A Super Sunday in London: Churches, Friends, Shopping, Pub Grub...

 A Super Sunday in London: Churches, Friends, Shopping, Pub Grub... 

London

Sunday, May 8, 2022

    Another fabulous day saw me packing it in furiously. But then that's the story of my life: not just when I am in London, but in general! So, I awoke at 5.00 am, did some blogging, showered, went down to breakfast (a tad later than usual--so saw more traffic at the buffet bars: feasted on a Full English Brekkie for I will never tire of English bacon and bangers) and went walkabout!

Visit to my Former Parish Church of St. Etheldreda's:

    I walked briskly to High Holborn and jumped into the 8 to ride it two stops to Holborn Circle. From there, I walked to Ely Place, having the area entirely to myself as the rest of London snored during a weekend lie-in. It was past 9 am, but I was only there at St. Etheldreda's Church for a visit (for old times' sake)--I had been in contact earlier in the morning with friends (early risers like myself) and had fixed to meet them for Mass at their church at Knightsbridge. I was happy to get the last bits of Mass and to see Fr. Tom Deidun at the altar--yes, still there after all these years. Priests are never transferred in the UK or the US (unlike in India). 

     Praying at St. Etheldreda's is always special for me. For one thing, it is eerily historic! Dating from 1250 when the Bishop of Ely (then the most powerful prelate in England) received permission to build a church at Hatton Gardens, it is considered the oldest Catholic Church in the UK as it was the first church to return to Roman Catholicism (in 1620) after the horrors of the Protestant Reformation had subsided. Shakespeare might have worshipped here but Queen Elizabeth I most certainly did, in her younger, pre-Queen days. Of course, the neighborhood has changed enormously since the 13th century (this is, of course, one of the oldest parts of London) but the church itself is exactly the same--the imposing stained glass windows, the statues of important lay people from the Renaissance high on the walls, the old Baptismal font, etc. St. Etheldreda's earthly remains are on the right hand side of the high altar. I am always thrilled when I realize that the oldest Catholic Church in England was once my parish!

A Nostalgic Walk Around Holborn and Farringdon:

    With my visit done, I decided to take a walk around my previous stomping ground (I would only be meeting my friends at 10.30 am and had about an hour to kill). So off I went, past Hatton Gardens, towards Charterhouse. Along the way, I passed by the Victorian Central Cold Storage building which is now defunct as the famous Victorian Smithfield Meat Market (which had been in business for at least 200 years) closed shop. I recall waking at dawn, when I lived in the building across the street, to be part of the bustle of butchers and restauranteurs selling and buying stock for the day--not a pretty sight, but one of those weird London experiences that only insiders can have! I took a lot of pictures of the beautiful building because I love its dimensions and ornate wrought-iron cladding and decorative details.

    Then, I walked further into Charterhouse Square to take pictures of the Carthusian monastery that dates back seven centuries. Jam packed with religious history that spans Tudor, Renaissance and Reformation times, it is still a working monastery and has about 10 monks still in residence. I once had the privilege of getting an insider's tour of the premises from one of the monks (please look at a past blog post here) and had loved every second of it. Queen Elizabeth I prepared for accession to the throne from this venue.

    The Charterhouse Monastery overlooks Charterhouse Square which is famous for one more thing--less historic, more cultural: On it stands the modern Art Deco building that is the facade for the apartment of Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot in the TV series starring David Suchet as Poirot! I took a few pictures on a glorious day when sunshine filled the square and then made my way on.

    Of course, I had to go along Cowcross Street where I had once lived in a converted warehouse, occupying the entire floor of what, in New York, we would have been called a 'loft'--all 6000 square feet of it! Sadly, the friends who had given me their London pied a terre to live in for 3 months, no longer own it. But nostalgia was rife as I walked alongside it and took pictures of The Castle pub at the corner which also functions as a pawn shop, has a license to do so and proudly sports the three hanging golden balls that proclaims this fact. The story goes that one of England's erstwhile kings (I forget which one), in disguise during his more profligate days, entered the pub and into a gambling match with a bystander. He lost everything and in desperation left his watch as collateral with the publican. The next day, he returned with the money to claim it and walked out with it. The next day, he sent the publican a license for pawn-broking (as indeed that was what he had done--he had pawned his watch on the gaming tables). This makes The Castle the only pub in England that also doubles as a pawn shop! And this was once my 'local'! How cool is that???

