Number One London

Video Wednesday

A Few Wellington Quotes and a lot of Humour

Digger, Britain’s Tallest Horse, lives at Hyde Park Barracks

Who was crowned as Britain’s Greatest General?

London Street Scenes – 1903

Aunt Clara Starring Margaret Rutherford – watch the full movie here

A wealthy old man dies and leaves his holdings including a brothel and a gambling den, racing greyhounds and a sleazy bar to his eccentric Aunt Clara. Clara vows to “clean up” her new establishments, but complications ensue when she visits the crooked gambling den just as it’s being raided by the police.

A Couple In England: Day 8 – Part Two

Exiting the train at Royal Windsor Station, one of the first things Hubby saw was a Caffe Nero.

“Caffe Nero, Hon! We can go tomorrow morning.”

“Absolutely.”

We entered the pedestrian only Peascod Street. “No cabs?”

“We don’t need one. We just need to get to the top of the street, make a right and the Castle Hotel is a block away on the right.”

When we got to the top of the Street, I pointed at the statue. “Queen Victoria. It was erected for her Golden Jubilee in 1887.”

“What’s that? Is that a castle? It looks like that castle in London.”

“It’s Windsor Castle,” I told Hubby. “The castle in London is actually the Tower of London. It’s not a castle at all.”

“They look the same to me.”

Sigh.

A few more steps brought us to the Castle Hotel, which is just lovely. We were given a very large room overlooking the High Street. I’m sorry I didn’t think to take a photo of the room before Hubby and I disgorged our belongings over every flat surface, but you get the idea.

Both the Crooked House and Guildhall were right outside our window.

“Isn’t your friend at the Guildhall?” Hubby asked.

“Yes, Hester told me to come over and meet her there when we got to Windsor.”

“Well go on then, go see her.”

“You sure?” I gave Hubby a quick once over, trying to assess his condition. He looked much better than he had this morning. Not one hundred percent, mind you, but no longer at death’s door.

“Okay. But I’ll be literally right across the street.”

“Go. If I need you, I’ll hang a pair of my boxers out the window.”

Regular readers of this blog will know the name Hester Davenport. Not only has Hester contributed guest posts to this blog, she is also the author of The Prince’s Mistress: A Life of Mary Robinson, among other works, and has graciously acted as our Windsor guide whenever Vicky, Jo Manning or myself are there. In fact, a visit with Hester is typically the high point of our trips across the Pond. In addition, Hester was a driving force in getting the Windsor and Royal Borough Museum, housed in the Guildhall, up and running. In fact, Hester acted as hostess to the Queen, who paid a visit to the Museum. You can see photos and read all about Hester’s meeting with the Queen last year here. On a past visit, Hester arranged for the issues of the Windsor newspaper dealing with the Battle of Waterloo to be pulled from the archives so that Vicky and I could see them up close and personal. Now that’s what you call a pal . . . . .

When I got to the Museum, Hester was busy speaking to a few people, but she saw me, did a double take and then gave me the “be with you in a minute” high sign. I sat on a nearby bench and was shortly joined by Hester, who took a good look at me and said, “Oh, dear. I knew you were sick by your emails but I’d no idea you were this sick.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“Oh, yes.” Good old Hester. She pulls no punches. “And Hubby? Is he as bad as you?”

“Worse. Don’t forget, I’m in the recovery phase now. You should have seen me a few days ago.”

“Oh, you poor thing. I had no idea.”

“Really? The fact that I wrote you that I had cholera and was near death didn’t clue you in?”

“Well, I thought you were exaggerating somewhat,” she said, “but now I see you weren’t. Oh, dear. Are you sure you’re going to want to go to Oatlands and Hampton Court tomorrow?”

“Was Wellington at Waterloo? Yes, I’m sure. I’m going to Oatlands if I have to crawl there. I’ve longed to see Oatlands for ages now, haven’t I? I’m determined to see Freddy’s house and the pet cemetery.”

A co-worker of Hester’s came by then and Hester introduced us. “This is my friend Kristine I was telling you about.”

“Ah, the one who’s been ill?” She took a good look at me and said, “Oh, dear.”

