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 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....

Day Three: 4 November 2010

It was another unseasonably warm November morning in London, as I awakened to begin a full touring day.   The hotel bed was very comfortable, and I slept well--considering how exhausted I was, after my first explorations of the city!   I had breakfast in a cafe not far from the hotel: one of the ingredients was 'baked beans on toast': definitely UK comfort food!   Delicious!

After breakfast, I went shopping for a UK/Europe-compatible mobile phone.   The mobile I had with me from the States didn't work in the UK or Europe (different technology, I think), so I stopped at "Carphone Warehouse" on Victoria Street, where I bought a basic mobile.   The staff was very helpful, and I'd recommend this shop to any North Americans visiting the UK!

From the shop, I ventured over to Victoria Station (again dodging the masses of commuters flowing out of the station, and into London), and inquired about train tickets to Worcester; I was going there the following day, to stay with my friends Nick and Pat Beeching.   I was able to buy a round-trip ticket in advance, and then I headed out of the station, and decided to take a tour bus, to get a feel for London's sights.   I chose "The Big Bus Company", which has these huge double-decker buses, where you could sit inside on the 'ground' floor, or go up top 'outside'.   I chose the latter view.

Before doing that, however, I noticed a young man in a pin-striped suit outside Victoria Station, who was selling poppies for the Royal British Legion, for the "Remembrance season".   He was tall, and had blue eyes--and he was wearing several military service medals, with understated British pride.   I bought a poppy pin from him, and thanked him for his service to his country.  He quietly said "Thank you".

To be honest: I wanted to shake his hand and give him a kiss.  But I also didn't want to embarrass him publicly!

Back to the sightseeing bus: it's one of these 'hop-on, hop-off' tour services, where you can get on and off at sights you want to spend more time at.   While on the bus, we wore small earphones, through which one heard descriptions (spoken in several languages) of the sights we passed.   From Victoria Station, we passed by Wellington Arch, Marble Arch, Hyde Park, and many national embassies.   In one park near Marble Arch, I noticed a very poignant memorial to "Animals In War", such as horses, carrier pigeons, and dogs.   The motto inscribed on the memorial says: "They Had No Choice".  And it's sad, but true.

One of the embassies we rode past was the massive US Embassy, on Grosvenor Square.   In the Square's park is a small memorial to the victims of 11 September 2001, and the commentary said that a piece of the World Trade Center is embedded in the memorial.   The US Embassy is scheduled to be moved into more secure quarters outside London in the next year or so.   What will become of the current building remains to be seen.

The tour bus made its way through Berkeley Square, Knightsbridge (where we passed the famous department store Harrods), and Kensington.   I saw the outside of the massive Victoria & Albert Museum, where a large queue was forming outside for a special exhibition about Victoria and Albert and their relationship.   I didn't get off there, but went instead to Kensington Gardens, which face the lovely Kensington Palace, where several minor Royals live (and which was once home to the late Diana, Princess of Wales).

As I took this photo (left), I tried to imagine the grounds in front of the palace, and beyond, covered with masses of flowers in September 1997, in the days after Diana's death.   It wrecked the grass for some time, from what I understand.

I stopped briefly on one of the park benches to call my friend the distinguished British historian Sir Martin Gilbert, on my new mobile phone.  I had a brief chat with him, and we set up a breakfast meeting after I returned from Worcester.   It was difficult to hear him over the strong wind blowing through the park!   

I then wandered around the huge park surrounding the palace, and stopped for a moment by a sizable lake, where swans, geese and ducks were swimming.   There were several grey geese wandering about, looking for handouts too (photo right).

The wind was still blowing rather fiercely, but it was warm for early November.   It felt like a typical Indian Summer day, and Londoners were out in force, walking with their children or dogs, and letting their dogs off their leads to run freely.   I chatted with several dog-walkers on the way through the park; I saw two Westies, a rather ancient Greyhound, and a Jack Russell terrier.   British people love their pet dogs!

I got back on the bus outside Kensington Gardens, and traveled to Oxford Street: one of London's massive shopping streets.   All sorts of upscale stores abound, and the sidewalks were crowded to the brim.   One of the well-known stores we passed by is Selfridges, which was founded in the 19th century by a man from Wisconsin.   We went on Baker Street (famous for its connections to Sherlock Holmes), and then onto Regent Street--and proceeded to get stuck in a massive traffic jam.   Nobody got impatient that I could see (although I'm sure there were some who weren't pleased to be trapped in traffic), and we eventually made our way along.   

