Day Ten: 10 November 2010

I am on my way to Belgium today: I am taking the Eurostar from St Pancras International station, and changing trains in Lille, France, to go to Ypres, Belgium.   Sounds simple, doesn't it?   Read on, and discover that, in my world, 'simple' isn't really that at all!

Everything started out normal enough: I paid my phone charges from the day before, and checked out of the hotel, and wheeled my bag to the station.  My Eurostar connection wasn't leaving until after 9 am, so I had time to get some breakfast.   I stopped at the same restaurant where Sir Martin Gilbert and I met the day before, and watched passengers and commuters going by, while waiting for the food to arrive.   It's really rather fun to just sit and people-watch: it distracted me from any anxieties about going off to the European Continent.

The Eurostar is such a cool thing.   Imagine taking a train from London, and the train goes into a tunnel under the English Channel!   If this had been around 70 years ago, when the Nazis were planning to invade the UK, it wouldn't have been as difficult thing for them to pop over.   Something to think about....

I finished breakfast, and went to the Eurostar counter to check in.   It's much like what one encounters at the airport: bag-screening, Passport Control, etc..  A mad scramble to get your bag up on the table, so it can go through the X-ray--plus taking off one's coat, camera bag, and anything similar on your person.  Thankfully, I didn't have to remove my shoes this time.

I got through Security with no problems, and went into the passenger lounge to wait.   This area was quite nice: the floors were polished wood, and there were several small shops nearby, where passengers could get snacks, newspapers, etc., for their journey.

Eventually, my train number was called, and my fellow passengers and I boarded huge escalators, which took us to the train platform.   I found the correct car with little trouble, and my window seat.   This train's ultimate destination (photo left) was the Disneyland Paris park on the outskirts of Paris.   But I would be leaving the Eurostar before that, at Lille.

My carriage (photo below right)  had several families with young children in it, so it wouldn't be a 'quiet carriage', with little or no noise.   But at least the kids weren't running about inside like little monsters.

We made our way out of St Pancras a little after 10 am, and I was immediately taken with the smoothness of the ride.  The Eurostar didn't bucket around like my train from Worcester did on Monday.  But the Eurostar is a high-speed train, unlike the local one from Worcester.  And it was very comfortable in the seating!

The scenery flew by my window, as we left London behind.  We made one stop at Ashford, to pick up passengers, but it wasn't a long stop, and soon we were on the way again.   I noticed beautiful rolling hillsides, with small villages and towns, and each seemed to have its own little church with a square tower.   And more of the ubiquitous sheep, grazing in the fields!!  We were in the county of Kent, as we got closer to the Strait of Dover--the narrowest part of the English Channel between the UK and France.

Just before we got to the Channel Tunnel, near Folkestone, I noticed a strange sight: a large white chalk image of a horse, carved into the hillside.   At the time, I didn't know if it was an ancient image or not, as there are a few similar hill-images in other parts of the UK.   It wasn't until I returned to the States that I found out it was modern, created by some locals as a way to bring more visitors to their town; it's called the Folkestone White Horse.   I wish I'd gotten a photo of it, but we were going too fast.

The photo of the horse on the left isn't mine.   It's from an online image search.   But it sure is awesome-looking!

We entered the Channel Tunnel--but I don't remember how long we were inside it, as I managed to doze off!   The gentle motion of the Eurostar put me to sleep, so when I did come to, we were already in France.  When I looked out the window, I noticed several small towns and villages, with more pointed red-orange roofs.   And their churches all had tall pointed steeples.   I also noticed rain in the far distance, and hoped it had passed through Belgium already.   And some of the little English kids were asking: "Are we nearly there?"--meaning Disneyland Paris.   I loved hearing them say it in their accents!

And little did I know, but another challenge was headed my way.   And this was again due to my stupidity!

I think I dozed off again after we reached France, and that was my undoing.   I felt the train slow down, but thought little of it--until I looked out the window and saw we were in Lille!!!   I scrambled to my feet and tried to get to where my large bag was stored, but I was too late: the train didn't stop for a long time, and it was back on the move again--to Disneyland Paris!  