En route to Knightsbridge:

    Well, just as I was musing upon all these things, Farringdon Tube station, entirely spiffied up to function as one of the stops on the new Crossrail that will be christened the Elizabeth Line, loomed in front of me. I jumped into a Metropolitan line train to get to St. Paul's, Knightsbridge, for Mass at 10.30.  I was actually going to meet my friends at the entrance to their building in Chelsea and we were supposed to walk to church together. But I soon realized that I would never reach there on time. I phoned them and told them to carry on and that I would meet them directly in church. And that was what I did.

    I had forgotten how disrupted the public transport is in London on a Sunday, but, nevertheless, I soldiered on. At Great Portland Street, I got off and jumped into the Circle Line train. I then got off at Edgeware Road to connect to the Piccadilly Line to get off at Knightsbridge. This I did, with a whole lot of annoying delays.  At South Kensington Station, I realized I could take a bus to Wilton Place where St. Paul's Church is located. And that was exactly what I did. A bus heading towards Hyde Park Corner came along and I got off just steps from the church. As my friends Michael and Cynthia were entering the church, so was I! They were flabbergasted...but you can only do this kind of transportation juggling if you know London as well as I do! We had a fond reunion (and, thankfully, we can now hug with impunity!) before we entered the church. There, I promptly met my friend Sarah who came across to hug me and say Hiya and Welcome to London.

A Mass to Remember:

    It is only when I am back in an Anglican Church for a sung service that I realize why I love Church of England worship so much and why I have such a hard time with church services in India. Everything about these churches--from their interior grandeur (this one is also neo-Gothic) to the splendour of the choir (music is an essential part of Anglican worship), the dramatic homilies from brilliant speakers that craft them with wit and humor and thoughtful quotations, the amazing sense of spirituality that engulfs me when I am in the company of worshippers who participate loudly and sing lustily and have no qualms about being a very vocal part of the service, are all the aspects of worship I miss in India. 

    There was a Baptism scheduled and I was surprized to find that the baby was almost two years old! I don't know if this is customary in the Church of England or whether the parents simply waited Covid out! Anyway, we all renewed our Baptismal vows with the baby's parents and then the service proceeded. New musical compositions were being tried out this morning with the composer, Kerensa Briggs, actually sitting in the congregation with us and listening to the power of her own stupendous work! 

    Mass done, there were drinks served to encourage socializing, but since I knew no one except  my friends, we decided to move on. Michael and Cynthia had invited me to their place for lunch and I thoroughly enjoyed the 15 minutes' slow stroll to Cadogan Square in Chelsea for we passed by the tony shops and restaurants of Belgravia and the home of Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten, last Viceroy of India, and his wife Edwina. I was most excited and took a picture in front of it. One of my favorite students (who now lives here in London) had once asked me for a recommendation so that she could apply for the Lord Mountbatten Prize. I had given her a glowing reference as she is one of the finest students I have ever taught, she got it, came to London, met her husband, had two children and remains a close friend! Llew and I will be having dinner with her family later in our stay. She always tell me that but for my course, she would never even have heard of Lord Mountbatten!   

    We arrived at Gloucester Court soon enough where my friends put a G & T in my hand and bustled around to put a simple soup and cheese meal on the table--sweet corn soup with buttered toast and cheddar cheese, lots of nibbles (peanuts, crisps, mango chutney, etc.--a real ploughman's lunch), a Quiche Lorraine and dessert of delicious fresh fruit salad. We had the best time as we caught up on so many things in our lives. What a great time I have every time I am with them! They are my closest friends in London and Cynthia and I consider ourselves to be sisters!  Eventually, however, I had to leave as I wanted to make the most of a gorgeous day and shopping on the King's Road at Sloane Square beckoned. I decided to be a cool Sloane Ranger for just a little while!

