in awe at the five real human male and female heads in the showcase representing people who had been killed and whose heads were preserved by a method of shrinking that involved the removals of the skulls and the brains, the slow heating of the features by the use of hot pebbles, the sewing up of the mouth and other rather bizarre procedures that reduced the human heads to the size of small tennis balls—hence shrunken heads. Needless to say, these were the most popular items in the entire collection and these cases attracted many visitors.
When I finished perusing these cases, I returned to the Museum of Natural History to take in the Charles Darwin exhibit entitled “In His Own Words” which celebrates the second birth centenary of this renowned naturalist. There were loads of pictures, pages from the first edition of his Origin of the Species and other important publications and all sorts of memorabilia that would fill any student of science with delight. I spent about a half hour looking at this exhibit, then simply had to take a break somewhere as my lack of sleep had made me feel exhausted.
A Nap in the University Parks:
The University Parks provided the perfect spot and there under the shade of a spreading oak, I lay down on the springy grass, closed my eyes and took a 20-minute nap that was most refreshing and rejuvenating in the midst of a number of folks who were sun bathing. Then, I returned to my house on Norham Road and took a second 20-minute nap, awaking only at 5. 30 pm. to unpack. I was disappointed to discover that though connected to the wifi network, I wasn’t able to pick up my mail and I called my IT friend Tim in London to request him to help me establish a connection. However, despite working on this issue for almost an hour, we were unsuccessful and decided to wait until I can get help from the owners of this home, perhaps tomorrow.
Dinner and the First of Many Walks in Oxford:
Then, I dressed again and set out for an early dinner in St. Antony’s Dining Hall—I ate cod in a lemon sauce with a huge helping of peas and green beans—a very healthy meal indeed and when I was done, I badly needed to walk it off. And so I took the first of what I know will be long voyages of discovery on my own two feet.
This evening, I started off at Carfax, but before I arrived there, right outside the Ashmoleon Museum, I found myself dodging hundreds of youngsters in costume, all piling into coaches that were parked along St. Giles. None of the Halloween parades I have attended in New York City had anything compared to this riot of color and style in the costumes that these kids were wearing. There were monks, priests and nuns, flapper girls, all manner of animals and birds, even a bride (who turned around to reveal herself as a young man complete with moustache!). When I asked one of them what was going on, she told me that they were headed towards a party to celebrate the end of their freshman year at Oxford. The theme of the party was Heironymous Bosch's famous painting "The Garden of Earthly Delights" which Llew and I had seen at the Prado in Madrid a few years ago. This explained the weird clothing! Suddenly, all these surreal scenes I was seeing around me made complete sense. Good Old Bosch! I asked the student where they were headed and she responded, "We really don't know. None of us knows where we are going". Ah, one of those Mystery Bus Tours! How marvelous! Oh to be an Oxford undergrad again to take in these end of term do's--garnering memories that will undoubtedly last a lifetime!
I then walked down George Street to find out where the bus stops are for the trips I shall be undertaking in the next few days. Then, I continued on the same street to a part of Oxford that I had never seen before—the Railway Station as I needed timetables for a journey to Stratford-on-Avon and back. That task accomplished, I took another unknown path, past the Oxford Castle (which I saw for the very first time) and arrived at the mall shopping area (of course, all shops had closed for the day) which I do not believe existed when I was at Exeter.
I was aiming to reach Christ Church Meadow for a stroll to the banks of the River Thames (which is called the Cherwell--pronounced Chawell—in Oxford). But it was already close to 9 pm and the Meadows were due to close in five minutes. I decided that I would return earlier on another evening and instead sneaked my way into Christ Church College to hear Old Tom, (the bell in Tom Tower) toll 101 times at exactly 9. 05 pm. This was a real hoot and I recalled a scene from the film Chariots of Fire where a group of Oxford undergraduates attempt to race around the quad five time before the bell finishes tolling 101 times! I also had the opportunity to take in the magnificent fan-vaulted ceiling above the staircase that leads to the Dining Hall which is one of the finest in the city—though I know that this is probably on the Harry Potter Walking Tour as it became the model for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, I was glad to have this opportunity to take pictures of this largest of Oxford Quads from many different angles and in rather good light, considering that it was past nine. This is, to my mind, one of the best parts of summer in England—the fact that daylight can still be discerned close to 10 pm!
Then, I decided to get back home and as I picked my way along Banbury Road, I thanked my lucky stars that I have been handed this marvelous professional opportunity to return to Oxford after 22 years—this time not as a student but as a scholar—and to walk in the footsteps of my youth. The city is gorgeous—as glorious as I can remember—and I know that the next few days are going to make me feel as if I am in Heaven!
Oxford
For some reason, I did not sleep well at all last night—I mean not a wink! Could have been nervousness or excitement about the fact that after working at this for such a long time, I would finally be in Oxford again on attachment to St. Antony’s College where I have the position of Senior Associate Member for the summer. I had set my alarm for 6. 15 am but I don’t believe I slept for more than 2 hours. No wonder I was still bleary-eyed and dazed when I awoke at 5. 45 and decided to have a shower, get dressed, finish the last bits of my packing, eat my breakfast and leave.
Journey To Oxford:
It was 6. 45 when I left my Farringdon flat. I took the 63 bus from Farringdon to Fleet Street from where I boarded the No. 11 directly to Victoria Coach Station. I arrived there at 7. 30 am, well in time for my 8 am departure. The coach was empty but just before it left, I was joined by a lovely black lady in the very front of the upper deck where I parked myself and hoped to sleep once the bus left the city environs. Her name was Ranti and she happened to be an Oxonian too—she had read English at Magdalen graduating about 12 years ago. It was a meeting that was taking her back to Oxford and at the end of the chat we had en route, she offered me a lift to my new lodgings at Norham Road in North Oxford from St. Clements where she would be alighting. I thanked my good fortune at such a helpful encounter and tried to catch some ZZZZs as our bus ate up the miles.
My New Digs on Norham Road:
An hour later, we were alighting at St. Clement’s and Ranti’s colleague Cat arrived in her car. Less than 5 minutes later, I was ringing the old-fashioned pull bell at Norham Road and was greeted by the couple who run this lodging for international scholars who come to Oxford to teach or do research. Mrs. Longrigg showed me to my room—a darling little Sun Room on the ground floor decorated in pink—a very feminine room indeed. Sunlight flooded the space from the wide windows and I found myself looking into a room with a narrow single bed, a bureau-desk with a chair, a very comfortable sofa chair, an armoire, a chest of drawers, a small table with a TV set on it and yet another table with a microwave oven, and a tray for tea and coffee. Unbelievable how much furniture was stashed in this tiny room—and yet it all seemed to work. It was very English indeed, the feel of well-worn furniture that spelled scholarly pursuits. I like it immediately even though I thought the fact that my bathroom was one floor below in the basement was a bit odd—but then I did not share the bathroom with anyone and had it all to myself (which is a big advantage, I guess, though I am not the sort to spend oodles of time in a bathroom).