I didn't panic, however: I got the attention of one of my fellow passengers, and one of them tracked down the train manager: a very kind Spanish fellow named Miguel.   When I explained my situation, he took my ticket and went to the front of the train.  A few minutes later, he came back and showed where he'd stamped my ticket, and wrote that I'd missed getting off at Lille.   He also gave me the number and time of the French TGV train that was going back to Lille.  I thanked both Miguel, and the helpful Englishman, for their assistance.  I guess this sort of "missing-the-connection" thing isn't unusual for first-time Eurostar travelers.

The Englishman who helped me had an unusual accent.   It almost sounded Australian, but he said he was from Norwich, in East Anglia.   He and his wife, and our other traveling companions, and I all had a laugh over my situation.   What else could I do?   Going nuts wouldn't have helped the situation one bit.

I settled back into my seat again to look at the scenery.   This part of France--called the Pas-de-Calais--was rather flat and featureless, with the occasional hill popping up here and there.   I saw signs for towns like Arras, Reims--and of course, Paris.   I could see why this area in France was such a battleground in the First World War: armies fighting to hold what few high spots there were, etc..   I think I saw one French military cemetery near the tracks: it had the French tricolor on a pole in the center.

SO--we finally arrived at Disneyland Paris.   Or just outside its gates, at the Marne-la-Vallee Chessy station.  I bid farewell to my UK traveling companions, and got off to go upstairs to the ticket office.   Some annoying Disney-music--was it "It's A Small World After All" in French?--was playing on the PA system, as I got in line.   After explaining the situation to the ticket staffer (in mixed French and English), and showing them my Eurostar ticket, I got my France TGV ticket with no problem (thank God I'd brought enough euros with me, for such emergencies!), and went inside a waiting lounge to call my friend Steve in Ypres.  I got hold of him, and described the situation.   Steve groaned (good-naturedly, I hoped!), and we had a good laugh about it.   He then told me to call him when I reached Courtrai, my first stop in Belgium (there are no direct trains to Ypres from Lille), and we'd figure out what to do.

Outside the station, the sun played peek-a-boo, but the gray clouds were beginning to lower--and then it started to pour.   There was an old church outside the waiting lounge window, and I tried to photograph it through the raindrops.   But it didn't come out very good, so I trashed it.

Hey--at least I can say I was near Paris, right?   I sure didn't expect this.....

When the train to Lille came in, I got on, and got into a bizarre conversation with a French couple.   They didn't know English, so whatever 'conversation' we had was in fractured French, or with hand-gestures.   After some hilarious attempts to understand one another, I gave up, and decided to stare out the window.   The sun and rain-clouds were competing against each other; when we got closer to Lille, I saw a beautiful rainbow!   It disappeared in short order.

It was around 4:15 pm when the train pulled into the Lille Europe station, where I should have gotten off earlier.   When I disembarked, I found out I had to catch the train to Courtrai from another train station--Lille Flanders, which has trains going to the rest of Europe--across a huge city square.   I left Lille Europe, and shlepped my bag across the wet pavement; it looked as if a rainstorm had hit not long before we arrived.   I did manage to get one photo of the center of Lille (below right).

When I got inside the Lille Flanders station, I joined the queue to the ticket windows.   The first window I went to had an attendant who couldn't--or wouldn't--speak English, so I got back into the queue again.  This second attempt was more successful: the man there did speak English, and he described where I had to go.   I thanked him, and purchased a ticket for yet another town: Tourcoing, on the Franco-Belgian border, where I'd catch a train for Courtrai!   I then waited near the station entrance, and watched the train schedules to see which platform to go to.

It was dark, when I got on the Tourcoing train.   I had some assistance getting on from two French passengers, and a SCNF (the French national train) staffer named Hakim, who wrote down the train time to Courtrai on my ticket.   When we arrived in Tourcoing--which was, literally, the end of the line: the train stopped with nowhere else to go!--Hakim very kindly walked me to the correct platform.   I thanked him profusely for all his help, and waited for the Courtrai train.  It arrived just after 6:15 pm, and it was now dark, damp and cold.   I called Steve again, to let him know when I'd arrive in Courtrai, and assumed he'd be there to pick me up, and then drive back to Ypres.   I was SO wrong about that assumption....

