Sunday, July 28, 2013
London
Third Time Lucky—At Chiswick House
Finally!
Today’s excursion occurred quite by
chance. In fact, when the day dawned, all that struck me was that it was Moving
Day again—this past week seemed to have flown! But my friends Chris and Raquel
were returning from the States late in the evening and I intended to move out
by 7. 30 pm. With most of my packing done yesterday, I awoke at about 6. 30 am
today, blogged for a bit, then finished up the last odds and ends of my packing
before planning out my day.
Sunday Service at St. George’s,
Bloomsbury:
Regular readers of this blog will
know that on Sundays in London, I usually seek out a historic church in which
to attend Service as I love the variety of services that the various churches
offer and because it permits me to peruse the gorgeous ecclesiastical
architecture of this city. Having seen St. George’s Church at Bloomsbury merely
from the outside on my walk around Bloomsbury, the other day, I decided to
attend the 10. 30 am service there (I discovered the timing of the service from
the church’s website).
I
left my place on Abbey Road at 10.00 am and by 10. 25am, I was at Bloomsbury.
The church gates were open and I found myself inside a space that exemplified English
Baroque to the T. This church is the work of Nicholas Hawksmoor, a pupil of
Christopher Wren, who had learned everything he knew from Inigo Jones. Well,
there it was—plainly visible to the eye: the classical discipline of Inigo
Jones and the Baroque exuberance of Wren brilliantly combined in a space that
was imposing yet austere. Anyone familiar with Hawkmoor’s work will recognize
his style: I have seen his work at St. Alfrege’s Church in Greenwich and at
Christ Church, Spitalfields—so it was easy for me to recognize his signature
touches: broad Greek columns (his were Corinthian), classical proportions and
18th century symmetry, marquetry around the altar in woods of many
colors, simplicity without too much color. The church was recently refurbished
and it is a grand space indeed. The service was equally interesting. It didn’t
have the full choral grandeur of the services I have attended these past two
Sundays (at St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Queen’s Chapel at St. James Palace
respectively) but it was still absorbing. The Rev. David Peebles preached a
very stirring sermon, the Lectors were wonderful—clear and full of expression.
As always, the pastor made it a point to introduce himself to me at the end of
the service and say “Welcome”. I was invited to stay for coffee after the
service but I had been on an empty stomach and it was 11. 45am. I needed
something more than coffee—much more than coffee!
A Full English Breakfast at the Bloomsbury Café:
It was time to go out in search of
sustenance—big time sustenance! A Full English Breakfast, I thought, would be
in order. It would be my Brunch since I was unlikely to eat anything again
until dinner time. Bloomsbury—being the home of the British Museum and always
crawling with visitors—has no dearth of places offering this most nourishing of
meals. So it was not surprising that I found my way to the Bloomsbury Café on Bloomsbury Street to partake of the Full English
Breakfast that was advertised on the blackboard on the sidewalk. That and an
Americano coffee, I told the proprietor, would be my order.
A few minutes later, it arrived—my
Full-Blown Heart Attack on a Plate! Two scrambled eggs, 2 sausages, 4 rashers
of bacon, baked beans, 2 slices of white buttered toast (yes, yes, I know the grilled
tomatoes and mushrooms were missing, but this was still pretty humongous!) It
took me a good half an hour to savor all of it and by 12. 30 pm (as Bloomsbury
slowly came to tourist life), I paid my bill (8.25 pounds), thanked the owner
for his excellent meal and made my way to my office at NYU to get some material
printed—only to realize that it is no longer open on Sundays. Oh well!
Off To Victoria for a Ticket to
Oxford:
When I spied a 74 bus coming along
with the sign stating that it would terminate at Victoria, I jumped into it to
run my next errand: the purchasing of my return ticket to Oxford (as I will be
heading there on Wednesday). I thoroughly enjoyed the bus ride along Oxford
Street and into Mayfair and Belgravia before we arrived at Victoria Bus Station
where I changed into another bus to get to the Coach Station. Thankfully, the
queue was short and I ended up getting a return ticket at a cheaper fare than was
being offered on the website; plus I did not need to pay the delivery charges
that I simply could not get rid of on the site—I ended up saving nearly four
pounds on my ticket and this pleased me absurdly!
Finally Getting to Chiswick House:
It was about 1. 30 by then and quite
suddenly, I decided that this would be the time to make a trip to Chiswick (pronounced 'Chizzik') to
get inside Chiswick House, a grand 18th century mansion on the
outskirts of the city. On two occasions in the past when I have made the trip
there, my intentions of visiting the house were thwarted. Maintained by the
English Heritage, a not-for-profit organization that preserves heritage
properties in the UK, it is only open three days a week. When I had visited
with my friend Amy, five years ago, we had arrived on a day when it was closed.
Three months ago, when I arrived there with another friend Raquel, there was a
Camellia Festival on that had closed down the house temporarily for a week. I
crossed my fingers and hoped it would be third time lucky. And indeed it was!