Becoming a Sloane Ranger:

    And so I walked down the King's Road on a day when a lot of other people had the same idea--everyone was enjoying the warm sunshine (I actually had to peel off my jacket). Chelsea has special significance for Llew and me as his brother had lived on Redesdale Street in a gorgeous house when he had been posted to work in London, many moons ago. For three years in a row, Llew and I had spent part of our summers in Chelsea and became well acquainted with its retail offerings. I bought a pair of ear-rings in one shop and moved on towards World's End to buy a bone china mug in another. Cynthia had directed me to a hair dresser she uses called Mahi in a salon called Greema's Hair Salon, but when I reached there, I discovered that Mahi would next be there only on Tuesday and that I would need to make an appointment to see her. I badly needed a haircut and I thought that London would be a great place to get one!

 Bits and Bobs on a Sunshiny Day:

    I them hopped into a bus getting back to Central London and thrilled, once again, to the joys of being on the King's Road. Just before leaving Sloane Square, I entered Peter Jones (Department store) as I needed a glass and chrome pump dispenser for liquid hand soap in my bathroom in India. However, the ones I saw were too plain and I will keep looking.

 By the time it arrived at Piccadilly, I had decided to hop off to see the special exhibition of English bone china manufacturers at Fortnum and Mason which is also one of my favorite shops in London. And that was what I did. I got off at Green Park, walked past the Ritz and arrived at my destination only to find a fabulous exhibition to celebrate the Queen's Platinum Jubilee in the shop windows. They were simply splendid. I surveyed the offerings on the ground floor, of course, but I was mainly interested in the exhibition on the first floor--an absolute treat for any lover of painted porcelain and fine bone china. There were a couple of antique tea sets on display and for sale and I was sorely tempted to buy a Tea for Two set! But then I thought about what my current collection of porcelain teacups has meant--they will only be given away some day! So, I decided to restrain my impulse and move on. 

    I had the best time as I moved through the luxury items on this floor, curbing my enthusiasm at every turn. Eventually, I left the store and hopped into another bus to get back to my hotel as I thought it would be good to get a bit of a rest. I had chatted on the phone with my friend Rosemary whom I be meeting for dinner and we decided it would be at Bill's on Kingsway in Holborn. So back on the bus I hopped, got off at my hotel and had a very brief lie-down, but sadly no nap.

Dinner with Rosemary:

    I was at Bill's on schedule (only to find it temporarily closed--Covid has a lot to answer for!). After a fab reunion (she is one of my closest friends in London), we decided to try The Shakespeare's Head pub next door where they had a good deal: an alcoholic drink and a burger for under 10 pounds! It was indeed a steal and we had the same except that Roz had a glass of red wine while I had a pint of Guinness as I love it as a draft stout. Over our meal, needless to say, we gabbed nineteen to the dozen. Roz caught me up on all the doings in her life and we resolved to meet again (we will probably stay with her for one night just before our departure) once Llew gets here.

    We parted company at 9.00 am as Roz had a whiles to go to Battersea where she lives. And with that, as twilight fell most charmingly over the rooftops of the curving buildings on High Holborn, I made my way back to my hotel at Red Lion Street. 

    It was not long before I readied myself for bed and went straight to sleep. It will be my last night alone in the hotel as my friend Amy arrives from New York tomorrow to spend the next few days with me. I cannot wait to see her again!

    Until tomorrow, cheerio...      

  

A Most Ecclesiastical Sort of Day!

Sunday, July 14, 2013

London:

A Most Ecclesiastical Day!

    Sine today was a Sunday, I suppose it is not surprisingly that my day turned out to be mostly ecclesiastical. I awoke at 4. 10 am, forced myself to go back to sleep; woke again at 5. 15 am and once again psyched myself back to sleep. Eventually it was 6. 45 am when I got out a bed—a virtual Sunday lie-in for Early Bird Me. In bed, I finished blogging, caught up with email and sorted out my day—which was largely unplanned. Sometimes, a bit of spontaneity is called for: and today proved to be one of those unstructured days that bring unexpected delights.