When I finally arrived in Courtrai, I went outside the station and waited at a taxi stand out front.   It was raining again, so I was getting wet--and then my mobile phone rang.   It was Steve again, telling me he was sending his shop assistant to pick me up....but NOT in Courtrai.   I was to catch another train to Ypres, where the pick-up would happen!   It was a stupid assumption on my part, but we had another good laugh about it: Steve called me 'crazy woman'--but not unkindly.   So I went back into Courtrai station, bought a ticket for Ypres---and then the train arrived very shortly thereafter.   I got on just barely, with some assistance from inside, and stood in an area in-between cars with several Belgian people--including a young woman with a small Belgian Shepherd dog on a lead!   The woman didn't mind my petting her dog; it didn't get nervous, and seemed to like me petting it.   I almost scared the poor creature, however, when the train suddenly stopped and I almost fell over onto it!!

The woman and her dog got off at Wervik, two stops from Ypres.   By this time, the crowd thinned out, and I was able to sit down in a seat in one of the cars.   I kept asking two women across from me if the next stop was Ypres; they were patient with my inquiries.

At last, we arrived in Ypres.  After I got through the station, I noticed a van parked outside that said "Salient Tours", with a swarthy man behind the wheel.   I waved at him, and he got out of the van and introduced himself: his name was Mohammed, and he was Steve's shop assistant.   He insisted I call him "Mo", so I climbed into the front seat, while he stowed my big bag in the van, and off we went to Ypres.

The ride was short, and we arrived in the central Grand'Place of Ypres, where its totally-restored medieval Cloth Hall dominated the square, bathed in floodlights.  Mo parked the van in the square, and I followed him along a narrow street to Steve's bookshop, "The British Grenadier".   At the end of the street, also bathed in floodlights, was the massive Menin Gate: (photo below left) a First World War memorial to the 55,896 British and Commonwealth soldiers who died in defense of Ypres from 15 August 1917 on, but who have no known grave.   It would play a role in the following day's, 11 November, commemoration of the end of the First World War.

When we arrived in Steve's shop, it was busy with customers, most coming from the 8 pm sounding of "Last Post" at the Menin Gate, by members of the Ypres Fire Brigade.   It's a tradition that's been going on in Ypres since the end of the First World War (except from 1940-1944, during the Nazi occupation), and it is done in memory of those whose names are carved inside the Menin Gate.   Steve came from behind the counter and wrapped me in a big bear hug.  I apologized again for causing so much trouble this day, but he shrugged it off, as did Mo.   It made me feel much better; I hate being such a pain in the neck!

I should mention that Steve Douglas is the Webmaster of an awesome site: The Maple Leaf Legacy Project.   He started it as a Millennial project in 1997, and it combined his interests in computers, photography, and Canada's war history.   He aims--along with his army of volunteer photographers--to get photos taken of every Canadian soldier's gravestone around the world: in Canada, Europe, the Middle East, the Far East, South Africa, the USA--anywhere a Canadian soldier is buried.   We 'met' online in the late 1990s, and I contributed a couple of photos to the Web site.   We became correspondents--and friends--after that.   It was an honor to assist him in this endeavor.   As of now, over 105,000 grave photos have been submitted.

While at the bookshop, I heard the sounds of bagpipes and drums coming from the street, so I went outside to see.  The bands were coming from the Menin Gate to go to the Grand'Place, after the "Last Post" ceremony at the Gate.   I then darted back inside the shop, and Steve and I made plans to meet before the big Armistice Day ceremony at the Menin Gate at 11 am..  I left Steve to his customers, and rejoined Mo, who would take me to Steve's friend Erna's bed-and-breakfast, outside Ypres' walls.

The house was in a little cul-de-sac, and it looked like all the other small brick houses on the street.   Steve told me later that all these houses were built in the 1920s, after the First World War.   The town of Ypres was totally destroyed by the Germans in the war, and literally rebuilt piece-by-piece afterwards.   It looks today like it was never demolished: the restoration work is that good!   We went to Erna's door and rang the bell, and she opened it and welcomed me inside.   I thanked Mo for all his help, and he brought my bag in and went back to Ypres.

Erna's home inside is immaculate: marble floor in the entranceway, white walls, and a slight spiral staircase going to the second floor.   We went into her kitchen, and she poured me a glass of orange juice while we sat for a bit and chatted.   Erna is middle-aged, with blonde hair and glasses.   She speaks excellent English, and she admires Steve very much.  (Steve refers visitors to her B&B too!)   She is a widow, having lost her husband in 2009, with no children.   I imagine she sees Steve as something of a son, with the great affection she has for him.