Getting on at St. Antony’s College:
As soon as I registered and paid for my stay, I left the house without even unpacking and rushed off to St. Antony’s College to meet Julie Irving who is in-charge of the SAMs. She too put me through the formalities but we ran into a snag when she needed a real passport sized photograph for my official Oxford University ID card without which I cannot use the library or computer facilities. Well, I had no choice but to get to the City Center (a good ten minute walk away) to have a picture taken at Boot’s. Only Boot’s no longer have this service so it was off to W.H. Smith and I was four quid poorer after I had my picture taken and printed.
Instead of going straight back to the college, however, I stopped at the Oxford Information Center to find out about travel arrangements for the next few days as I do wish to cover some local sights when I am not in the library or drafting my lecture. I found the assistant very helpful and I left with maps and time tables for local buses and trains as well as the tickets I had booked earlier on the phone for the two walking tours—“Inspector Morse’s Oxford” and “Pottering in Harry’s Footsteps”. With all this information under my belt, I headed back to St. Antony’s. But Julie was at lunch at the Buttery which is where I headed too for I was suddenly starving. One large plate of salad later, I felt deeply fortified. Julie had already given me my Dining Hall card, which allowed me to take meals in the College Hall, and I joined a large group of students and faculty for my first meal there.
The Museum of Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum:
Then, it was time to go out and explore a bit of Oxford on what was a brilliant summer’s day. Skies were a piercing blue with loads of cushiony clouds and there was just that slightest bit of a breeze stirring the leaves on the trees. Just beautiful! I recalled the last time I had traveled to Oxford in mid-December of last year when I had arrived to tour St. Anthony’s and finalize arrangements for my attachment here. How bleak it had seemed! It was dreadfully cold and rainy and the entire atmosphere was so depressing that I seriously wondered whether I would enjoy my stay in Oxford. But after just ten minutes in the city of dreaming spires, I was left in no doubt whatsoever. I am so excited to be back here again to roam the familiar streets to which I became permanently endeared in my youth that my heart is exhilarated at the prospect of spending the next few days among these beloved buildings.
The golden tone of the Cotswold stone of which these buildings are constructed glowed warmly in the afternoon haze as I found my way along Parks Road to the Oxford Museum of Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum—two of the museums that I was determined to see on this visit because, somewhat incredibly, I had never been to this part of the city before. It was an episode of Inspector Morse that had actually introduced me to this rather unconventional space in Oxford and since the museum was closed for a while for renovation and has just reopened, I was determined to make a visit there a priority.
What a coincidence that I saw two Museums of Natural History (one in London and one here in Oxford) pretty much on two consecutive days! This one too is an imposing Victorian edifice with columns and pillars and a turreted façade. Its vast central hall, just like the one in London, is filled with dinosaur skeletons though its most impressive exhibit is the skeleton and stuffed Dodo that I realized (ignorant me!) was actually a real bird and not a mythological creation! The Dodo really did become extinct—hence the famous comparison, “As dead as the Dodo!” Lewis Carol included the Dodo in Alice in Wonderland because he often brought Alice to this museum where they would pause at this very same showcase and comment on the strange bird!
But my real interest in coming to the Pitt Rivers Museum was to see the famed shrunken heads and these were at the back in the adjoining building (the front building, the older one, contains the dinosaurs and the Dodo). The actual Pitt Rivers Museum contains the anthropological collections of thousands of pieces of a man named Pitt Rivers who donated it to the University on condition that a building should be constructed to house it and that the curators of the museum should also be involved in teaching about the cultures represented by his collection. It is impossible for me to explain how varied and fascinating this collection is and, no doubt, it would take a whole day to inspect every object carefully. Instead I headed straight to the shrunken heads and gazed in awe at the five real human male and female heads in the showcase representing people who had been killed and whose heads were preserved by a method of shrinking that involved the removals of the skulls and the brains, the slow heating of the features by the use of hot pebbles, the sewing up of the mouth and other rather bizarre procedures that reduced the human heads to the size of small tennis balls—hence shrunken heads. Needless to say, these were the most popular items in the entire collection and these cases attracted many visitors.
When I finished perusing these cases, I returned to the Museum of Natural History to take in the Charles Darwin exhibit entitled “In His Own Words” which celebrates the second birth centenary of this renowned naturalist. There were loads of pictures, pages from the first edition of his Origin of the Species and other important publications and all sorts of memorabilia that would fill any student of science with delight. I spent about a half hour looking at this exhibit, then simply had to take a break somewhere as my lack of sleep had made me feel exhausted.
A Nap in the University Parks:
The University Parks provided the perfect spot and there under the shade of a spreading oak, I lay down on the springy grass, closed my eyes and took a 20-minute nap that was most refreshing and rejuvenating in the midst of a number of folks who were sun bathing. Then, I returned to my house on Norham Road and took a second 20-minute nap, awaking only at 5. 30 pm. to unpack. I was disappointed to discover that though connected to the wifi network, I wasn’t able to pick up my mail and I called my IT friend Tim in London to request him to help me establish a connection. However, despite working on this issue for almost an hour, we were unsuccessful and decided to wait until I can get help from the owners of this home, perhaps tomorrow.
Dinner and the First of Many Walks in Oxford:
Then, I dressed again and set out for an early dinner in St. Antony’s Dining Hall—I ate cod in a lemon sauce with a huge helping of peas and green beans—a very healthy meal indeed and when I was done, I badly needed to walk it off. And so I took the first of what I know will be long voyages of discovery on my own two feet.
This evening, I started off at Carfax, but before I arrived there, right outside the Ashmoleon Museum, I found myself dodging hundreds of youngsters in costume, all piling into coaches that were parked along St. Giles. None of the Halloween parades I have attended in New York City had anything compared to this riot of color and style in the costumes that these kids were wearing. There were monks, priests and nuns, flapper girls, all manner of animals and birds, even a bride (who turned around to reveal herself as a young man complete with moustache!). When I asked one of them what was going on, she told me that they were headed towards a party to celebrate the end of their freshman year at Oxford. The theme of the party was Heironymous Bosch's famous painting "The Garden of Earthly Delights" which Llew and I had seen at the Prado in Madrid a few years ago. This explained the weird clothing! Suddenly, all these surreal scenes I was seeing around me made complete sense. Good Old Bosch! I asked the student where they were headed and she responded, "We really don't know. None of us knows where we are going". Ah, one of those Mystery Bus Tours! How marvelous! Oh to be an Oxford undergrad again to take in these end of term do's--garnering memories that will undoubtedly last a lifetime!
I then walked down George Street to find out where the bus stops are for the trips I shall be undertaking in the next few days. Then, I continued on the same street to a part of Oxford that I had never seen before—the Railway Station as I needed timetables for a journey to Stratford-on-Avon and back. That task accomplished, I took another unknown path, past the Oxford Castle (which I saw for the very first time) and arrived at the mall shopping area (of course, all shops had closed for the day) which I do not believe existed when I was at Exeter.