We passed through Piccadilly Circus (but I couldn't get a photo of its well-known Eros statue and fountain), and into Haymarket, where several famous West End theatres are located.   From here, the road ended at Trafalgar Square,  which is dominated by a tall column, topped with a statue of Britain's famous Napoleonic Wars-era naval hero, Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson. (photo left)

The square is named for Nelson's famous naval victory against Napoleon Bonaparte, off Cape Trafalgar, in October 1815--where, tragically, Lord Nelson was mortally wounded.   The Column is flanked by four huge lions, and is a major gathering place for Londoners and visitors.   Here, one can see the National Gallery on one side, and the Church of St Martin-In-The-Fields (photo right below) on another.

We made another turn from the Square, and were now at the top of Whitehall.   To my right, I saw the Admiralty Arch (I'll post a photo of it later), and soon we were in front of Horse Guards again, seeing another horde of tourists snapping photos of the Guardsmen on the black horses.   This time, the Guards were wearing red cloaks, so I believe they were from the Household Cavalry.   Traffic was flowing through Whitehall and we passed The Cenotaph and came upon the Houses of Parliament.

Our next turn was onto Westminster Bridge, over the River Thames.   Here I got off the bus for my next stop: the spectacular "London Eye", on the South Bank of the Thames, next to the London Aquarium.   It looks like a huge Ferris wheel from a distance.   But it gives you a terrific 'birds-eye-view' of London (photo below left).

I went inside a nearby Visitors Centre to buy a ticket, and followed the crowd into a small theatre, where we were given 3-D glasses to view a short film about The Eye, and what you can see from it.   The images were incredibly real: there was a seagull that I tried to 'grab' out of mid-air, and the crowd squealed in delight!

Now it was time to 'fly': I got in the queue for a security check (bags were being checked at major tourist sites in London, due to a terror alert issued a few weeks before my arrival), and then I was assisted aboard.   You don't 'sit' in The Eye: it's actually a huge pod, where you stand upright and look out the windows.   A pod could probably hold about 20 people, but there were around a dozen or so with me.   And The Eye doesn't stop, when you're getting on and off: it's going about as fast as a tortoise can walk.  But it stops if a passenger has mobility problems.   And you
don't even realize it's moving, while all the while you're reaching to the highest point, above the Thames!

Here are several photos I took, while aboard the London Eye.   I was absolutely amazed how far I could see around the city of London.   The photo on the left is of St Paul's Cathedral, in the center, surrounded by the massive high-rises in the City (capital 'c') of London, which is the UK's version of Wall Street: its financial heart.   

I could look up and down the River Thames, and see modern bridges and tour boats.   I thought of all the great history that London has seen, and been through: the great highs, and the tragic lows.   And I also thought of all the famous, and infamous, people that have lived in London through the ages.   It was absolutely mind-boggling!

It was a little difficult to get some photos looking west, as the sun caused a bit of a glare (photo left).  But I think that, overall, I got a few good photos, including this one of the Houses of Parliament.

All too soon, our 'flight' was over, and I got off as quickly as possible.   There was an older British gentleman nearby, who had directed me to the queue earlier, and recognized me and asked if I enjoyed the trip.   I said I certainly did, and he walked with me down the ramp to ground level.  He called me 'Darling', in the way that British people used the word.   He was very funny, and very kind.

I took a few more photos along this Jubilee Walkway by the river (it was named in honor of Queen Elizabeth II's Silver Jubilee in 1977), and made my way across Westminster Bridge, taking a few photos along the way--including that of Queen Boadicea, who led an unsuccessful revolt against the Romans (right).


Leaving Westminster Bridge, I walked for a while west, along The Embankment, and found the moving "Battle of Britain" Monument to the Royal Air Force pilots who fought and died in The Battle of Britain, 70 years ago, in  the summer and fall of 1940.

The Monument (wide view, left) was created by British sculptor Paul Day, and was unveiled by the Prince of Wales and his wife, the Duchess of Cornwall,  on 18 September 2005, which was the 60th anniversary of the Battle.  It honors "The Few": the courageous pilots from the UK, the Commonwealth, those Europeans who escaped the Nazi occupation of their countries--and even a few Yanks--who fought the Luftwaffe over the skies of England from June to October 1940, and saved the UK from Nazi invasion.   As Prime Minister Winston Churchill said it so memorably:

"Never in the field of human conflict, was so much owed by so many, to so few".

The memorial also lists the names of the pilots and ground crew members who did not survive the Battle of Britain.   You can also see the shields of the various RAF units sculpted on the memorial too.

Below are photos of the Monument's sculptures.   It was the easiest way to capture the intensity on the faces of the pilots, as they dashed to their aircraft (below)....