During our chat, Erna asked if I enjoyed books.   When I said I did, she had me follow her into her front living room, where she got out three photo albums.   Inside each of them were collections of pre-and post-First World War postcards of Ypres, showing sights like the Cloth Hall and St Martin's Cathedral.  The contrast between these beautiful structures, and their smashed ruins during the war, was a sad sight to see.   Erna and her husband had collected these postcards over the years, so they were of course great treasures to them.   She also lent me a paperback book in English about Ypres, which I promised her I would read.

It was getting late (close to 10 pm), so Erna took me upstairs to my room; she pulled my bag up the staircase (I was afraid she'd get hurt!), and opened the door.   My room faced the front of the house, and it was as clean and immaculate as the rest of her house: wood floor, pink-and-white wallpaper, pink-and-white cabinetry behind the bed (photo below left).  

 She showed me how to operate the inside window shutters, and where the heater was.   We then went across the hall to the bathroom, where Erna showed me how things worked in there (the lights, the shower, etc..).   The bathroom was absolutely bright and spotless, with a step-up and walk-in shower.   When all that was done, I bid Erna good-night, and she went downstairs.  

I then took a shower, and collapsed into bed, after a very adventurous journey to Belgium.   And it would only get better after this rather inauspicious beginning!!

Day Eight: 9 November 2010

What a day this turned out to be: it went from a great high, to the near-depths!   It was another cold and damp London day, with occasional sprinkles and gusty winds.   I woke up very early, in order to get to St Pancras International station on time, to have breakfast with my friend, the eminent British historian Sir Martin Gilbert.

I got semi-dressed up for the big event: my best black sweater and trousers--and even a semi-fancy necklace, which I don't wear often.   And off I went to St Pancras (left), passing by the 'new' British Library (of which I will have more to say about later).

I arrived between 7:45 and 8 am, and went to our pre-arranged meeting spot, across from the exit for the Eurostar trains.  To pass the time a little, I went into a nearby Foyles Bookshop and purchased a UK country map, and then it was back out, to sit and wait.   I watched many people go by: mostly British people commuting into London for work.   But there was also a good-sized group of young Asians chattering away nearby.   Couldn't tell if they were Chinese or Japanese at first.   But I think they were the latter.

Sir Martin Gilbert.

Around 8:40 am, I noticed the Eurostar arrivals door opening, and saw a man wearing a trenchcoat and carrying a document bag--but only from the back.  He looked vaguely familiar, so I dashed round to where I could face him.   And there was Sir Martin (left)!   I half-cried out his name, and he turned round and smiled, and shook my hand in greeting (he recognized me from a photo I'd emailed to him before my arrival).   Sir Martin then led me to a nearby cafe, and commented on the way St Pancras has been saved and restored to its former glory--all in thanks to the Eurostar.

The photo at left is not, unfortunately, one I took of Sir Martin.   I think I was too overwhelmed at meeting him in person, that I totally forgot if I could take a photo of him.  But then again, that might have also been a bit rude of me to ask.

We found a table in a corner, and ordered breakfast.   While we waited, we began to chat: I inquired about how his wife, Lady Esther, and his three children, and Lady Esther's daughter and son-in-law in Israel, were faring.   He told me the latter are expecting their first child next spring, which was wonderful news.

Sir Martin told me that he, and his Iraq Inquiry colleagues, had recently met with families of UK soldiers who died in Iraq--and, that the Inquiry's work will be going on until at least spring 2011!   I was really shocked at that: I'd heard previously that their work would be done in November 2010.   But it's better to be thorough than fast, especially in this instance.

The Inquiry's met with the families a couple of times, and Sir Martin has said it's a difficult thing to listen to.   I've watched some of the public hearings online, and they're very detailed and complex--and I almost never get to see Sir Martin ask any questions!

He inquired as to what sights I'd seen in London since my arrival.   I mentioned Westminster Abbey and the London Eye.   Sir Martin and Lady Esther have attended invitation-only services at the Abbey--including the one in November 2009, marking the passing of the last three surviving First World War "Tommies".   I saw excerpts of this service on YouTube, and it was so incredibly moving.   He likes attending such services at the Abbey, in comparison to St Paul's.   And I wondered aloud if it was because the Abbey is so much more ancient, whereas the current St Paul's Cathedral has only been in place since the 17th century.   They attend these services, even though they are both Jewish.