Mass at my Former ‘Parish’ Church:

            It felt like old times when I left my Holborn apartment at 8. 45 am to attend Sunday Mass at St. Etheldreda’s Church that is tucked away in a hidden corner of Holborn Circus called Ely Place. Those of you who read my blog regularly might remember this historic church that is considered Britain’s oldest Catholic Church as it was the first one to re-convert to Catholicism after the Reformation. Miraculously, it also survived the Blitz. On the stained glass windows  on the side walls, there are names of church worthies dating from the 1100s. I took my seat in its beautiful hushed interior, relieved to see that the small landing leading to the church doors is now brightly lit with a brand-new light fixture. In the days when I worshipped there, it was dark and unwelcoming.

            Some things change with the passage of time; and some things remain the same. I was amazed to see so many Sunday ‘regulars’ still there: the lady with the braid who serves as Lector, Sunday after Sunday after Sunday—with no one else serving in this important ministry—I wonder why. There is the overweight lady who needs help moving to the Communion rails—still there in the pew she occupied four years ago. The celebrant was the same too: Fr. Tom Deidun, the Welsh priest, who had welcomed me to the church five years ago. But other priests have left: the Indian priest from Kerala, Fr. Sebu, is no longer there; and neither is the Frenchman, Fr. Dennis. As usual, the church was full of tourists—they probably read about the church on the internet. A large group from America was present this morning—they are en route to Paris. I have always loved the Tudor/Victorian interior of this church and every time I am in London, I try to worship here at least once—not only does it evoke in me the state of mind in which I was when I lived in London but its ambience is profoundly conducive to prayer and reflection.

                   

Home for Brekkie and Another Mass:

            I got home to my muesli brekkie and made myself a cup of coffee that I sipped slowly as I watched Saturday Kitchen highlights. Then, at 10. 45 am, I left the flat, jumped into a bus and was at St. Paul’s Cathedral in exactly 10 minutes—just in time to join my friend Cynthia who had reserved a seat for me (“in Row Two”) for the amazing Mass in Angustiis (Nelson Mass) composed by Haydn that is performed once a year at 11.00 am. Here is a word about the Mass from the brochure that was handed out:

            “Although Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) would have known very few details of Lord Nelson’s campaign against Napoleon as he was composing the Missa in Angustiis (Mass in Time of Fear), in 1798, the war was very much in the minds of the courtiers at Esterhazy (where the composer was employed) and, following news of the victory at Abukir, the Mass (first performed on 15^th September) became known as the Nelson Mass. In 1795, Haydn returned from a trip to London (where he composed his 104^th and final symphony, and where he was reportedly moved to tears by the voices of 6,000 children in the Charity Schools Anniversary Service held in St. Paul’s) to find himself commissioned to write a new mass each year in the name of the Princess Esterhazy. The Nelson Mass is the third of the six masses that Haydn completed in response to this request from Prince Esterhazy.  It was scored for three trumpets, timpani, strings and solo organ (which Haydn himself would have played), soloists and choir.  With its unusually violent outbursts of fortissimo sound, it is a magnificent and stately work, which seems to befit both its original purpose and its adopted sobriquet.”

            I was pleasantly surprised to find Mark Hansen from New York who works for St. Paul’s in New York seated next to me. Over the years, he has become a friend and it is always a pleasure to see him. I was also introduced to a female priest from Copenhagen named Ulla. To my immense surprise, my friend Cynthia was wearing the exact same necklace that Llew had bought for me on our cruise—indeed Michael had bought the necklace for Cynthia on a similar Baltic Sea cruise—I just could not get over the sheer coincidence of it. Great minds think alike?

            Once the Mass started, I was simply enthralled from Note One. There is nothing quite awe-inspiring, I think, that a sung mass in the splendid confines of a Baroque Christopher Wren Cathedral under a ceiling painted by James Thornhill which creates brilliant acoustics. Every note resounds in the space—so much so that the soprano soloist who stole the show and had a voice of such clarity it evoked a crystal bell. The little boy choristers did as grand a job as they always do. The sermon preached by Rev. Mark Oakley was stirring (no one can preach like the Anglicans—well, maybe the Catholic Redemptorists!) Despite the fact that the Mass took over an hour and a half to end, not a single second dragged. I was so glad I attended because it is only rarely that I have the opportunity to experience so fine an audio treat.

