I’ve just been reading all of your comments – LOL! Yes, saved by the Duke – again! We got a cab first thing this a.m. and drove over to Eaton Place, where the cab driver wondered why I wanted to take pics of #65. I asked if he had seen the original Upstairs, Downstairs and he said he had, so I explained to him that #65 is what they used for #165 in the series. Then it was on to the Tower – boy, this time out, the Beefeater included many Wellington anecdotes – I’ll do a post on them soon. Then we went to Cecil Court, to Mark Sullivan Antiques, where I bought that wonderful Staffordshire figurine of the Duke in June. Mark and I chatted a bit and he told me, once again, that I’d missed seeing the current Duke of Wellington as he’d been in a few days before. Mark had some so/so Artie stuff and I made noises about taking a pass on the items when Mark told me to hold on a moment, that he had two things downstairs that he was holding for a dealer, but the dealer hadn’t yet come back, so he offered them to me – a Lambeth pottery mug with a figure of Artie on the front and a small, bronze bust. Reader, I bought both. Again, pics and post to follow. Then we did the Thos. Lawrence exhibit at the National Portrait Galler – again, a post to come. Then to Madame Tussauds and now we’re back in the room for a quick brush up before dinner. Tonight the final episode of U/D, tomorrow Oxford and the Cotswolds. My back is aching, I’m really exhausted but I’m not complaining in the least. I’m in heaven. Miss you all, wish you could be racketing round London with me. I’ll try to post again tomorrow . . . .
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Happy Birthday, Jerry
Victoria here, requesting your indulgence as I range over several subjects inspired by today’s celebration of my brother’s birthday on December 28. Like many people who have Christmas season birthdays, I guess he always gets the short end of the stick (and he will in this blog eventually). I was five when he was born, and I remember wating eagerly for a new baby in the household, which I figured would be much like having another doll.
But I wasn’t prepared to be taken away from my new cache of Santa-delivered bounty on the day after Christmas. I went to my grandmother’s without my wonderful new dollhouse, a tragedy to a spoiled little brat like me. And Jerry took a rather long time to arrive, probably more to Mother’s dismay than mine. It was one of those on-again off-again things which went on several days.
Eventually Mother and Daddy brought home a little doll for me, but one who seemed to cry a lot more than my toys did. Nevertheless, I have always been proud of my little brother. He has a wonderful wife, Pat, with whom I’ve traveled to Merrie Olde England. A few years ago, we were there for the Harrod’s after Christmas sale. What fun! Actually, Jerry and Pat are both enthusiastic travelers, and we’ve “done” London together.
Thinking about those who have Christmastime birthdays reminded me of a story I loved in my childhood, The Bird’s Christmas Carol by Kate Douglas Wiggin, published in 1888 (I was really quite young at the time!). It may have been read to me but I remember reading it myself leading up to Christmas.
It is the story of a little girl born to the Bird family on Christmas and named Carol. When she is about five or so, she is stricken with a serious disease. She declines and after a couple of years her family is aware she will die soon. As a birthday gift to herself, she plans a Christmas party for a struggling poor family of many children who are funny little rascals. The party is a success and that night, Christmas night, she dies.
It is not, despite that synopsis, entirely a sad story, and it was a vivid one for this little girl. It has just the right combination of melancholy, humor and hope. At the ending, everyone has been inspired by the generosity and courage of young Carol Bird.
Some years later, I went to a play or a movie – can’t remember which — entitled The Christmas Carol. I was prepared for the enchanting and melancholy story of Carol and her Christmas birthday party.
Instead, it was Dickens: Scrooge, Bob Crachit, Tiny Tim and the ghosts. I was heart-broken. How I wanted that sad sweet story of the Birds and not the mean old Scrooge.
Kate Doublas Wiggin (1856-1923) is probably best known as the beloved author of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1903), another of my favorites. Wiggins was a leader in the kindergarten movement in the US and wrote many other stories, mostly for children.
You can find The Bird’s Christmas Carol in google books and elsewhere on the web.