I was aiming to reach Christ Church Meadow for a stroll to the banks of the River Thames (which is called the Cherwell--pronounced Chawell—in Oxford). But it was already close to 9 pm and the Meadows were due to close in five minutes. I decided that I would return earlier on another evening and instead sneaked my way into Christ Church College to hear Old Tom, (the bell in Tom Tower) toll 101 times at exactly 9. 05 pm. This was a real hoot and I recalled a scene from the film Chariots of Fire where a group of Oxford undergraduates attempt to race around the quad five time before the bell finishes tolling 101 times! I also had the opportunity to take in the magnificent fan-vaulted ceiling above the staircase that leads to the Dining Hall which is one of the finest in the city—though I know that this is probably on the Harry Potter Walking Tour as it became the model for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, I was glad to have this opportunity to take pictures of this largest of Oxford Quads from many different angles and in rather good light, considering that it was past nine. This is, to my mind, one of the best parts of summer in England—the fact that daylight can still be discerned close to 10 pm!
Then, I decided to get back home and as I picked my way along Banbury Road, I thanked my lucky stars that I have been handed this marvelous professional opportunity to return to Oxford after 22 years—this time not as a student but as a scholar—and to walk in the footsteps of my youth. The city is gorgeous—as glorious as I can remember—and I know that the next few days are going to make me feel as if I am in Heaven!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Farewell Lunch at Tas with NYU's Admin. Staff
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
London
I awoke this morning around 6. 3o am and began reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Sat in bed blogging and proofreading and emailing when suddenly I heard a sound from the room next door--Paul and Loulou had arrived around midnight! They must have been quiet as mice as I did not hear a sound when they got in.
We had breakfast together, the three of us, making do with the scraps in the fridge--a few last drops of milk, a quarter loaf of walnut bread, some cereal, some jam. Paul was busy in his office for the next couple of hours, Loulou had to get out and get some work done and I sat in my favorite place, on my bed and transcribed an interview with Denise Fernandez and edited and captioned the last two batches of photographs that I had downloaded. All of this took so much time but at least I caught up with pending work. I was eager to finish off everything as I leave for Oxford tomorrow to take on my Senior Associate Member position at St. Antony's College and did not want to leave knowing that I had left these loose ends untied.
At 11. 30 am, I went in for a shower and got dressed and left the flat at 12. 30. I took the bus to Tas Restaurant in Bloomsbury where we had a 1. 15 reservation for lunch. The wonderful administrative staff at NYU were taking my colleague Karen and myself out for a farewell lunch. Yvonne, David, Alice and Ruth were present and we spent the next two hours talking mainly about what a great year we have had in London and how sorry we are to leave. In every respect, it has been an incredible opportunity and a marvelous experience and both of us hope that someday we might be able to return.
Lunch at Tas was very good, as usual, and took me back to the great meals Llew and I had eaten in Greece and in Turkey. We had a selection of mezzes (cold appetisers) and then for a main course, I chose a mixed grill. In a platter featuring lamb, chicken and beef, I found myself tackling more meat than I could handle! But everything was very good indeed and both Karen and I recalled one of the very first dinners we had eaten in this restaurant at a time when we used to go out to eat once a week on Thursdays. All of that seems like yesterday and yet a whole year has passed! It is just impossible to believe.
I returned to my office after the meal to print out my bus ticket for tomorrow's trip to Oxford and then rushed off to the thrift store at Kensington where I had seen a brand new Karen Millen suit that I thought would work for me. I needed a while to think about the purchase instead of making an impulse buy and, this afternoon I decided that if it fit me, I would buy it.
Well, sadly, it did not. I really really need to lose some weight! So, back I came to my office where I printed out the large bunch of ten interviews that I have done over the past three weeks. With that done, I took the bus and returned home.
Loulou had returned from her busy afternoon and we chatted for a while before I returned to my room to start my packing for my trip. It feels odd to have to pack again and yet it was barely a month ago that I was in Lyon. My month in London has been superb, what with grand weather and some interesting adventures as I have attempted to finish seeing and doing all the items on my list.
Now it is time for some serious work again as I hope to draft my lecture to the Graduate Summer School students at Exeter College scheduled for later in July as well as examine some material for my Anglo-Indian project.
I had thrown a bunch of laundry into the washer before leaving the house in the morning and this evening, I put it into the dryer, so that I now have clean clothing for my week in Oxford. When I was all packed, I sat to write this blog and draft my June newsletter.
London
I awoke this morning around 6. 3o am and began reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Sat in bed blogging and proofreading and emailing when suddenly I heard a sound from the room next door--Paul and Loulou had arrived around midnight! They must have been quiet as mice as I did not hear a sound when they got in.
We had breakfast together, the three of us, making do with the scraps in the fridge--a few last drops of milk, a quarter loaf of walnut bread, some cereal, some jam. Paul was busy in his office for the next couple of hours, Loulou had to get out and get some work done and I sat in my favorite place, on my bed and transcribed an interview with Denise Fernandez and edited and captioned the last two batches of photographs that I had downloaded. All of this took so much time but at least I caught up with pending work. I was eager to finish off everything as I leave for Oxford tomorrow to take on my Senior Associate Member position at St. Antony's College and did not want to leave knowing that I had left these loose ends untied.
At 11. 30 am, I went in for a shower and got dressed and left the flat at 12. 30. I took the bus to Tas Restaurant in Bloomsbury where we had a 1. 15 reservation for lunch. The wonderful administrative staff at NYU were taking my colleague Karen and myself out for a farewell lunch. Yvonne, David, Alice and Ruth were present and we spent the next two hours talking mainly about what a great year we have had in London and how sorry we are to leave. In every respect, it has been an incredible opportunity and a marvelous experience and both of us hope that someday we might be able to return.
Lunch at Tas was very good, as usual, and took me back to the great meals Llew and I had eaten in Greece and in Turkey. We had a selection of mezzes (cold appetisers) and then for a main course, I chose a mixed grill. In a platter featuring lamb, chicken and beef, I found myself tackling more meat than I could handle! But everything was very good indeed and both Karen and I recalled one of the very first dinners we had eaten in this restaurant at a time when we used to go out to eat once a week on Thursdays. All of that seems like yesterday and yet a whole year has passed! It is just impossible to believe.
I returned to my office after the meal to print out my bus ticket for tomorrow's trip to Oxford and then rushed off to the thrift store at Kensington where I had seen a brand new Karen Millen suit that I thought would work for me. I needed a while to think about the purchase instead of making an impulse buy and, this afternoon I decided that if it fit me, I would buy it.
Well, sadly, it did not. I really really need to lose some weight! So, back I came to my office where I printed out the large bunch of ten interviews that I have done over the past three weeks. With that done, I took the bus and returned home.
Loulou had returned from her busy afternoon and we chatted for a while before I returned to my room to start my packing for my trip. It feels odd to have to pack again and yet it was barely a month ago that I was in Lyon. My month in London has been superb, what with grand weather and some interesting adventures as I have attempted to finish seeing and doing all the items on my list.
Now it is time for some serious work again as I hope to draft my lecture to the Graduate Summer School students at Exeter College scheduled for later in July as well as examine some material for my Anglo-Indian project.
I had thrown a bunch of laundry into the washer before leaving the house in the morning and this evening, I put it into the dryer, so that I now have clean clothing for my week in Oxford. When I was all packed, I sat to write this blog and draft my June newsletter.