...or relaxed before their next mission (top photo below), while the 'spotters' looked for Nazi fighters and other aircraft (bottom photo below)....

....and the fighter pilots bore down on the German planes, with a determined look upon their faces (top photo below), while those working at Fighter Command moved the 'planes' around the large plotting board, as reports came in (bottom photo below).

This is a very moving, and fitting, tribute to a group of brave men.

After leaving the Battle of Britain Monument, I got back on the bus at Westminster Bridge for one last run: to cross over to the South Bank, across Lambeth Bridge, and west on Millbank to the Houses of Parliament.   I saw a number of British Army and Royal Navy personnel entering via the Sovereign's Gate, but didn't know what was going on.   

By now, it was around 4:30 pm, and close to dusk, so I got off the tour bus on Victoria Street, and headed back to the hotel.   I ordered In-Room Dining for supper, and retired to pack up for my trip to Worcester the following day.   Another awesome day in London!

Day Two: 3 November 2010

At last--I am here in London!   I am ensconced in a very nice and cozy room at the Crowne Plaza St James Hotel.   It's a quiet room, too--unusual for the hotel's close proximity to the UK Government quarter in London, at Westminster.   And I really walked my feet off, literally, to get here!


It was daylight--around 8 am or so (London time), when the aircraft began its descent to Heathrow Airport.  As I looked out the window, I could see first the beautiful green fields, bordered with hedgerows, with small towns and villages grouped here and there.   The sun was shining, as we flew parallel to the River Thames--and I excitedly pointed out to my seatmate the landmarks I was seeing: St Paul's Cathedral, the London Eye, Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, and the Royal Albert Hall--and that was just for starters!   I could feel my excitement level rise, as we descended to land.   And I even noticed that the trees still had colored leaves on them: strange for early November, I thought.


We disembarked around 8:30 am, and headed for UK Border Control, and after that the Baggage Claim.  The line literally snaked through to the Border Control area, where we were asked why we were in the UK, and where we were going once there.   We had also had to fill out written forms while still in the aircraft, as to the purpose of our visit, and then hand them to the Border Control staff.


The fellow I faced asked if I was meeting anyone in the UK during my visit, and I said that, yes, I was; and that one of these friends was the prominent Jewish historian and Churchill biographer, Sir Martin Gilbert.   I just managed to look at the staffer's eyes when I said that: there flickered an expression in them that seemed to say: "Yes, right--you're meeting Sir Martin Gilbert, and I'M going to have tea with The Queen at Buckingham Palace!"   I thought it was hilarious.


Once again, it was a huge shlep from UK Border Control to Baggage Claim: once again, another couple of those 'moving sidewalk' things.   But, to my surprise, my big bag came through quicker than I anticipated off the baggage carousel, so no long wait to deal with.   That was the easy part: the 'real' adventure came next!    Due to a 24-hour London Underground strike, I couldn't get a train to Victoria Station--the closest train station to my hotel.   Instead, I had to take the Heathrow Express train to London Paddington station, which was a bit further away, but still in Westminster, and get other transport to the hotel.   Little did I realize what that meant!


The trip from Heathrow to Paddington was really fast: about 20 minutes or so, I was joining the throngs getting off the train (and making sure that I "MIND THE GAP" between the train and the platform; I would hear that fun phrase often during my holiday!   It's painted right on the platform itself.), and walking up a long ramp to street level--and immediately into a heaving crowd waiting for the buses!   Amazingly, there was little to no pushing and/or shoving; there were police officers on the sidewalks making sure no one got out of control.   Problem for me was: it cost two GBP (Great Britain Pounds) to get a ticket--and I would have had to use a self-serve kiosk to get it.   And at that point, I didn't have any GBP pound-coins to use!   I found which bus to get on, and went to the bus door, and explained to the driver I just arrived in London, and didn't have any change for a ticket yet.   Impatiently, he waved me aboard, as I lugged my big bag up the steps.   So I got away without paying for my first London bus ride!


I did struggle a bit with the bag as I went to the back of the bus.   But a young Englishwoman and a young Belgian man kindly assisted me, and I found a seat.   We rode through a very crowded section of Westminster, and I watched the pedestrians on the sidewalks, going about their business.   I noticed a lot of Arab/Middle Eastern-looking people--including women wearing the all-concealing hijab--and that many of the businesses had Arabic and/or East Asian-language signs.   And a lot of the women were wearing Muslim headscarves too.   The streets were crowded with many buses, and the famous and spacious London cabs.   Even with the Tube strike, I didn't notice a lot of honking horns, or impatient people about outside.   Londoners just went about their business, and dealt with the inconvenience.