You’ll understand that I’ve developed an aversion to the British `Oh, dear’ during this trip. Oh dear, indeed. Why don’t the English just say what they really mean, which in this case is `Holy crap, should you be out of your sick bed?’ I couldn’t wait to see what Hester would say when she caught sight of Hubby tomorrow. Oh dear would hardly cover it.

Hester and her friend then questioned me about my illness and I gave them every sorry detail, from my not being able to get out of the cab when we arrived at Duke’s Hotel in Bath, to our missing New Year’s Eve entirely, to my not having eaten anything to speak of for a week, to my plight in Milsom Street on the way to the Fashion Museum.

When I was done – and they had both wiped the tears from their eyes and gotten their laughter under control – Hester said, “Oh, I am sorry to laugh, but that’s the funniest story. Isn’t funny?” she asked her f
riend.

“Quite,” she agreed.

“And today the pair of you had to take the train here to Windsor, what with you both feeling poorly. Now you go right back to your hotel and get some rest. I’m so glad Hubby felt he was improving and didn’t need the doctor after all, but an early night and rest will do you both a world of good. We’ve got a big day planned for tomorrow, after all.”

What good advice. I could have kissed Hester for suggesting an early night, but restrained myself as I didn’t want to pass on the cholera to her. After all, I needed her healthy and able to drive us to Oatlands and Hampton Court tomorrow. Not to mention that her husband, Tony, would be none too pleased with me if I landed Hester in the hospital.

We stood and gave each other a somewhat sanitized version of an embrace and I headed across the street to the Castle Hotel whilst wondering in what condition I would find Hubby upon my return.

Part Three Coming Soon!

Guest Post: A Farewell to Donald Hendricks

by Guest Blogger Jo Manning

From Brave Donatella and the Jasmine Thief…

DONALD HENDRICKS (1932-2013)

My dear friend and colleague Donald Hendricks passed away on the 23^rd of March, 2013. He would have been 81 this year. Death was owing to a very rare form of face cancer, an ailment so rare that his doctors asked his permission to write about it in medical journals; of course, he acquiesced. Donald, to the end, was a kind and generous human being.

I first made his acquaintance after the publication of my biography of Grace Dalrymple Elliott, My Lady Scandalous. Donald was entranced by the life and beauty of Grace Elliott and inspired to do a paper doll set of her. He said that he hoped I “wouldn’t mind”. Wouldn’t mind?! I was delighted

Here is Grace in her undergarments…from the paper doll set

Donald ran a paper doll business with a friend called Legacy Designs. They closed the business and took down the website a couple of years ago. Donald specialized in drawing paper dolls of celebrities, artists, authors, and literary figures. His work was exquisite! He did a number of paper doll sets of Jane Austen characters as well as the March sisters from Little Women, fashion icons, movie stars, et al.

Mr. Darcy, hero of Pride and Prejudice

Catherine Morland, a character in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey

Playwright William Shakespeare

One of the last paper doll sets he drew was of Sally Hemings, whose controversial and intimate relationship with Thomas Jefferson has inspired novels and biographies.

The Legacy Designs site was beautifully set up. A user clicked on an image – Grace Elliott, Sally Hemings, Meg March, Mr Darcy, Elizabeth Bennet, whoever, and the doll’s clothing would change. It was a good deal of fun, and educational as well. Donald’s research into clothing and fashion was impeccable, dating from his years as an art student and fashion illustrator.

Donald studied at the Arts Students League in New York and was a member of the Society of Illustrators. In his lifetime, he illustrated well over 40 books, the last a charming children’s book, Brave Donatella And The Jasmine Thief, and he was working on a book about a mouse whose sketches inspired a French clothing designer. He showed me the manuscript and the drawings and I loved them. I am saddened that he never had a chance to complete this delightful little book.

Donald’s work was exhibited at the Tate Modern in London and the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C. His designs appeared with regularity in magazines, including, of course, The Paper Doll Review, and he was active wherever paper doll collectors met, a mainstay of the summer’s annual Paper Doll Society meetings in Los Angeles. (Where there will be a table honoring him and his career this year.

In 2008, he made a gift of some of his papers to the ONE National Gay and Lesbian Archives in Los Angeles, Collection # Coll2008-041. These are original drawings by Don illustrating Rechy’s 2003 book The Life and Adventures of Lyle Clemens, together with emails from the author to Don, and a set of paper dolls from his Icons and Lovers series.