Monday, June 22, 2009
First Time Visit to the Natural History Museum
Monday, June 22, 2009
London
Hard to believe that after a whole year of museum-hopping in this city, there are still some important museums I have not yet seen. The Natural History Museum is a case in point. 2009 marks the second birth centenary of Charles Darwin, perhaps the greatest naturalist the world has ever known--so it seemed important that I should make the time to visit this shrine to his intellectual productivity. As you can tell, science is not my chief priority--which explains why I have visited several rather unknown museums, whilst this one had gone unnoticed.
But first things first. I have to say that I am delighted that my sleep patterns have improved tremendously. I awoke at 6. 30 pm and finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince--yyeess!!!--which has proven to be my favorite of the lot so far--though poor Dumbledore dies and Harry dumps Ginny! With just one more to go, it seems as if I might well meet my goal of reading all seven novels before my return to the States. My students should be very pleased as they were the ones who induced me to start reading the series.
But after reading for an hour, I felt very drowsy again and I fell back to sleep, only awaking at
8. 30 am. After checking email and blogging, it was about 1o am. when I got out of bed and decided to have not breakfast but brunch as I had to leave the house for a memorial service at Royal Holloway College for my friend and colleague Sally who passed away last year.
So I ate a plate full of salad and foccaccia and prawns and pasta--a real smorgasbord featuring all the leftovers I could find in my fridge. Lunch done, I called to find out exactly where the service would be held and discovered, to my horror, that it was not at Royal Holloway's campus in Bloomsbury but in Egham, Surrey, to which I had to travel for the service. That meant taking a mainline train from Waterloo and going on a journey of 40 minutes into the countryside.
I had not bargained for so long a journey and had not left myself enough time. There was no way I would make it to the campus in Surrey especially if there were only two trains each hour to Egham. So I abandoned the idea of attending the service and took buses instead to Kensington where I spent a while browsing in the upscale thrift stores before making my way to the wonderful edifice that comprises the Natural History Museum.
Well, first of all, I have to say that the building is simply splendid. It rivals the Victoria and Albert Museum, I think, in grandeur and bulk. Its entrance towers above in the form of twin turrets and the rest of the structure is equally imposing. Made of honey colored stone with gray granite banding it at intervals, it is covered with wonderful sculptures of animals and birds all around the exterior walls.
But wait till you see the interior. I mean, it is just stunning. I am shocked that I might so easily have missed appreciating this incredible structure. Even if the collection is not really my cup of tea, the building is worth a visit for the sheer splendour of its architecture and I am so glad I went.
There is a kind of austere beauty about the inside achieved by the use of honey colored arches, and pillars and columns, all minutely carved with primates clinging to the sides and a crisscross design reminiscent of bamboo or sugar canes. It is really fantastic. And then, of course, there is the imposing dinosaur skeleton that dominates the central hall causing every kid to take a step back. At the far end of the hall is a lovely marble sculpture of Darwin himself looking benign and avuncular and so kind some kids might consider jumping into his lap for a picture--which might explain why there is a barricade around it to prevent any such hi-jinks!
I asked the guy at the Information Desk for suggestions. Where should a first-time visitor to the museum begin? Did he have a list of highlights? He was helpful but couldn't really answer my questions. All he did was give me a map and describe the entire museum to me. However, because he did suggest that I begin with The Vault, that was where I first headed. This is a section on the second floor that deals with natural stone formations and The Vault contains precious and semi-precious stones, as the guy put it "as large as eggs". And so they were: rubies and diamonds and aquamarines and peridots and a host of other stones. There was also a collection of every kind of colored diamond in the world which took 25 years to put together--pretty impressive.
I was more fascinated by the actual meteorites that have reached the earth after hurtling through space, having originated on the planet Mars or on the moon. You can actually touch a meteorite that was as large as a stool! All of this stuff was pretty wild and I have to admit that I was excited (though for some inexplicable reason, I felt sleepy and at one point was ready to collapse). It was clearly time for a cup of ginger and lemon tea and a cupcake that I had purchased from the famous Hummingbird Bakery in Kensington (a date cake with caramel topping--deeelicious!). This pepped me up somewhat and off I went again.
This time I aimed for the giant sequoia or Californian redwood that is cut in a marvelous cross section that allows you to see the thousand odd rings that proclaim its age--it was finally felled at the age of 1335 years! Of course, having visited the giant redwood forests in California last year, having seen these cross sections before and having actually stood under these trees, I have to say that I was not that impressed. Still, it made a good addition to the museum.
Next, I went out in search of the Blue Whale--a massive replica of it with its skeleton intact is visible on a floor with a whole host of other large animals--elephants, giraffes, hippos, yaks, bison, etc. The size of the blue whale was, I have to say, stupendous, and had I not seen this mammal in relation to the other animals around it, I would simply never have been able to fathom (excuse the pun!) its size! I mean it was staggeringly colossal.
I could not leave the museum without taking a look at the dinosaur section and the museum has a grand one--loads of dinosaur skeletons (though these are all plaster models, I believe) and a few fully mechanized dinosaurs of various sizes that growled menacingly at the kids--much to their wonderment and delight. It is probably because I do not have little ones that I am deprived of the pleasure of taking them to see things like this--but I have to say that this visit to the museum took me back to Bombay and the days when my parents used to take us on weekends to places such as the Prince of Wales Museum where one of our favorite sections was the Natural History section with all the stuffed animals. So it was good and I had a great time and was really glad that I will not be leaving London without having seen the marvels contained within this exotic space.
Before I got back home on the bus, I stopped briefly at the V&A Museum next door especially to take a picture of the Jeringham Wine Cooler (as I did not have a picture of it). I felt a twinge of regret as I left the space because I know that with my stay here soon approaching its end, I shall probably not return to the V&A again for a very long time. Still, I have to say that during the winter months, my forays through these spaces provided me with loads of hours of intellectual pleasure and I am so glad I had this wonderful opportunity.
At home, I attended to my email, made a booking for my bus ride to Oxford and back, tried to fix a few more appointments with Anglo-Indians for interviews, had my dinner, wrote this blog and went to bed--but not before starting the very last Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows).
London
Hard to believe that after a whole year of museum-hopping in this city, there are still some important museums I have not yet seen. The Natural History Museum is a case in point. 2009 marks the second birth centenary of Charles Darwin, perhaps the greatest naturalist the world has ever known--so it seemed important that I should make the time to visit this shrine to his intellectual productivity. As you can tell, science is not my chief priority--which explains why I have visited several rather unknown museums, whilst this one had gone unnoticed.
But first things first. I have to say that I am delighted that my sleep patterns have improved tremendously. I awoke at 6. 30 pm and finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince--yyeess!!!--which has proven to be my favorite of the lot so far--though poor Dumbledore dies and Harry dumps Ginny! With just one more to go, it seems as if I might well meet my goal of reading all seven novels before my return to the States. My students should be very pleased as they were the ones who induced me to start reading the series.
But after reading for an hour, I felt very drowsy again and I fell back to sleep, only awaking at
8. 30 am. After checking email and blogging, it was about 1o am. when I got out of bed and decided to have not breakfast but brunch as I had to leave the house for a memorial service at Royal Holloway College for my friend and colleague Sally who passed away last year.