            Cynthia insisted I return to Amen Court for lunch—which I did. It was simple but good: just fish cakes, a salad that I helped prepare with arugula, strawberries, melon, tomatoes, cucumber, dried cranberries and pistachios with a balsamic vinaigrette and a fruit salad for dessert.

Off to Celebrate Bastille Day at Borough Market:

            After lunch, Cynthia decided to join me at Borough Market on the South Bank of the Thames to celebrate Bastille Day—Le Quartorze Juillet—a national holiday in France that recalls the overthrow of the monarchy and the establishment of the French Republic. Borough Market was converted into a French village market with every conceivable purveyor of fine French food showing off his wares. As Cynthia and I made the rounds of the stalls, we were treated to a variety of cheese, brownies, spreads, even Turkish delight. At a cookery demonstration where Blanquette de Veau was prepared and offered for sampling, I was appalled to discover that the lady had completely forgotten to season the stew—it was completely saltless! I had to actually spit it out!

            The most gruesome part of the afternoon was one of the ‘games’ set up in Jubilee Park which included a Mock Guillotine. A guy with white painted face and wearing the costume of a monk invited people (for small payment) to place their heads on the stand. He shouted’ Three Two One”—which made it think “Trois, Deux, Un” would have been more appropriate—and then pulled the rope to bring down the steel blade of the guillotine to chop their heads off. Needless to say, it fell into a slot leaving the head intact—although the sporting participants playacted rather well by getting their tongues to loll out on cue! Not surprising that I heard little ones crying with terror on viewing the sport!    

Cynthia bought some Comte cheese and some sausages and then we were making our way towards the Globe Theater to cross Wobbly Bridge once again and return to Amen Court for a nice cuppa and a slice of Victoria Sandwich (sponge cake filled with strawberry jam and cream).

At 4. 45 pm, I said goodbye to Cynthia and returned alone to the Cathedral for a free organ recital by Edward Picton-Turberville of St. John’s College, Cambridge. It was wonderful again, as expected. I stayed for the entire first work: Prelude and Fugue in C Minor by J.S. Bach; but soon I felt as if I had subjected myself to an overdose of church music and I left on my next mission.

Off to St. John’s Wood on a Mission of Mercy:

            Cynthia lent me a small suitcase with which I can move around London more conveniently in the next month. I picked it up from her place, then caught the bus home to drop it off. I was back on the Tube again in a few minutes only to get off at Oxford Circus which was winding up for the day—it was 5. 45 pm when I entered Marks and Spencer to buy some Coffee Walnut Cake and Lemon Sponge Roll for my tea. And then I was on the 139 bus from Marble Arch, heading to St. Johns’ Wood, to water balcony plants for my friend Raquel and Chris who have left for the States. I was there, 20 minutes later and the plants were duly watered. It was a mission of mercy for the day had been very toasty indeed— mercury climbing all the way to 88 degrees which is sizzling for Londoners—although without any humidity in the air, I was rarely uncomfortable.  The tourists were still there at the Beatles’ crossing—I think I shall have some entertaining moments when I move into the flat next week just watching their antics as they try to get the Fab Four’s pose exactly right! Then I was on the bus back to Marble Arch from where I took the Tube back home at 7. 30 pm.

            Catching up on email and this blog took me all of the next hour when I paused for dinner: Quiche, Salad, Cake while watching something on TV called “Mock the Week”. At 11. 00 pm, it was Lights Out for me after what had been a long and unexpectedly fun Bastille Day spent largely in the company of my friend Cynthia.

             Thanks for reading my blog. Now how about penning some comments?

              Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

            

      

Au Revoir England!

Sunday, September 4, 2011
London

Last days in a city are meant to be frenetic but I was seized by uncontrollable nervousness as the day wore on--partly because I realized that my hosts did not own a weighing scale and I was afraid I'd have overweight baggage. Cathedral bells woke me up on a weepy morning in time for a quick wash before I left for the 8 am Mass at St. Etheldreda's Church at Holborn Circus--my 'parish' whilst I had lived in London.