My Lady Scandalous is about to go into ebook format and I had hoped to use one of the paper doll illustrations by Donald for its new cover. We had talked about this a month or so before he passed away and he was thrilled at the prospect. In his honor, I hope this can be accomplished. He was a very dear man, a talented artist, and a most cherished colleague.

Grace Elliott as a French revolutionary…though she was anything but! Grace was a staunch Royalist to the end of her days, but this is Don Hendricks having a little bit of fun.

Guest Post: My First Trip To London

by Guest Blogger M. Denise C.

I had never been to London nor had I ever travelled abroad alone when I challenged myself to a very spur of the moment trip to London a few years ago. Because of my work schedule, I went in late October as it is hard for me to take vacation from November through March. The timing for this first trip to London turned out to be perfect for me.

I arrived in London one fine Tuesday and gathered my suitcase from baggage claim at Heathrow before jumping on the Tube. My hotel was only a block away from Earl’s Court Station, a really great area in South Kensington to be staying. The pre-purchased travel card I had bought online was awesome and I enjoyed not having to hassle with buying any travel tickets during my stay. Now that I am a more seasoned traveler, I purchase an Oyster card and load it for the recommended amount for however long I am staying. I have yet to take a cab ride in London—it’s the Tube or walking for me. I learned a long time ago that you really get the feel of a place if you forego taxis and walk or take the local transit system. I will make exceptions going to and from airports, but staying on the Piccadilly line made that unnecessary.

I arrived at my hotel, Base2Stay, that I found by clicking around on Google Maps. My blogging friend, Thomas, who has that great blog on all things bookish, MyPorch, had told me the area around Earl’s Court was a great place to stay. Base2Stay had a cute little single room and was very modern. The room had a twin bed (I went cheap) and a closet, a desk, a flat screen TV, a little kitchenette with a sink, microwave, fridge, and dishes and silverware. The bathroom was huge in comparison to the room itself and had a wonderful towel rack to keep towels toasty warm. There was no restaurant or food service or gym at this hotel (which is why the rate was cheaper, but so very nice and modern). Base2Stay has since opened a sister hotel in Soho that I would also love to try, but it is just not as convenient to a Tube station.

Since I went to London on the cheap and had a kitchenette, I would eat oatmeal for breakfast, eat a decent meal out at lunch at a pub or a restaurant, and then I would eat light or at a takeout place (Pret-a-Manger) or bring something back to the hotel for dinner. One of the best meals I had was at Cafe in the Crypt located under St. Martin in the Fields church (the Queen’s church). It was only £10 and was very British (chicken with potatoes and root vegetables and a gravy and red cabbage).

The first thing I did upon arrival was to walk around the neighborhood to get orientated as to my location and the major roads nearby (Earl’s Court Road, Brompton Road, and Cromwell Road). South Kensington was very quiet and pretty away from the major streets. A very nice neighborhood as far as I could tell–lots of gardens and cool flats, and townhouses galore.

I then walked east down Cromwell Road and passed by the Museum of Natural History and the Victoria and Albert Museum (above), neither of which I had time to visit. That is what I like about travel – there are always things you miss, which warrants a return trip. I then caught the Fulham 14 bus, as recommended by Thomas, and loved seeing London from the front row of the upper deck.

I went past Harrod’s, by Hyde Park Corner and around Piccadilly Circus. I rode the bus until it stopped at Euston Station. While I was sitting up on the second level taking in the London sights, I’d been aware that people had been getting off at each stop, but I hadn’t realized that I was now completely alone on the top level. I went downstairs, but didn’t see anyone, so I walked to the driver’s area and asked if I was supposed to get off. The driver started laughing and said that he hadn’t seen me up there! Yes, I was supposed to have gotten off! He let me ride down a block or so and directed me to where I could catch another bus going in my direction, but I decided to take the Tube back. By that time it was dark so I called an end to my first night in London and settled into my room to watch Law and Order UK.