So I ate a plate full of salad and foccaccia and prawns and pasta--a real smorgasbord featuring all the leftovers I could find in my fridge. Lunch done, I called to find out exactly where the service would be held and discovered, to my horror, that it was not at Royal Holloway's campus in Bloomsbury but in Egham, Surrey, to which I had to travel for the service. That meant taking a mainline train from Waterloo and going on a journey of 40 minutes into the countryside.
I had not bargained for so long a journey and had not left myself enough time. There was no way I would make it to the campus in Surrey especially if there were only two trains each hour to Egham. So I abandoned the idea of attending the service and took buses instead to Kensington where I spent a while browsing in the upscale thrift stores before making my way to the wonderful edifice that comprises the Natural History Museum.
Well, first of all, I have to say that the building is simply splendid. It rivals the Victoria and Albert Museum, I think, in grandeur and bulk. Its entrance towers above in the form of twin turrets and the rest of the structure is equally imposing. Made of honey colored stone with gray granite banding it at intervals, it is covered with wonderful sculptures of animals and birds all around the exterior walls.
But wait till you see the interior. I mean, it is just stunning. I am shocked that I might so easily have missed appreciating this incredible structure. Even if the collection is not really my cup of tea, the building is worth a visit for the sheer splendour of its architecture and I am so glad I went.
There is a kind of austere beauty about the inside achieved by the use of honey colored arches, and pillars and columns, all minutely carved with primates clinging to the sides and a crisscross design reminiscent of bamboo or sugar canes. It is really fantastic. And then, of course, there is the imposing dinosaur skeleton that dominates the central hall causing every kid to take a step back. At the far end of the hall is a lovely marble sculpture of Darwin himself looking benign and avuncular and so kind some kids might consider jumping into his lap for a picture--which might explain why there is a barricade around it to prevent any such hi-jinks!
I asked the guy at the Information Desk for suggestions. Where should a first-time visitor to the museum begin? Did he have a list of highlights? He was helpful but couldn't really answer my questions. All he did was give me a map and describe the entire museum to me. However, because he did suggest that I begin with The Vault, that was where I first headed. This is a section on the second floor that deals with natural stone formations and The Vault contains precious and semi-precious stones, as the guy put it "as large as eggs". And so they were: rubies and diamonds and aquamarines and peridots and a host of other stones. There was also a collection of every kind of colored diamond in the world which took 25 years to put together--pretty impressive.
I was more fascinated by the actual meteorites that have reached the earth after hurtling through space, having originated on the planet Mars or on the moon. You can actually touch a meteorite that was as large as a stool! All of this stuff was pretty wild and I have to admit that I was excited (though for some inexplicable reason, I felt sleepy and at one point was ready to collapse). It was clearly time for a cup of ginger and lemon tea and a cupcake that I had purchased from the famous Hummingbird Bakery in Kensington (a date cake with caramel topping--deeelicious!). This pepped me up somewhat and off I went again.
This time I aimed for the giant sequoia or Californian redwood that is cut in a marvelous cross section that allows you to see the thousand odd rings that proclaim its age--it was finally felled at the age of 1335 years! Of course, having visited the giant redwood forests in California last year, having seen these cross sections before and having actually stood under these trees, I have to say that I was not that impressed. Still, it made a good addition to the museum.
Next, I went out in search of the Blue Whale--a massive replica of it with its skeleton intact is visible on a floor with a whole host of other large animals--elephants, giraffes, hippos, yaks, bison, etc. The size of the blue whale was, I have to say, stupendous, and had I not seen this mammal in relation to the other animals around it, I would simply never have been able to fathom (excuse the pun!) its size! I mean it was staggeringly colossal.
I could not leave the museum without taking a look at the dinosaur section and the museum has a grand one--loads of dinosaur skeletons (though these are all plaster models, I believe) and a few fully mechanized dinosaurs of various sizes that growled menacingly at the kids--much to their wonderment and delight. It is probably because I do not have little ones that I am deprived of the pleasure of taking them to see things like this--but I have to say that this visit to the museum took me back to Bombay and the days when my parents used to take us on weekends to places such as the Prince of Wales Museum where one of our favorite sections was the Natural History section with all the stuffed animals. So it was good and I had a great time and was really glad that I will not be leaving London without having seen the marvels contained within this exotic space.
Before I got back home on the bus, I stopped briefly at the V&A Museum next door especially to take a picture of the Jeringham Wine Cooler (as I did not have a picture of it). I felt a twinge of regret as I left the space because I know that with my stay here soon approaching its end, I shall probably not return to the V&A again for a very long time. Still, I have to say that during the winter months, my forays through these spaces provided me with loads of hours of intellectual pleasure and I am so glad I had this wonderful opportunity.
At home, I attended to my email, made a booking for my bus ride to Oxford and back, tried to fix a few more appointments with Anglo-Indians for interviews, had my dinner, wrote this blog and went to bed--but not before starting the very last Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows).
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Visiting Cliveden and An Afternoon with Anglo-Indians
Sunday, June 22, 2009
Maidenhead, London
Another gorgeous day in London meant that I could look forward to a wonderful day out in Maidenhead. I had been invited, many months ago, by my friends Henry and Marian Holley to join their group of local Anglo-Indians at their quarterly gathering in Maidenhead. Since I had not been able to make it there on past occasions, I really was determined to get there today and since Maidenhead is close to Windsor Castle and is reached by a train journey, I looked up my map to find out if there were any National Trust properties close by that I could visit--with the intention of killing two birds with one stone.
Well, it turned out that Cliveden (pronounced 'Cliv-din"), another fabulous property, is in the small town of Taplow, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from Maidenhead. I had consulted with Henry on the possibility of combining an excursion to this place with an appearance at his meeting and he graciously offered to pick me up from Cliveden at the end of my visit and drive me to Maidenhead for the Anglo-Indian do.
More National Trust Peeves:
So I left my place at 9 am, took a bus to King's Cross (as "planned construction" at Farringdon has closed down the Tube stations for the past few weekends--bummer!) and took the Tube to Paddington from where I caught the 10. 15 train to Maidenhead (9. 50 pounds round trip). A taxi that I hailed outside the station (because, once again, there is no public transport available to Cliveden--double bummer!) meant that I had to fork out another 14 pounds to get there. However, I realize that I have no choice in the matter and that until and unless the National Trust decides to run a shuttle service from the railway stations to its properties, visitors like myself will simply have to deal with the expense and the convenience.
When I arrived at Cliveden, however, I was faced with another huge disappointment. Entry to the mansion at Cliveden (which has been converted into a fancy deluxe hotel) is open to National Trust members only on Sunday (so says the website, which also refers to "timed entry"). Timed entry means that only a few visitors at a time can take guided tours inside. However, nowhere on the website is it mentioned that these timed entrances and guided tours begin only at 3. 30 pm with last entry at 5. 30 pm! Can you believe how irritated I was when I discovered this? Well, again, what could I do but deal with it? What would it take for the National Trust to state on the website and in their publicity literature that tours are given only between 3. 30 and 5.30 pm? That way, visitors would organize their day in such a way as to spend the early afternoon touring the gardens and then take the tour! Is this too much to ask of a national organization that has existed for over a century??? Really, I do believe it is time they got their act together!