So back to my brother Jerry. He has also been an eager reader — and I remember buying him several of his favorite books by Albert Payson Terhune for Christmas and/or his birthday. Terhune (1872-1942) was another popular author of children’s books, including the series on Lad, the collie. In fact, Jerry had a beautiful tri-color collie named Lad for many years. I wish I had a picture of Lad — but he did look much like the dog to the left. Beautiful and gentle.
I read some of those Terhune books too. They were very popular, and probably still are. Terhune raised collies at his Sunnybank Kennels in New Jersey. Part of the property is now a park in Wayne, NJ, and includes many of the graves of Terhune’s famous dogs. Read more here.
Lad’s grave |
Albert Payson Terhune with some of his dogs |
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And just to relate this birthday blog back to our subject at hand, our mutual love for all things British, above are two of the wonderful magazines Jerry and Pat send us for Christmas each year. If you don’t know either of these, or any of the other BBC mags, try them out! Hours of continuing delight all year long.
Here is what I send to Jerry — and Pat gets Victoria (American but with a distinct British flavor). Guess I have the better deal, right?
So happy birthday, little brother. See, even in our approaching dotage, I will continue to tease you! That’s the nature of the game!
London – Day 2
Unlike Mr. White (see post below) Greg and I haven’t yet run into any shady characters, though we’ve been covering alot of ground. We did the bus tour again today, Blue Route this time, walked Regent Street, went to Liberty’s (thought of you, Vicky!) took a boat cruise on the River Thames then went to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street for dinner. It was closed until the 29th – and the cab had left. Fleet Street after business hours is desolate, to say the least. What to do? Well, I thought, I’ll just carry on as if I know what the Hell I’m doing. “This way,” I told Greg as I walked purposefully towards the Strand. Please God, I prayed, let there be somewhere’s nice to eat. We passed The George pub – very old, very atmospheric, very closed. Xmas and the Bank Holiday are playing havoc with opening times. Right then, I told myself, keep marching. We fell upon Somerset House and went inside to watch the ice skaters. Then we walked another three blocks up the Strand when, off on the far right corner I saw something promising – lights were on, people were inside and it looked like a pub. It was a pub . . . The Duke of Wellington in Wellington Street. NO, I’m not kidding . . . saved by the Duke. Again. We had a pint in the bar and then went upstairs to the dining room, where we had a fantastic meal (lamb shank pie for me, steak for Greg) and warmed ourselves by the gas fire. The Duke of Wellington – I ask you, what were the odds!? Then we went off on the Ripper Walk and back to the hotel for Part 2 of Upstairs, Downstairs – yes, it’s still delicious.
Watching the news afterwards, we saw that the NY/NJ metro airports have cancelled flights due to snow and now resemble Heathrow. Thank God we timed our flight just right, another day we might have been grounded. Of course, if it snows here now and we can’t get out of Heathrow, I could care less. Yippeee says I. In the meantime, we have Eaton Place, the Tower, Madame Tussaud’s, National Portrait Gallery, Cecil Court and who knows what else in store. Will keep posting . . . . . . Needless to say, having a wonderful time, wish you all were here.
A Lesson for American Tourists in London
The following account was taken from Letters on England, written by Joshua E. White (1816). The book contains a series of descriptive views of the areas he visited and his general observations. White was an American merchant who traveled to England in connection with business and left Savannah, Georgia bound for Liverpool in May of 1810. Eventually, Mr. White arrived in London, as do most visitors to England. Here is his account of his run-in with a disreputable hackney-coachman. And two prostitutes. And the law.
At Chiswick, on the bank of the Thames, I sometimes sought an asylum from the noise and confusion of London. My letters introduced me to the acquaintance of Mrs. Levett, (who resided here,) the young and beautiful widow of a gentleman who died in Georgia, in 1808. He had left his widow and two infant daughters in London; and after the melancholy tidings reached her, she sought a retreat with her respectable mother, Mrs. Wright, and her amiable sister, Miss Charlotte Wright, at the little village just mentioned. In this charming company I embraced every opportunity of spending a few hours. When tired of the noise of the city, I would visit this agreeable family, and I always met with a cordial and a kind reception. It will be for a long time to me a source of pleasure to reflect on the means which introduced me to the acquaintance of those females; and no period of my stay in England will be remembered with more fond delight than those hours I spent at Chiswick.