The next day I went from the hotel to the Tube and went to Westminster Bridge and did one of the river cruises. When I came out of the Westminster Station, I looked up and there was Big Ben in all his glory! Beautiful. They were working on parts of the buildings the clock tower is attached to (Parliament buildings). So awesome to pop out of the station and look up and see such an iconic building.

The river cruise took about two hours to travel from Westminster Bridge to Greenwich and back. I enjoyed seeing the London Eye, an old battleship called The Belfast, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Tate Modern, the rebuilt Globe Theatre, the Tower of London, Canary Wharf, and numerous buildings that are now converted into flats–some of which are very beautiful in design, all seen from the boat. And several pubs were pointed out, too! We also crossed under all the great bridges: London Bridge, the Millennium Bridge, Waterloo Bridge and the famous Tower Bridge. I stayed on board for the thirty minutes we were at Greenwich and chatted with the boat crew. I should have jumped off, though, and at least had a look at the Cutty Sark, which was dry-docked there. Next time I will probably stay in Greenwich for a few hours and go to the Maritime Museum and Observatory.

After that it was time for me to go to Hyde Park Corner and hang out there for a while as I had planned. There are several war memorials at this location, the Wellington Arch, and a statue of Wellington on a horse. Because of the Sharpe novels written by Bernard Cornwell, I have become very interested in Wellington. Just across the street is the wonderful Apsley House, Number One London (and namesake of this wonderful blog), which was the residence of the first Duke of Wellington, as well as the successive dukes.

The next day I went to tour the Duke’s home, Apsley House, which is a gem of a museum (as you probably know from reading this blog). The current Duke of Wellington (the 8th) still lives there with his family in private apartments that are not open to the public. Eight main rooms of the mansion are open to the public. The first Duke collected art and received art from the Spanish after his army captured Joseph Bonaparte’s carriage containing the loot at the battle of Vitoria. There were lots of Caravaggio’s and Murillo’s and Velasquez’s and some very interesting portraits of his military friends and himself. And there was this gorgeous china room that had china and swords and guns displayed. One of the cool things for me personally was a jeweled saber from the Tipu Sultan in India that the Duke somehow acquired. Wellington defeated the Tipu Sultan in a battle in India (I knew all about that from Sharpe’s Tiger–one of the prequel novels by Mr. Cornwell).

There was a large dining room and one of the things on the table was a huge (and I mean huge) table piece made all of silver that was very ornate and honored some of his major battles in Spain and Portugal. The house itself was restored to glory. Also, there exists a statue of a naked Napoleon that George IV gave to Wellington after Napoleon was exiled and his property dispersed. The sculptor was Canova. Apparently, Napoleon did not like this statue after completion. I love how it landed in the Duke’s house! It is so huge it is in the stairwell and the staircase winds around it. I wish I could have taken pictures of my own in the house, but they were not allowed.

Oh, I forgot to mention that on my first day I was going across a crosswalk (at Kensington South Station) and I saw Sharpe author Bernard Cornwell himself and his wife and another lady crossing in the opposite direction. My jaw dropped. I knew he was in town for a dinner and a charity event and several book signings prior to the dinner, but I was shocked when I saw him crossing the street. That really made my day!

Over the next few days I went to places like the National Gallery (awesome), the National Portrait Gallery (one of my favorites), the British Museum (did 2 free tours and enjoyed the Enlightenment Gallery the most), the Tower of London (saw the crown jewels and did everything there except I forgot to go in the White Castle), Trafalgar Square on Trafalgar Day, the Horseguards Parade and changing of the guard there, the Churchill War Rooms (excellent) and just walked around some busy streets like the Strand, Oxford St., Regent Street, and around Covent Garden.

One of the highlights of the trip for me was St. Paul’s Cathedral. I spent a few hours there. It is one of the most beautiful cathedrals, my first non-Catholic cathedral in Europe. And the audio tour was also part video via an iPod. The crypt held the graves of both Wellington and Admiral Nelson, along with many others (and now Mrs. Thatcher is entombed there). I walked up 257 stairs to the Whispering Gallery, but did not have it in me to go to the top of the dome (150 more steps in a little winding stair case). Someday I want to go back for Evensong.