As to the London Eye: Sir Martin told me he doesn't like heights very much, so I imagine he's not gone up in the Eye.   When visiting Israel, he said he's not crazy about going to Masada, the former Roman palace-fortress by the Dead Sea.   To get to the top on the south side, visitors can take a gondola ride to just below the summit, and then climb a series of stairs--or walk up the Roman siege ramp on the north side.   I've done both myself, and I prefer the south side!   Sir Martin also told me that his son Joshua has flown in a small plane over the Judean Hills and Jerusalem: something he himself would not do, either!

I asked him about his contacts with the Royal Family, and specifically if he'd ever met the late Diana, Princess of Wales.   He did, twice: once, just after her wedding--and second, in the last year of her life, while working on an Atlas of British Charities, including several that Diana was the Patroness of.   He liked her very much, and was particularly impressed with her work campaigning against land mines.

After the Princess died, Sir Martin said he noticed all the flowers piled up against the gates of Buckingham Palace, and was at first afraid that Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, had passed on; the Queen Mother was aged 97 that year.  At that time, he didn't know that Diana had been killed in that Paris car crash.

In 2009, I'd read Sir Martin's book, Letters to Auntie Fori, which is a series of letters written to the mother of one of his University of Oxford classmates.   Fori is Hungarian-born--and Jewish--but married an Indian man, and lives with her family in India.   When Sir Martin was a young man, he and Fori's son were trekking through the Middle East (including Iran and Afghanistan!), when he fell seriously ill while in Iran.   He recovered enough to get to India, but fell ill again--and Fori saved his life.   Sir Martin emails Fori often (and she's over 100 years old!), and he'd also like to visit her in person more often.   But Sir Martin and Lady Esther's schedules are pretty full right now: they're going to Israel at the end of the year for a few days, to see family and friends--and Sir Martin's giving some lectures at various places, too.   Plus, the Inquiry is taking up a lot of time, too.

The conversation also turned to the 2012 Summer Olympic Games, which will be in London.   Sir Martin told me that the Women's Beach Volleyball games will be held at--of all places--Horse Guards Parade!!   He says that beach sand will be brought in to cover the grounds, after I remarked that the little stones being crunched underfoot would make it hard on the competitors' bare feet.   He's not thrilled that the Olympics are coming to his home city: I imagine that they will cause a lot of disruption of 'normal life' in London (traffic issues and the like).   He doesn't see 2012 as an Olympic year; instead, he's more interested in the fact that it's The Queen's Diamond Jubilee!

Lastly, we chatted about both World Wars.  Sir Martin had a cousin who had been in a Japanese POW camp--and how the cousin wouldn't discuss his experiences.   And even today, there is still great resentment against the Japanese among surviving UK Pacific War veterans and former POWs (and I'd venture to say among US and Australian/New Zealand former POWs too).   After reading and seeing what was done to Allied POWs by the Japanese, there's small wonder at that.   Sir Martin and his father made several visits to First World War battlefields on the Western Front; his father's brother fought in the Battle of the Somme, and he would never share his experiences either.   I told Sir Martin about my German-born mother's family, and her growing up in Germany, during the First World War.   This knowledge has increased my desire to learn more about that War.

By now, it was time for Sir Martin to depart, and go off to join his Iraq Inquiry colleagues.   I thanked him for breakfast (he paid!), and for his time.  He asked when I would be returning to London from Belgium, and we made plans to meet again at the Churchill War Rooms in Whitehall, on 16 November.  (I'll share the results of this later.)   And with that, he left.  And I went back to the hotel to change clothes, and get my backpack.

When I got back to my room, I sat down and cried, and thanked God for the privilege of spending this time with Sir Martin.   I still couldn't believe it had happened, and was just overcome with emotion.   I then changed clothes, grabbed the backpack, and off I went to St Pancras again, to get my tickets for the Eurostar.

That was when the day got a little darker.   And it wasn't because of the weather, either.

Unfortunately, I was under the impression that my travel agent and I had made reservations for the Eurostar.   I had a printout of what I thought was a reservation.   But when I got to the Eurostar ticket office, they could find NO RECORD of any reservation in my name!   It was hard to understand at first. But I had to call my agent in the States, and find out what was what.   But because of the time difference, the travel office wasn't open yet, so I needed to do something to fill the time.   So I decided to visit the British Library.   And I am glad I did.