Touring Cliveden's Gardens:
Well, left with no choice, I began my tour of the garden. I had exactly one and a half hour to do this as Henry was due to pick me up at 1 pm. The map I was handed was very helpful indeed and I soon found my way through the various individual gardens that make up the property.
Before I began my own walking tour of the gardens, I watched an introductory film that filled the visitor with interesting information about the history of the house which is associated mainly with two persons: Waldorf and Nancy Astor. These were multi-millionaires who were also associated with politics (Nancy was elected MP four times). They gave glittering balls and welcomed some of the leading lights of the era into their sprawling home including members of the royal family. The house received rather unsavory attention in the mid-1970s during what has been termed The Profumo Scandal which involved an MP called John Profumo who cavorted by the pool with a young lady named Christine Keeler who was, at the same time, involved in an affair with a Russian named Ivanovic, who also happened to be a spy. All hell broke loose in the press when the affair was made public and it brought down a government at the time.
After the passing away of the Astors, the property was left to the National Trust who, for a time foolishly leased it out to an American university whose students treated the grand manor and the gardens in the way they would a student dorm--i.e. without the slightest respect for its noble antecedents--much to the horror of the retainers who watched their beloved Cliveden decay before their very eyes. When the lease ended, it was decided to turn it into a five-star hotel--an idea that has worked superbly. The Cliveden is considered one of the greatest hotels in the world and, no doubt, brings valuable revenue to the National Trust.
My wanderings took me, first of all, to the Long (Italianate) Garden with its large bird shaped topiaries and its classical statuary. The Secret Garden was larger than I expected (most secret gardens are tiny and tucked away--this was neither), but it was charming indeed with delicate arbors, more statuary and a variety of flowers with an emphasis on the colors yellow and purple. Needless to say, I could not stop clicking and I soon ran out of memory space on my camera--most frustrating. I loved the Ilex Grove that was full of wild purple foxgloves. When I reached a clearing in the thickly wooded grounds, I had fabulous views over the Thames Valley with the thin ribbon of the river gleaming in the bright sunlight. Really lovely parkland for casual walks and I saw many couples strolling hand in hand as well as babies being pushed around in strollers.
I then found myself looking up at the beige mansion itself and had a chance to appreciate its classical architecture--its balconies and balustrades, its gold headed Clock Tower and its castle-like roof. It was designed by Charles Barry, the same one who designed the Houses of Parliament in London in the mid-1800s. From the Duke's Garden with its lush herbaceous border beds with their vivid patches of color against brick walls, I made my way to the rear Terrace where I could see the Parterre with its Elizabethan Knot Garden stretching ahead of me. A few feet below me was the Chapel, a classical architectural feature to be found in a great many formal gardens...and a little further was the War Memorial Garden.
Soon it was almost 1 pm and I had to return to the Reception kiosk and on asking my way there, I passed by the Blenheim Pavilion (another classical architectural feature). I am so pleased that I made the choices I did in the past few weeks as these varied gardens have allowed me to see and appreciate the same features that make up some of the more famous English gardens such as Chatsworth and Stowe which happen to be too far away from London and not easily reached by public transport. This way, I have made the most of my National Trust membership, have reached gardens that are superbly representative of English country styles and have completely satisfied my appetite for summer garden outings.
The Anglo-Indian Gathering:
Then it was 1 pm, and Henry arrived to pick me up. In less than ten minutes, we were at the church hall of St. Edmund Campion in Maidenhead where the meeting was held. I had expected a much larger crowd, similar to the one I had found at the South London Anglo-Indian Association's Thursday meeting but saw that there were no more than thirty folks comprising many elderly Anglo-Indians with a few white English people scattered through--the fact that it was Father's Day probably accounted for the smaller attendance. Henry made a general brief introduction and we headed straight towards the counter where I met his wife Marion and their lovely daughter Karen who handed me a glass of orange juice. No one was drinking any alcohol which rather surprised me.
On one table was a selection of pickles and marmalade for sale--the prawn balchow was made by Henry and I couldn't resist taking a bottle home for just 2 pounds. There was also another table full of food items on raffle. All these items were donated by the various people who had arrived there and all the proceeds raised by these raffles went towards the donations made to Anglo-Indian organizations in India. Seated at the table with me over lunch, Henry explained to me what these various charities are--they help schools in Calcutta and Madras (such as the Bateman's School in Madras).
I also met Philip who with his partner Sue help street children in Bombay through the various charities they fund. Last year, they made donations of over five thousand pounds to charities in India. Philip explained to me the ingenious ways in which this money is raised--he receives all the rejected items from department stores like John Lewis which he then sells to the public at heavily discounted prices through car booth sales. He and his English partner Sue personally visit these schools, once a year, to supervise the activities. I was astonished to discover that they have donated computers, school buses, water coolers, etc. to these schools and will continue to do so. Indeed, in most places I go, I find the Anglo-Indians supportive of charity ventures in India, many donating through Sr. Marisa in Calcutta. Their goals and their achievements are highly impressive and perhaps more so because so few people really know how much they give because their efforts are rarely publicized.
Lunch was a marvelous pot luck affair all laid out on long tables. Everyone had brought a dish or two and there was everything you could imagine--from samosas and spring rolls for starters to parathas, steamed rice. pea pullao and a huge variety of curries: green chicken curry, beef curry, pork vindaloo, vegetable curry with raita to cool the palate. On another table stood a variety of desserts. Of course, these being my weakness, I made sure I saved room for some: my favorite Waitrose Black Forest Gateau was present but, by far, the most popular dessert was the sliced tinned mangoes with vanilla ice-cream, though I have to say that the Marks and Spencer Pecan and Meringue Roulade that I tasted for the first time was scrumptious and definitely something I will buy to enjoy myself before I leave from here.
Most of the folks had heard about me and my work from Henry over the past year and they were warmly welcoming, making a special effort to come up and talk to me over lunch. I found them a truly jolly lot and it was loads of fun to get to know them. After lunch, Henry said a few words to bring the crowd up-to-date on the state of their charities and to prep them for the big Anglo-Indian Day that is held in Croydon on the first weekend in August. Alas, though I have received many invitations from so many different groups to attend this, I simply cannot as my visa expires on August 1 and I have to leave the UK before that date! However, this group has a Bottle Sale on that occasion as well as other fund-raisers--all of which go towards the support of their less-privileged counterparts in India.
Henry then invited Nicholas Thompson to address the group and give them an update on the Bateman's School that is run by his Cambridge-educated daughter Alex in Madras. Nicholas, an Englishman who served in the British army in India during the war, was stationed for a large part of his life in modern-day Pakistan and his daughter Alex was born there. Both of them have devoted their lives to India and to the welfare of her downtrodden.
Henry then invited me to address the crowd and tell them about my work and I was delighted to do so as well as to invite those folks who'd like to share their life stories with me to come forward and give me their names and telephone numbers. I was so pleased when so many of them came forward to meet me personally and volunteered to become a part of my study. I am even more thrilled because now I will probably return to the States at the end of July having reached my goal of 50 respondents--not only will this make my survey sample substantial enough to be recognized as a valid study group but it will increase my chances of getting my manuscript published as a book by an academic press in the UK or the USA.