Regular readers of this blog will know how delighted I'd been to discover that my parish is considered the UK's oldest Catholic Church. Built in the 1200s as part of the London headquarters of the Bishop of Ely (near Cambridge), it grew into an important ecclesiastical center in the Tudor and Elizabethan periods (Henry VIII and Elizabeth I are both known to have worshipped in it). After the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536, the church fell into disuse and the vast land surrounding it, bordering Hatton Garden, fell into the hands of the Crown. Only the chapel remained with its exquisite stained glass windows. After the Reformation, it became the first church to be restored to the Church of Rome and is, therefore, considered the country's oldest Catholic Church. Although I love attending Sunday service at Anglican churches when I am in England, it is always a pleasure for me to return to St. Etheldreda's, for old times' sake, and to revel in its marvelous history.

Today, that pleasure was enhanced by the fact that I got to meet my friend Barbara once again. I recall Sunday mornings in my Holborn flat when at precisely 8. 45 am, I'd hear the door next to mine shut gently as Barbara made her way, unfailingly, to St. Etheldreda's for the 9 am Mass. And sure enough, there she was, like clockwork, in the church at 8. 55 am. It was heartwarming to see her as well as to discover that not much has changed in two years. There was still only a sprinkling of people, Fr. Tom Deidun is still around (and said the mass), the Lector is the same lovely white lawyer with the impeccable British accent and beautiful voice and the man who sits besides her (partner? husband?) still wears his cardigan around his shoulders!

This Sunday happened to be one on which the mass liturgy has changed in the UK so a laminated leaflet was available to illuminate the way. Changes are subtle but took me back to the responses of decades ago for many phrases were familiar to me from yore. After listening to a very interesting sermon by Fr. Tom, I was glad I'd opted to attend Mass at St. E's. When Mass ended and we trooped out into Ely Place, Holborn was still asleep, having a lazy Sunday morning lie-in. Barbara invited me back home to her place for coffee and since Cynthia and Michael were headed to a later service at the Cathedral, I accepted. "But we need to get the paper first", she said, revealing her fondness for routine--for indeed, walking to Holborn Tube Station for the Sunday Times has also been an unfailing part of her Sunday morning. We stopped at Paul's Patisserie for croissants upon our return.

By the time we arrived at her flat, Tim had put out all the fixin's for a very nice Continental breakfast--our croissants, butter, preserves and honey, fruit, coffee. An exquisite bowl of plump red cherries (the only ones I ate all season) were irresistible. We chatted, we munched, we chatted some more and then it was time for me to leave--but not without discovering that they owned a weighing scale that they were willing to lend me. Deeply grateful, I put it in a bag and hauled it home to Amen Corner.

I spent the next hour and a half attempting to distribute my stuff in two bags and a carry-on. The scale proved to be very useful and soothed my troubled nerves. Aidan was very helpful in converting stone into pounds with the calculator on his I-Pad. After a quick shower and lunch of chipolata sausages and spicy tortellini that I ate with Aidan, my mini-cab (nicknamed The Afghan Hound by the Colcloughs!) arrived at my door and in the pouring rain, I bid goodbye to my kindly and very generous hosts and left.

Rain streamed down the windshield all the way to Heathrow, as Barbara put it, as if London was weeping to see me leave. My driver, a very chatty young chap called Mo, did not go along Cromwell Road as I requested because traffic, he assured me, would be bad as a result of a bike race. Instead we took the more boring Euston Road and then the West Highway. We arrived at Heathrow where I discovered that my carry-on was overweight. Good job I'd arrived early for the traffic assistant permitted me to redistribute weight in my larger bags and once that was accomplished, I sailed through to security.

Of course, I could not leave London without browsing in the duty free area--I have my favorite shops at Terminal 3 (Jo Malone, Cartier, Harrods) where I ended up buying a Plum Pudding as I usually do. That's it, I thought. Christmas well in advance sorted!

The skies over London were overcast as we took off and climbed higher. Although I had a window seat, my view was obscured by clouds and haze. I realized that I was eager to get back home to Southport and although my UK stay had been, as always, much to write home about, I was ready to leave.

Kennedy airport was chaotic, as it usually is, upon my return. In a few minutes, I reunited with Llew after three whole months and as he took the wheel upon our long drive homewards, I thought to myself, it is so good to come home again!

Until the next time when I return to my London Roost, I say Au Revoir--and thanks again for following me.

Cheers!