I then rushed to Westminster Abbey and missed going in because it closed at 4:30 and the last people were let in at 3:30 and it was 3:35 when I arrived. I have since been there and enjoyed it as much as St. Paul’s. I then trekked past Buckingham Palace so that I could say I did. While I did make it to Waterstone’s during my visit, I didn’t make it to Hamley’s Toy Store, Foyle’s Books, or Persephone Books, all of which were on my list. I ate at one historical pub (The Grenadier) in Belgravia, but had wanted to go to a couple of others. I did go to the Museum of London, which was impressive. City museums turn out to be some of my favorite stops. I also went to the Tate Modern and looked at the permanent collection, but I didn’t want to wait two hours for a ticket to a Gaugin exhibit. I stared at Ai Weiwei’s Sunflower Seedsexhibit in the huge outer hall for a long time.

Looking back, I really did do a whole lot in a short amount of time. I was out for about nine to ten hours each day, and returned to my hotel when it was getting dark. It never rained, only misted after I had gone to see Woman in Black at the Fortune Theatre, which was awesome and featured one of the riflemen from Sharpe, Michael Mears, as one of the leads.

I did get stuck in the elevator at Earl’s Court Station when I was heading back to the airport at the end of my visit. It was early and I was alone in the elevator, which kept going up and down, but the doors would not open. So I had no choice but to push the alarm button. The voice of a security guard came over the radio and before long they were opening the door for me. In hindsight, it was funny, but I’m still glad it was early and no one else was around.

I’ve been back to London once since that first trip and I hope to take a third trip soon. On both of my previous trips I discovered that there is just too much to do and see London and I only managed to just scratch the surface.

I will never tire of visiting London.

M. Denise C.

You can visit my own blog here.

Do you h
ave a travel story about a trip to England? If so, please consider sharing it here.

A Couple In England – Day 8

I woke up on our last day in Bath to a truly gruesome sight – Hubby. He was pale, clammy and looking for all the world as though he were on his last legs.

“How do you feel?” I asked in the hopes that I might have misread the signs.

“Doctor.”

“What?”

“I need a doctor. Or maybe an undertaker. I need something more than that crappy Bell’s cough stuff you gave me. No kidding, I want a doctor.”

This was serious. As a rule, Hubby runs from medical practitioners.

“Okay,” I said, my mind working. “Let’s go downstairs and see about getting you a doctor then. Can you get dressed?”

Together, we got us both dressed, and packed, and went downstairs to the reception room, where we found Michael on duty. Michael, it should be said, worked for a time as house steward to the premier land owner in the neighborhood. I don’t think I’m at liberty to tell you all I know about it, confidentiality and all, but think a stately home with the word “long” in it’s name and put that together with another word for “tub” and you might figure it out. Clue: the peer Michael worked for has a harem.

Michael took one look at us and said, “Oh, dear.”

“We’re supposed to take the train to Windsor today, to meet my friend Hester, but Hubby wants a doctor. Can you get us a doctor?”

Michael is the epitome of the word “dapper.” Dressed in a suit and tie, his hair and mustache immaculate, he exudes an air of calm and classy competence. Have I mentioned his pocket square? “I could, of course, call a doctor for you. However, if you’re going to be staying in Windsor, perhaps it would be more expedient for you to call your friend and have her arrange for Hubby to see her practitioner, who would be on the spot, so the speak.”

He slid the telephone towards me as Hubby collapsed on the couch by the fireplace. I called Hester, who said she’d call her doctor and see what she could do. She’d ring me back.

“Medicine,” Hubby croaked.

I explained to Michael that the shops had been closed yesterday and so I hadn’t been able to find any 21st century cold medicine for Hubby.

“The chemist down the street is open today,” Michael told me. And so off I went, down Great Pulteney Street to the chemist hard by the bridge.

A. H. Hale, dispensing chemists, have been in business since the 1800’s and the shop looks like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

Their window is filled with glass bottles containing variously coloured liquids and powders and, best of all, modern day cold medicine. I conversed with the clerk, who listened to Hubby’s symptoms and stocked me up with an assortment of remedies. Back at the hotel, I found Hubby on the couch, drinking a bottle of Schwepps ginger ale, provided by Michael. I handed over the cough syrup and decongestant pills and within minutes he proclaimed himself much improved. Hester, it turned out, had gotten Hubby an appointment with her doctor for this afternoon, but Hubby now proclaimed himself fit to travel and no longer in need of dire medical intervention. He swore that it was the Schwepps, rather than the medicines, that had cured him. Ingrate. I called Hester, cancelled the doctor and before much longer we were in a cab headed to the station.