So, I am truly grateful to the Holleys in ways that words cannot express because they have been supportive of my scholarly work from the very outset. It was Henry who saw the notice on the Anglo-Indian Portal website inviting Anglo-Indians to come forward to contact me. He did so and we have struck up a fine and very productive friendship for which I am very grateful indeed.
Then it was raffle time and at five pounds a pop, several folks bought 10 pounds worth of tickets--at the end of the day, the group collected almost 100 pounds that would go towards their charitable ventures. I was fortunate enough to leave the venue with a box of Cadbury's Roses chocolates (Llew's favorite) and a bottle of Buck's Fizz--the very essence of an English summer! However, there were folks who went home with as many as five and six prizes that included everything from chocolates and bottles of wine to ceramic mugs and tins of sweets.
When the event came to a close, everyone pooled in to clean and clear out the space. It was at this point that so many folks came forward to give me their names and telephone numbers. A few of them live as far away as Oxford and they have promised to get together with me when I am in Oxford next week. I was so taken by the willingness with which they offered to share their stories with me. It makes me feel as if my year in the UK was a hundred per cent productive in terms of my research.
Henry and Marion invited me back to their home in Maidenhead for a cup of tea where we were joined by close friends of their--Royce and Leona and Terry. Seated in their living room over cups of Marion's steaming cups and joined later by daughter Karen, I sat back and drowned in laughter created by these folks as they reminisced about their growing days in India and about the many hilarious experiences on their trips back--for they do return as tourists and travel on Indian trains, and as they recalled the various cultural misunderstandings that have assailed them, I doubled up with laughter. It was a hysterically funny evening and I don't think I have laughed so much in a very long time. Clearly, these folks have the deepest affection for the land of their birth and they return to it with the warmest anticipation. Despite the many changes they have seen in India since their departure for greener pastures and the many inconveniences they face when they are there, they clearly have a fantastic time with their family members and return with a bagful of priceless memories.
Then it was time for me to leave. Henry dropped me back to Maidenhead station for the 7. 06 train. I arrived home at exactly 9 pm but was so stuffed from all the eating I had done all afternoon that I skipped dinner (they had also sent me home with a load of leftover curries which will keep me fed for the next couple of days!). I spent a while reviewing my email, blogged a little bit, downloaded my pictures from my camera and went to bed about 11. 00 pm. after what had been another truly memorable day.
Maidenhead, London
Another gorgeous day in London meant that I could look forward to a wonderful day out in Maidenhead. I had been invited, many months ago, by my friends Henry and Marian Holley to join their group of local Anglo-Indians at their quarterly gathering in Maidenhead. Since I had not been able to make it there on past occasions, I really was determined to get there today and since Maidenhead is close to Windsor Castle and is reached by a train journey, I looked up my map to find out if there were any National Trust properties close by that I could visit--with the intention of killing two birds with one stone.
Well, it turned out that Cliveden (pronounced 'Cliv-din"), another fabulous property, is in the small town of Taplow, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from Maidenhead. I had consulted with Henry on the possibility of combining an excursion to this place with an appearance at his meeting and he graciously offered to pick me up from Cliveden at the end of my visit and drive me to Maidenhead for the Anglo-Indian do.
More National Trust Peeves:
So I left my place at 9 am, took a bus to King's Cross (as "planned construction" at Farringdon has closed down the Tube stations for the past few weekends--bummer!) and took the Tube to Paddington from where I caught the 10. 15 train to Maidenhead (9. 50 pounds round trip). A taxi that I hailed outside the station (because, once again, there is no public transport available to Cliveden--double bummer!) meant that I had to fork out another 14 pounds to get there. However, I realize that I have no choice in the matter and that until and unless the National Trust decides to run a shuttle service from the railway stations to its properties, visitors like myself will simply have to deal with the expense and the convenience.
When I arrived at Cliveden, however, I was faced with another huge disappointment. Entry to the mansion at Cliveden (which has been converted into a fancy deluxe hotel) is open to National Trust members only on Sunday (so says the website, which also refers to "timed entry"). Timed entry means that only a few visitors at a time can take guided tours inside. However, nowhere on the website is it mentioned that these timed entrances and guided tours begin only at 3. 30 pm with last entry at 5. 30 pm! Can you believe how irritated I was when I discovered this? Well, again, what could I do but deal with it? What would it take for the National Trust to state on the website and in their publicity literature that tours are given only between 3. 30 and 5.30 pm? That way, visitors would organize their day in such a way as to spend the early afternoon touring the gardens and then take the tour! Is this too much to ask of a national organization that has existed for over a century??? Really, I do believe it is time they got their act together!
Touring Cliveden's Gardens:
Well, left with no choice, I began my tour of the garden. I had exactly one and a half hour to do this as Henry was due to pick me up at 1 pm. The map I was handed was very helpful indeed and I soon found my way through the various individual gardens that make up the property.
Before I began my own walking tour of the gardens, I watched an introductory film that filled the visitor with interesting information about the history of the house which is associated mainly with two persons: Waldorf and Nancy Astor. These were multi-millionaires who were also associated with politics (Nancy was elected MP four times). They gave glittering balls and welcomed some of the leading lights of the era into their sprawling home including members of the royal family. The house received rather unsavory attention in the mid-1970s during what has been termed The Profumo Scandal which involved an MP called John Profumo who cavorted by the pool with a young lady named Christine Keeler who was, at the same time, involved in an affair with a Russian named Ivanovic, who also happened to be a spy. All hell broke loose in the press when the affair was made public and it brought down a government at the time.
After the passing away of the Astors, the property was left to the National Trust who, for a time foolishly leased it out to an American university whose students treated the grand manor and the gardens in the way they would a student dorm--i.e. without the slightest respect for its noble antecedents--much to the horror of the retainers who watched their beloved Cliveden decay before their very eyes. When the lease ended, it was decided to turn it into a five-star hotel--an idea that has worked superbly. The Cliveden is considered one of the greatest hotels in the world and, no doubt, brings valuable revenue to the National Trust.
My wanderings took me, first of all, to the Long (Italianate) Garden with its large bird shaped topiaries and its classical statuary. The Secret Garden was larger than I expected (most secret gardens are tiny and tucked away--this was neither), but it was charming indeed with delicate arbors, more statuary and a variety of flowers with an emphasis on the colors yellow and purple. Needless to say, I could not stop clicking and I soon ran out of memory space on my camera--most frustrating. I loved the Ilex Grove that was full of wild purple foxgloves. When I reached a clearing in the thickly wooded grounds, I had fabulous views over the Thames Valley with the thin ribbon of the river gleaming in the bright sunlight. Really lovely parkland for casual walks and I saw many couples strolling hand in hand as well as babies being pushed around in strollers.