I had a nice chat with the young Belgian man; I think he was from Bruges, on the Channel coast.   I told him I was also headed for Ypres, Belgium, in Flanders, for the Armistice Day observance on 11 November.   His English was good overall, and it was a pleasant conversation.   I also chatted a little with the young Englishwoman; she told me she was on her way to work somewhere in London.


Eventually, I got off the bus at Victoria Station, and once again joined the overflowing crowds coming and going from the station.   Thank heaven for wheels on suitcases now: otherwise, I would have been a wreck, dragging my big bag round!   


After inquiring at a couple of businesses how I could find Buckingham Gate (the street where my hotel was located in), I walked several long blocks, and came into a small, and slightly quieter, side-street.   And there was my hotel, at last!   When I got to the Reception area, it was around 11 am, and discovered my room was ready for me--thank heaven!!   Once I received my room key, I found the lift, which took me to my floor, and the room.  I went into my room, locked the door, threw off my clothes, and leapt into the shower!   Boy, did THAT feel great: and so with clean clothes and teeth cleaned as well, I was off and ready to explore London.

I left the hotel, and went back on Victoria Street, going south.  Two long blocks later, I looked up, and spotted "Big Ben", (photo left) the London Eye--and Westminster Abbey (photo right, below)!!   I'd no clue I was even that close to the Abbey, or the Houses of Parliament!

Right then and there, I decided to take the Abbey tour; so after enquiring where to obtain tickets, I went to the North porch of the Abbey, and entered an incredible site....

After paying for my ticket, I received what looked like a mobile phone handset.   But it's an audio tour of the Abbey, narrated by British actor Jeremy Irons, in which he describes the various places of interest in the Abbey, from number-signs that one punched into the mobile, and then listened to at one's own pace.  It sure beats hearing droning tour-guides shepherding their 'flocks' around.   All I could do was stand there in awe, and gaze at the incredible stonework and stained glass above my head, and all around!

As I moved into the Nave, just before the steps in front of the High Altar, I realized I was standing near the spot where the coffin of Diana, Princess of Wales, stood during her funeral in September 1997, as I listened to the description of the artwork and such on the High Altar.   As I wandered around the nearby Choir, I looked at the ornate carvings of the choir stalls, where the Westminster Abbey Choir stands during services, and noticed the carved titles of various Commonwealth High Commissioners.   I saw the names of Australia, New Zealand and Canada, among others, above selected stalls.   Back in the days when Westminster Abbey had monks, before the English Reformation, this is where the monastic community would gather to sing the various offices, at all hours of the day and night.


Walking round the High Altar area from the Choir, I noticed a number of Royal tombs, including Kings Richard II, Henry V and Henry III, and Richard III's ill-fated Queen, Anne Neville.   And standing above these tombs was the shrine of King Edward the Confessor, who was King of England just before William the Conqueror arrived from Normandy in 1066.   Edward the Confessor was a very saintly man, and had been canonized by the Church, and so the shrine became a site of medieval pilgrimage.


Leaving the High Altar, I followed the audio tour to a really stunning part of the Abbey: the Henry VII Chapel.   This is where the first Tudor King of England, Henry VII, and his wife, Elizabeth of York, are buried in a magnificent tomb.   Looking above, my eyes took in the glorious cream-colored fan-vaulted ceiling: all built of stone, with beautiful gold-gilding details.   It made the Chapel literally explode with light--at least to me it did.   Surrounding the Chapel were the ornately-carved stalls of the Knights of the Order of the Bath, one of the oldest chivalric orders in England.  The Knights' brightly-colored heraldic flags hang over their stalls, giving the Chapel a wonderful contrast to the color of the fan-vaulting.


I wish I could have gotten some photos of this Chapel.   But the Abbey staff discourages photography of any kind.   I suppose it is a distraction from the main purpose of the Abbey: as an active and worshiping church.   It's not merely a tourist attraction.


The Henry VII Chapel is also known as the Abbey's Lady Chapel.   In front of a small altar, in front of Henry VII's tomb, lies the grave of the young King Edward VI: only surviving legitimate son of King Henry VIII, and his third wife Jane Seymour.   It's marked by a plaque in the black-and-white parqueted floor.


Behind Henry VII's tomb is one of the more poignant 'newer additions' in the Abbey: the Royal Air Force Chapel, which is dedicated to "The Few" who died in the Battle of Britain, in the summer and autumn of 1940.   The stained-glass windows depict RAF pilots praying to God, and of 'visions' some of them saw during the Battle.   There is even a small round hole in the wall, glassed-in: evidence of Nazi bomb damage to this part of the Abbey during The Blitz, which was preserved.   There is a small but beautiful altar in this Chapel, and there was a wreath of poppies left there in tribute.