The British Library--or the small part of it I saw--was SO cool!    I only visited one exhibition hall, but what I saw just took my breath away.   For instance, I saw the original score for Handel's The Messiah, Ludwig von Beethoven's tuning fork, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's marriage license, the score of Franz Joseph Haydn's "Miracle" Symphony, Ralph Vaughan Williams' score for the film Scott of the Antarctic (a portion of which he used for his Sinfonia Antarctica)--and that was just in the classical music display!   Next to this display, I saw original song-scribblings of The Beatles' songs Help!, A Hard Day's Night, Ticket to Ride, and Michelle.


In a Literature display, I heard a recording of a reading from Shakespeare's Hamlet by Sir Laurence Olivier, and a poem of First World War poet Wilfred Owen,  Dulce et Decorum Est, read by former Poet Laureate Cecil Day-Lewis.   If I am not mistaken, I think there was a book that Owen used to write his poems in, in the display case too.   I also saw the diary that Antarctic explorer Sir Robert Falcon Scott kept on his ill-fated expedition there in 1910; I could read the final page where he had written just before he froze to death: "For God's sake look after our people....".

In other cases, I found a scroll with a prayer written by King Henry VIII, a Gutenberg Bible, some awesome illustrated Jewish and Christian manuscripts (there were also illustrated manuscripts of Buddhist, Hindu and Islamic writings as well)--and two of the four extant copies of Magna Carta, which were in a small separate room off the main exhibit hall.   There were also some drawings by Leonardo da Vinci, and an original copy of the book Birds of America: drawings by American naturalist and artist John James Audubon.   THAT book was really impressive: Audubon's drawings were incredibly detailed and colorful!

If my toes hadn't been hurting so much--and the Eurostar thing didn't need to be settled ASAP--I would have spend the entire day at the British Library.   It is like a virtual Aladdin's Cave of historical artefacts!!

When I left the British Library, I thought about returning to St Pancras at first.   Instead, I crossed Euston Road and found an Internet cafe, thinking I could email my travel agent.   When I managed to get online, I was having a lot of trouble with the computer; the keyboard wasn't cooperating with my fingers.   After sending a couple of emails to my sister and a dear friend, I gave up and went back to my hotel, to call her on my room phone.   I knew it would cost some money to do that, but I didn't care at that point.

I did make contact with my travel agent, and she told me the bad news: we had NOT made Eurostar reservations at all!   The printout I had gotten was for information only.   I had totally forgotten that I would get back to her when originally making trip reservations in August.   I felt really, really stupid at that point.   And the agent felt very badly for me.   What the heck was I THINKING, anyway?!?

But in the end, it all worked out okay.   After the transatlantic call was ended, I went back to the Eurostar ticket office and told them what happened.   Thankfully, I had enough money on hand to make reservations right there: I got a round-trip ticket from London to Lille, France--where I would change trains for Ypres.   The Eurostar staffer was very helpful indeed, and I thanked this person for their assistance.   I went back to my room, and used my UK/Europe mobile to leave a message for my Canadian friend Steve Douglas in Ypres, as to my arrival.

After this call, I didn't go out of the hotel room again that day.   My big toes were badly bruised from my shoes (the right one was worse than the left), and I didn't want to chance being lame for my trek to Belgium.   So that night, I packed up and got prepared to catch the Eurostar for the Continent.

And--unknown to me--another, even more bizarre, 'adventure' was about to begin....

Day Seven: 8 November 2010

This day, I left Worcester, and my friends the Beechings, to go back to London.   It was a raw and wet Monday, and Nick and Pat took me to the main Worcester train station.   Nick didn't have to go to work that day, so he took 'his Pat' and me into the city: to drop me off at the train, and Pat to her law office.

Before we left their house, however, I got a really nice photo of Nick and Pat, in their library (left).

My Worcester friends
Nick and Pat Beeching

So, we shlepped my bag into the boot of their car, and off we went to the train station.  We parked in a nearby car park, and made it to the platform in time.   Pat hugged me goodbye, and wished me a safe trip, before heading off to her law office.   Nick stayed with me until the train arrived.  We went to a little cafe on the platform, to get out of the wind and rain.

Within a few minutes, the train arrived.  Nick got me safely on board (bag and all), and happily waved goodbye, as the train pulled out of the station.   I will never forget the kindness and wonderful hospitality given by Nick and Pat Beeching!!!