By the time I got to Chiswick High
Street on the Tube (getting off at Tunham Green), it was about 3. 30 pm but I
could not resist poking around the thrift shops that are plentiful in the area.
I did find a lovely shiny bracelet and I was delighted with it. Then, fairly
racing along Devonshire Road to the venue (which I remembered well from my last
visit), I reached Chiswick House at 4. 00 pm. This left me one hour to see the
house (I did not wish to spend time in the gardens which are free to the public).
I paid the entry fee of 5. 40 pounds and began my tour of the house. But first,
I think, a little historical information might be in order.
Chiswick House was the brain child
of Richard Boyle, 3rd Earl of Burlington (known as Lord Burlington),
who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, the son of landed gentry. His
parents already owned vast property in Piccadilly including Burlington House
(which became the Royal Academy of Arts). At the age of 21, as was the custom
at the time, Lord B undertook the Grand Tour—a long journey through Europe
which was felt to complete the education of any young aristocrat of the time
(this was the early-18th century). This experience was life-changing
for him as, in Italy, he became introduced to the work of Andrea Palladio whose
showpiece city of Vicenza took his breath away. He resolved to build himself a
villa similar in form and substance to the great work of Palladio and was
fortunate to come upon the English architect Inigo Jones who had just returned
from Italy himself and been completely swept away by Palladio’s genius.
Teaming up with Jones, Lord B
created Chiswick House, a mansion that is plainly inspired by Villa la Rotunda
in Vicenza: anyone who had visited the latter in Italy will easily spot the
similarities at Chiswick House. Indeed as someone who was completely taken by
Palladio’s work at Villa La Rotunda in Vicenza, I was profoundly interested in
Chiswick House. There was a short audio-visual presentation that introduced
Burlington’s vision and led one into the secrets of this amazing home.
An
audio guide ably led us on a self-guided tour that I found intensely
fascinating. The ground floor is a series of rooms that once accommodated Lord
B’s library and his smoking room and led into the original home that his
parents had owned (destroyed by the fifth Earl in the 19th century).
We were also led into the basement cellar with its numerous kegs of wine. But the true glories of the house are
on the top story where room after room simply dazzles the eye—for Lord B was an
avid collector who returned from the Grand Tour with 870 wooden crates
containing Italian art including two priceless porphyry (rare purple marble
quarried in Egypt) vases and two gilded wooden table bases with Florentine pietra dura (inlaid) marble tops. There
are a multitude of paintings in the rooms—of which the Red Velvet Room and the
Green Velvet Room are the most sumptuous. There is also a Blue Velvet Room
which is much smaller and which served as Lord B’s private study. The paintings
include contemporary portraits by Van Dyke and Stephano Ricci, landscapes and
scenes depicting classical mythology. An abundance of gilding, grand brass
chandeliers, innumerable marble busts of Greek and Roman personages punctuate
the home. It is simply glorious and I am delighted, just delighted, that I was
finally able to feast my eyes upon this home. Considering that it is so easily
accessible from London (the No. 190 bus from Hammersmith stops right outside
the main gate of the property from where the house is only a few steps away—so
much simpler to get to it this way than walking all the way from Tunham Green
Tube statin as I had done), I simply can’t believe that it has taken me so long
to see Chiswick House.
I
did stop to buy a drink (Elderflower and Grape Juice) at the famous café
attached to the house as I badly needed a cool drink. Then I felt ready for the
journey back home.
Indeed,
I found the bus stop (190) right outside the main gate and when I reached
Chiswick High Street, I realized that bus No. 27 went all the way to Chalk Farm
past Baker Street. Well, it was a grand evening for a long drive and on it I
hopped. It took me about an hour to reach Gloucester Place from where I hopped
into the 189 bus to get to Abbey Road. I was dropped just opposite my building,
Neville Court.
Moving To and Settling In
Battersea:
By 6.45 pm, I was home. It took me
about half an hour to settle the last of my stuff and to clean and tidy up
behind me as I did want to leave the place looking welcoming for my friends
upon their return (I did leave them a bunch of gifts with a Thank-you card). I
also left my suitcase behind with the intention of picking it up tomorrow. By
7. 15 pm, I took my backpack with me and left the house on the Tube to Vauxhall
headed to my friend Roz’s place at Battersea.
In under an hour (at 8. 10 pm to be
precise), I was ringing Roz’s doorbell. We sat in her garden and ate a lovely
meal of chicken fingers with couscous and a salad of lettuce and tomatoes with
the last of the delicious Elderflower water that I really enjoy here in the UK.
She showed me up to my room and I settled down with a nice hot shower and made
myself comfortable in her darling three-level home that is filled with
paintings, sculpture and other wonderful art work. Although I will only be here
for two days before I leave for Oxford, I am looking forward to some great
times with her. My room overlooks her garden and the train tracks and
occasionally I hear a train steaming into the night as I type this. It is wonderfully
comforting to be in the company of a good friend and I know I will have a very
happy time here.
Until tomorrow, Cheerio!
1 comment:
Bea's of Bloomsbury is in St. Paul's Cathedral. Is there any other branches?
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