You can tell that I was feeling a bit better myself, as I actually took these photos myself from the platform. We had a few minutes to wait for the next train, so I got us a couple of coffees and brought them out to Hubby.

“No smoking,” he said, as he took the coffee from me.

“Huh?”

“The sign,” he said, pointing in its direction with his chin. “No smoking. We’re outside on the platform and we can’t smoke. You can’t smoke in England.”

“Well, let’s not worry about it until you can’t smoke in France. Or Greece. Or Turkey. Then we’ll worry about it.”

“How long is the train ride to Windsor?”

Uh, oh. Here we go. “It’s about two hours. We, uh, we have to change trains though.”

“Where?”

“At Reading. And Slough.”

“Two changes?”

I could feel his pain. It wasn’t that long ago that I was myself close to death on a train. Only we had been traveling in the opposite direction.

“Reading is close to Stratfield Saye,” I sighed. Stratfield Saye, whose opening times never seem to coincide with my trips to England.

“What’s that?”

“Artie’s house.”

“I thought Apsley House was Artie’s house.”

“It is. He bought Apsley House himself. The country bought Stratfield Saye as a sort of thank you gi
ft for his having defeated Napoleon at Waterloo.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Napoleon was seen as the Hitler of his day. A tyrant. He proclaimed himself as Emperor of France and then turned his eye on the rest of the world. He threatened democracies everywhere. And Wellington and his army and the allies defeated him at Waterloo. Napoleon’s army was notorious for looting and stealing whatever they needed, wherever the went. Napoleon’s troops were the ones who shot the nose off the Sphinx.”

“The Egyptian Sphinx?”

“Yes. Destruction wherever they went. On the other hand, Wellington went out of his way to make sure that people were compensated to some degree for whatever his troops requisitioned. Not that the British didn’t indulge in some looting and pillaging of their own, but still, Artie had a completely different mindset about it. Remember the story about the looted Spanish art I told you about at Apsley House?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“There was this guy called Congreve and he worked at the Royal Arsenal, trying to perfect rockets Wellington had first seen at Seringapatam.”

“Where?”

“In India. Congreve worked to perfect them, but it took several attempts. He demonstrated them to Wellington, hoping he’d use them during his campaigns. It turns out that the rockets were unreliable and their trajectory uncertain. And then they’d set things on fire instead of blowing them up. And the things set afire were not necessarily the things one was aiming at. Wellington said that when he entered a town it was most often in order to liberate it, rather than destroy it. Wellington refused to use them because of the wholesale damage they caused and the destruction they left behind. In his own words, he had a bad opinion of them.”

“So Congreve didn’t get the commission?”

“Not from Wellington, but Congreve had gotten in tight with Prinny, who was pushing for the use of the rockets.”

“Who?”

Sigh. “Prinny, the Prince Regent. King George the fourth. They kept pestering Wellington to use them. When Wellington was in Portugal in 1810, the matter was again raised in a letter from Vice Admiral Berkeley. Wellington said that they wouldn’t answer for his purposes on land, but he allowed that every thing deserved a fair chance. So it was that eventually the Royal Navy used them and fired them from the decks of their ships.”

“How’d that go?”

“You’ve heard of `the rockets red glare’?”

“The bombs bursting in air?”

“Exactly. Those were Congreve’s rockets. They put on a great show, but weren’t very effective.”

Our train arrived and I helped Hubby get ourselves and our luggage onboard. I must say that Hubby was a brick, changes and all, up until the last leg of the journey, when a guy got on the train with a pit bull.

Hubby elbowed me in the side. “He’s got a dog on the train. A pit bull.”

Now, as you know, I pride myself on reporting this trip exactly as it happened. There was a pit bull on the train. Which now allows me to segue neatly into this photo of our granddog, Coco, the pit bull. Who believes with all his heart that he’s a Yorkshire terrier and who is constantly trying to climb onto my lap. But I digress . . . . .