The trip back to London from Worcester seemed to go much faster, than vice versa.   I suppose it was because I was now familiar with the town names that the train stopped at: Evesham, Moreton-in-Marsh, Honeybourne, Kingbury, Oxford, Reading, Slough....   I thought I could see a tiny bit of one of the Oxford colleges, as we pulled into the station there.   Of course, I saw more sheep and horses grazing in large and small fields.   Plus, the streams near the train tracks were rather full, from the rains the previous Friday, last night and today.   And the wind was definitely cold: much more like typical November weather in the UK, than the warmth I felt my first two days in London.

Eventually, we arrived back in London, at Paddington Station.   I made it out of the station with little difficulty.   I had to take a Tube train to Kings Cross Station, (photo left) which was close to my destination of St Pancras, and my next hotel: Novotel London St Pancras.   Actually, I had to take two Tube trains from Paddington to Kings Cross: I got off at the Edgware Road station and then got a train to Kings Cross.

One funny thing happened: when I tried to get out of the station, I got stuck in the ticket gate (didn't move fast enough, I guess!).   Luckily, an Underground staff member saw my dilemma, and assisted me through!

Once I got out of Kings Cross, I discovered that St Pancras International station was practically next door!   St Pancras is where one catches the Eurostar train to the European continent.   I was only spending the next two days in London, before getting on the Eurostar to my next destination: Ypres, Belgium.

I did spend a few moments in St Pancras station (photo right), getting a feel for the place--and also looking out for where I would meet my friend Sir Martin Gilbert for breakfast, on 9 November.    I also found where the Eurostar ticket counters were, so I would not have to go searching frantically for them later.

Eventually, I left St Pancras to look for the hotel.   I did ask directions once, but couldn't find it on foot, and eventually took a taxi instead, and was let off in the rear of the hotel.   I checked in (it was around 2 pm), and decided to stay put for the rest of the day.   I did call Nick back in Worcester, to let him know I'd arrived safely.

The Novotel London St Pancras Hotel was really cool: it was what I call "sleekly modern": all clean lines in its decor.   The room faced Euston Road, but it was pretty quiet, and very comfortable.   I must confess that the shower was a bit of a challenge: the tub was rather higher than I'm used to at home, and there was a curving glass door, which served as the 'shower curtain'.  But everything was sparkling clean and bright, and I enjoyed staying there very much.  The In-Room Service meals were excellent, I must say!

I'd forgotten to mention that, before I left Worcester, Pat made a lunch for me: turkey baps (turkey sandwiches on a wonderful small roll), bananas, and sweet treats.   By the time I got to London, I was really hungry, so this thoughtfully-made lunch hit the spot.   When I called Nick, I thanked him and Pat for this kindness!   

While in my room, I got out my London map, to figure out where I was.  I discovered that the 'new' British Library was very close to St Pancras International.   I decided I would visit the Library after my breakfast meeting with Sir Martin the following day.   I didn't go out walking the rest of the day, because my big toes were really hurting, so I missed seeing some of the nearby sites: The Inns of Court, London's legal centre, and Oxford Street, the big shopping area.  

Looking back on it now, I wish I had done that.  But it got dark early in November, and Nick had warned me that the area around Kings Cross is not really safe after dark (the local 'tarts' hang around the station).  So I stayed in.

Before I went to sleep that night, I inexplicably started to cry.  I was thinking about my meeting with Sir Martin, and felt overwhelmed.   Why would he, one of the most prominent historians in the world want to take time away from his very important work at the Iraq Inquiry, to spend a few moments with a nobody like me??   I guess I was making more of this than I should have.   Or perhaps I was only acting stupid....

A Brief Interruption....

The recent 'student' riots in London, over University tuition fee increases,  have caused me to pause momentarily in my UK visit descriptions.  I hope you will have some patience with me, as I vent my sadness and anger for a moment.

The roots of these demonstrations are in Government plans to increase University tuition fees English students pay for their education.   I say just "English" students, because for some reason, University students in Scotland and Wales do not have to pay these fees.   I confess I don't know a lot about how UK students pay for their University educations (evidently the Government decides how much they are to pay, not the individual state or University, like in the US).  If any of my blog visitors can enlighten me on this, I would be grateful.

Due to the worldwide economic downturn, the UK finds itself in serious financial difficulty, with large deficits, and there is a need to both cut existing services, and raise fees on others--which brings the University tuition fees into the picture.   The bill brought before the House of Commons stated that the Government was to raise these fees to as high as 6,000 GBP (Great Britain Pounds)  a year, which would take effect in the 2012-2013 academic year, with an upper limit of 9,000 GBP a year.   University graduates would not have to pay these fees back until they started earning 21,000 GBP a year.