I cannot avoid noting an occurrence that took place after I had passed the day at Chiswick. Miss Wright had accompanied me with one of the little daughters of Mrs. Levett, up Chiswick lane into the main road from Windsor to London. Here I intended to take the first empty hackney coach I saw; but being engaged in conversation I permitted them to pass one after another, until night came, and I found myself on the high road, eight miles from my lodgings. It was very dark, but I did not apprehend any danger; for in my various walks through the city at almost all hours of the night, I was in no instance molested or insulted. I felt as much security as if I were in the midst of a hamlet. I walked on slowly, and having reached Leicester square a sudden and violent shower compelled me to increase my speed, and having reached the Strand, I saw a hackney-coach. I made a momentary stop, when I was addressed by a voice from within it, “do you want a coach?” I replied “yes;” and a man jumped from behind it, opened the door, and I took my seat.
There were two women and a young man seated in it. The former I very soon discovered to be common prostitutes, who were going to the Hay Market Theatre, and were desirous I should accompany them. I bade the coachman drive to my lodging in Aldersgate street, after he had put them down. They alighted at the Theatre, and I proceeded to the inn. Having arrived within a hundred yards of it, the coach was obliged to stop from having met with another, and there was no room to pass. I got out and proposed walking home.
Upon tendering the legal fare to the coachman, which was two shillings, he refused it, and demanded four shillings. This I positively objected to give him; and upon expostulating on the unreasonableness of his demand, he told me I “must pay for the ladies who were in the coach,” and observed one of them told him
“the gentleman in the coach will pay for us.” Irritated at this remark, and believing he intended a fraud, I determined to reject the fellow’s demand; and after again offering to pay the fare for myself, I was about to proceed on, when he stopped me. I raised my cane to strike him, but at that moment I recollected that personal revenge in this way would be immediately cognizable by the law, and prudence bade me forbear.
The noise had collected the people from the neighbourhood, and among them the constable of the ward; demanding the cause of the noise, I told him; and he advised me to make the coachman drive me to the inn door, or otherwise he would say I intended to leave him without paying his fare; when there he directed me to take the number of his coach. This advice I followed, and I related to the master of the inn the whole of the circumstances, and what I deemed an imposition. He pushed the coachman from the door, and advised me not to pay him any thing. Believing him entitled by law to two shillings, I paid him that sum.
This adventure was of service to me: first, it reminded me that I had no right to get into a coach that was previously occupied: secondly, by remaining in the coach after the other passengers were discharged, I. became liable for the whole amount of the fare: thirdly, it convinced me that the police of London is as well regulated as any city perhaps can be, which has within its limits nearly a million of people. Personal injuries dare not be inflicted with impunity; and unlike what was the state of the people in France before the late revolution, individual rights, so far at least as they regard exemption from violence and assault, are most carefully preserved and protected.
Upstairs, Downstairs a Triumph
Well, they’ve done it. They’ve brought back the beloved BBC series and managed to achieve just the right measure of nostalgia and new, delicious storylines that run both upstairs and down. I won’t give away any good bits nor run spoilers for those in the U.S. who won’t see the series until April. I must tell you, however, that Rose’s return to 165 Eaton Place is a tear-jerker thanks in parts to strains of the old theme song being played at appropriately poignant moments, whilst new grand dame Dame Eileen Atkins as Maud, Lady Holland, above, provides sly comedic overtones and spars deliciously with her daughter-in-law, Lady Agnes. UK reviewers are saying there’s too much comedy in this version, that it’s not as deep as the original, but really, they could never remake the original to anyone’s satisfaction, so why try? It’s every bit as good, IMHO, its got me hooked and how much soul searching/character development can you do in three episodes? You can read an article from the Telegraph about the new series here – it includes no spoilers. In short, the new Upstairs, Downstairs is, um, delicious and the only problem I can foresee is how they’re going to wrap everything up in three episodes. No doubt the downside to this new version is that it will leave us all wanting more. I’ve only to wait till tomorrow night for Espisode 2 and shall dutifully report on it here.
Did anyone else in the UK watch Upstairs, Downstairs tonight? Please leave your comments and let me know what you thought of it.