I then found myself looking up at the beige mansion itself and had a chance to appreciate its classical architecture--its balconies and balustrades, its gold headed Clock Tower and its castle-like roof. It was designed by Charles Barry, the same one who designed the Houses of Parliament in London in the mid-1800s. From the Duke's Garden with its lush herbaceous border beds with their vivid patches of color against brick walls, I made my way to the rear Terrace where I could see the Parterre with its Elizabethan Knot Garden stretching ahead of me. A few feet below me was the Chapel, a classical architectural feature to be found in a great many formal gardens...and a little further was the War Memorial Garden.
Soon it was almost 1 pm and I had to return to the Reception kiosk and on asking my way there, I passed by the Blenheim Pavilion (another classical architectural feature). I am so pleased that I made the choices I did in the past few weeks as these varied gardens have allowed me to see and appreciate the same features that make up some of the more famous English gardens such as Chatsworth and Stowe which happen to be too far away from London and not easily reached by public transport. This way, I have made the most of my National Trust membership, have reached gardens that are superbly representative of English country styles and have completely satisfied my appetite for summer garden outings.
The Anglo-Indian Gathering:
Then it was 1 pm, and Henry arrived to pick me up. In less than ten minutes, we were at the church hall of St. Edmund Campion in Maidenhead where the meeting was held. I had expected a much larger crowd, similar to the one I had found at the South London Anglo-Indian Association's Thursday meeting but saw that there were no more than thirty folks comprising many elderly Anglo-Indians with a few white English people scattered through--the fact that it was Father's Day probably accounted for the smaller attendance. Henry made a general brief introduction and we headed straight towards the counter where I met his wife Marion and their lovely daughter Karen who handed me a glass of orange juice. No one was drinking any alcohol which rather surprised me.
On one table was a selection of pickles and marmalade for sale--the prawn balchow was made by Henry and I couldn't resist taking a bottle home for just 2 pounds. There was also another table full of food items on raffle. All these items were donated by the various people who had arrived there and all the proceeds raised by these raffles went towards the donations made to Anglo-Indian organizations in India. Seated at the table with me over lunch, Henry explained to me what these various charities are--they help schools in Calcutta and Madras (such as the Bateman's School in Madras).
I also met Philip who with his partner Sue help street children in Bombay through the various charities they fund. Last year, they made donations of over five thousand pounds to charities in India. Philip explained to me the ingenious ways in which this money is raised--he receives all the rejected items from department stores like John Lewis which he then sells to the public at heavily discounted prices through car booth sales. He and his English partner Sue personally visit these schools, once a year, to supervise the activities. I was astonished to discover that they have donated computers, school buses, water coolers, etc. to these schools and will continue to do so. Indeed, in most places I go, I find the Anglo-Indians supportive of charity ventures in India, many donating through Sr. Marisa in Calcutta. Their goals and their achievements are highly impressive and perhaps more so because so few people really know how much they give because their efforts are rarely publicized.
Lunch was a marvelous pot luck affair all laid out on long tables. Everyone had brought a dish or two and there was everything you could imagine--from samosas and spring rolls for starters to parathas, steamed rice. pea pullao and a huge variety of curries: green chicken curry, beef curry, pork vindaloo, vegetable curry with raita to cool the palate. On another table stood a variety of desserts. Of course, these being my weakness, I made sure I saved room for some: my favorite Waitrose Black Forest Gateau was present but, by far, the most popular dessert was the sliced tinned mangoes with vanilla ice-cream, though I have to say that the Marks and Spencer Pecan and Meringue Roulade that I tasted for the first time was scrumptious and definitely something I will buy to enjoy myself before I leave from here.
Most of the folks had heard about me and my work from Henry over the past year and they were warmly welcoming, making a special effort to come up and talk to me over lunch. I found them a truly jolly lot and it was loads of fun to get to know them. After lunch, Henry said a few words to bring the crowd up-to-date on the state of their charities and to prep them for the big Anglo-Indian Day that is held in Croydon on the first weekend in August. Alas, though I have received many invitations from so many different groups to attend this, I simply cannot as my visa expires on August 1 and I have to leave the UK before that date! However, this group has a Bottle Sale on that occasion as well as other fund-raisers--all of which go towards the support of their less-privileged counterparts in India.
Henry then invited Nicholas Thompson to address the group and give them an update on the Bateman's School that is run by his Cambridge-educated daughter Alex in Madras. Nicholas, an Englishman who served in the British army in India during the war, was stationed for a large part of his life in modern-day Pakistan and his daughter Alex was born there. Both of them have devoted their lives to India and to the welfare of her downtrodden.
Henry then invited me to address the crowd and tell them about my work and I was delighted to do so as well as to invite those folks who'd like to share their life stories with me to come forward and give me their names and telephone numbers. I was so pleased when so many of them came forward to meet me personally and volunteered to become a part of my study. I am even more thrilled because now I will probably return to the States at the end of July having reached my goal of 50 respondents--not only will this make my survey sample substantial enough to be recognized as a valid study group but it will increase my chances of getting my manuscript published as a book by an academic press in the UK or the USA.
So, I am truly grateful to the Holleys in ways that words cannot express because they have been supportive of my scholarly work from the very outset. It was Henry who saw the notice on the Anglo-Indian Portal website inviting Anglo-Indians to come forward to contact me. He did so and we have struck up a fine and very productive friendship for which I am very grateful indeed.
Then it was raffle time and at five pounds a pop, several folks bought 10 pounds worth of tickets--at the end of the day, the group collected almost 100 pounds that would go towards their charitable ventures. I was fortunate enough to leave the venue with a box of Cadbury's Roses chocolates (Llew's favorite) and a bottle of Buck's Fizz--the very essence of an English summer! However, there were folks who went home with as many as five and six prizes that included everything from chocolates and bottles of wine to ceramic mugs and tins of sweets.
When the event came to a close, everyone pooled in to clean and clear out the space. It was at this point that so many folks came forward to give me their names and telephone numbers. A few of them live as far away as Oxford and they have promised to get together with me when I am in Oxford next week. I was so taken by the willingness with which they offered to share their stories with me. It makes me feel as if my year in the UK was a hundred per cent productive in terms of my research.
Henry and Marion invited me back to their home in Maidenhead for a cup of tea where we were joined by close friends of their--Royce and Leona and Terry. Seated in their living room over cups of Marion's steaming cups and joined later by daughter Karen, I sat back and drowned in laughter created by these folks as they reminisced about their growing days in India and about the many hilarious experiences on their trips back--for they do return as tourists and travel on Indian trains, and as they recalled the various cultural misunderstandings that have assailed them, I doubled up with laughter. It was a hysterically funny evening and I don't think I have laughed so much in a very long time. Clearly, these folks have the deepest affection for the land of their birth and they return to it with the warmest anticipation. Despite the many changes they have seen in India since their departure for greener pastures and the many inconveniences they face when they are there, they clearly have a fantastic time with their family members and return with a bagful of priceless memories.
Then it was time for me to leave. Henry dropped me back to Maidenhead station for the 7. 06 train. I arrived home at exactly 9 pm but was so stuffed from all the eating I had done all afternoon that I skipped dinner (they had also sent me home with a load of leftover curries which will keep me fed for the next couple of days!). I spent a while reviewing my email, blogged a little bit, downloaded my pictures from my camera and went to bed about 11. 00 pm. after what had been another truly memorable day.
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