Since the news of this tuition fee increase came out, there have been several student protests, including occupation of some University buildings, and small street demonstrations.  This week, for instance, there was a small protest held in my friends the Beechings' city of Worcester--in the High Street, where Nick and I walked during my visit.   According to an email from Nick, the demonstration fizzled out in a short while.

This one in London, however, was a different story altogether.

This demonstration, on Thursday evening, consisted of around 20,000 or so, marching towards Parliament Square, towards the Houses of Parliament.   The original path of the demonstration was to end at Victoria Embankment, along the Thames.   But most of the demonstrators were found in Parliament Square, in Whitehall, and in Trafalgar Square.   And a small and nasty group broke off and headed into Regent Street, one of London's main shopping streets.   Here, a number of store windows were smashed--and, worst of all, a car carrying Prince Charles and his wife Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, was attacked with paint balls and sticks, and shouts of "Off with their heads!".   The Royals were on their way to a Royal Variety Performance at the London Palladium, and got caught in traffic, and the general chaos.   They were physically unharmed--but Camilla's shocked face was photographed, and seen all over the world.

It was learned the day after, that the Royal Protection officers accompanying Charles and Camilla were within seconds of using their firearms on the crowd.   It's a good thing it didn't happen, or innocent shoppers could have been caught in the crossfire.

Back in Trafalgar Square, a huge Christmas tree was burnt by the mob, and some more store windows nearby were smashed.   And back up in Whitehall, a really sick incident took place: Charlie Gilmour, the son of Pink Floyd guitarist David Gilmour, was photographed swinging from one of the Union flags on the Cenotaph: the memorial to UK war dead--which I had photographed, when it was covered with poppy wreaths during Remembrance Week, not so long ago!   I was sickened by this photo.   I learned later that this spoilt rich kid (who supposedly 'reads history' at a UK college) had taken LSD before the demonstration.  

In comments made after the demonstration was over, Gilmour issued a lame 'apology', saying that he was caught up 'in the spirit of the moment', and didn't realize what he was doing, or where he was.  If he's reading History in university, he must have fallen asleep in class, when the history of The Cenotaph came up.   The latest report is that he's been arrested for this incident.   Let's see if Mummy and Daddy continue to enable his idiot behavior, and try to get him out of any consequences for 'being caught up in the moment'!

Naturally, what Gilmour did has enraged UK serving members.   And no doubt, UK veterans.   I'd like to see Spolit Brat Gilmour go to a hospital where wounded UK service members are recovering from their war wounds.   Or, send him to Wootton Bassett, next time a deceased soldier comes home from Afghanistan.   That is, unless living UK service members don't get to him first....

The rioting continued in Whitehall, where windows in the Treasury and Supreme Court buildings were smashed.   And in Parliament Square, more idiots were seen climbing on the statue of Winston Churchill, and scrawling obscene graffiti on its base...and also peeing against the base, to add insult to injury.   I read where London Mayor Boris Johnson figures the total damage from the riot will cost around 50,000 GBP.

In all, over 150 demonstrators were arrested, and less than 100 were injured.   Several police officers were injured as well--including a mounted officer, who was dragged from his horse, and couldn't get out of the panicked animal's way.   I saw footage of a literal police horse-charge along Victoria Street, right by Westminster Abbey: a street where I walked peacefully just a few weeks ago.   I was saddened, and also very angry, at all the needless destruction.

I'd like to think that the majority of students at this demonstration came for peaceful reasons, even though they are angry at the tuition fee increases.  And I am sure that's the case.   But huge events like this also draw out a criminal element: 'professional agitators/anarchists' who have nothing better to do than to cause chaos, and could care less about the issue at hand.   The mess caused by these idiots may well come back to bite the student leaders in the butt, unless they speak out and condemn actions like this.   But from what I've seen from BBC interviews, I'm not holding my breath.   There were few, if any, outright condemnations of the violence by student leaders.

The way I see it, this riot didn't make any friends for the students, or their cause.   No doubt there are more demonstrations in the works, protesting the tuition fees.   But I hope lessons are learned, as to how to keep peaceful demonstrations from becoming riotous, and causing needless destruction of property.