One of the 'odd' things in the floor, before the Royal Air Force Chapel, is a marker stating the spot was the original final resting place of Oliver Cromwell, Member of Parliament and leader of the Puritan forces in the English Civil War.   After his forces defeated the Stuart King Charles I in 1649, he became Protector of the Commonwealth, and played a part in the execution of the King in January 1649.  From then until 1660, there was no King in England.


When Cromwell died in September 1658, he was buried in the Henry VII Chapel at Westminster Abbey.  But after the Stuart Restoration in 1660, Charles I's son King Charles II had Cromwell's body exhumed from its 'honored grave' (on the anniversary of Charles I's death, no less!), and taken to the gallows at Tyburn Hill, where public executions took place, and the populace jeered and flung curses at the corpse.  Cromwell's corpse was beheaded, and the body buried beneath the scaffold, and his head displayed at Westminster Hall until sometime in 1685, near the end of Charles II's reign.


The grave marker, however, remains.


One could almost say: "How the mighty have fallen", when considering Cromwell's post-Restoration fate....


Continuing around the Chapel, one can find a number of famous Royal tombs: half-sisters Elizabeth I and Mary I (otherwise known as "Bloody Mary", for the persecutions of English Protestants during her reign), who actually share a tomb; Mary Queen of Scots, who was buried here on order of her son, King James I--the first Stuart King of England; Mary had fled to England, and Elizabeth I's 'protection', after being deposed from her Scots throne.   She had then been imprisoned by Elizabeth (although they were cousins) for sixteen years.   After it was discovered she might have been involved in a plot to kill Elizabeth and take her throne, Mary was put on trial at Fotheringhay Castle, north of London, and executed there.


Also buried here is the formidable mother of King Henry VII, Lady Margaret Beaufort.   But I missed seeing the tomb of the young Yorkist "Princes in the Tower": the uncrowned King Edward V, and his younger brother Richard, Duke of York.   They were imprisoned and murdered in the Tower of London, allegedly on orders of their uncle, King Richard III.


From the Henry VII Chapel, it was on to the South Transept, and the famous "Poets' Corner", where many of the greats of English Literature lie: Geoffrey Chaucer (of "Canterbury Tales" fame), Alfred Lord Tennyson, Robert Browning, the novelist Anthony Trollope, and Charles Dickens, are just a few of those who are buried, or commemorated here.   Among the latter is a commemorative slab with the names of many of the English poets of World War One: among them Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon, and Laurence Binyon.   In this Corner are also the graves of famous English composers--among them the German-born George Frederick Handel.   A statue of him above his grave depicts him holding the score for the 'Hallelujah" Chorus from his oratorio The Messiah.


Also nearby are graves of great British actors.   Lord Laurence Olivier is buried here, as is the great stage actress Dame Sybil Thorndike.   Other British composers, such as Henry Purcell, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Gustav Holst, Noel Coward (a commemorative plaque; Coward is buried in Bermuda), and others, are buried in other parts of the Abbey, or simply commemorated.


From Poets' Corner, it was a walk into The Cloisters, where the Abbey's monks prayed and worked.   I also stopped by The Chapter House: a huge round room, where the monks gathered to conduct their 'business' meetings.   The first House of Commons meetings were also held here.  The stained-glass above one's head told the history of the Chapter House and its various usages.   


The walls also showed recently-discovered medieval murals, which were quite lovely.   In the corridor leading to and from the Chapter House is located "Britain's Oldest Door", which dated from before the Norman Conquest in 1066.   Not sure where that lead to, but I think it was to some kind of storage room.


I walked all the way round The Cloisters, where there was a nice fresh breeze.   At the end of that walk, I came back into the Nave, headed towards the great West Door.   Just steps from the West Door is a very well-known, and very poignant, site: the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior.

In this grave (photo left) lies the body of an unknown British soldier killed in the First World War; and today, he stands for all the UK military personnel killed in all the wars Britain has fought in.   He was disinterred from a British military cemetery in France in 1920, and brought to Britain with great ceremony.   His casket has a Royal sword strapped on its top (from King George V's own collection), and is buried with soil from the various French battlefields, where British troops fought in the First World War.   It is covered with a black Belgian marble slab, and surrounded by red silk poppies.   It is the ONLY floor-level tomb in the Abbey where it is forbidden to walk upon.   The inscription on the Tomb reads:

"BENEATH THIS STONE RESTS THE BODY 

OF A BRITISH WARRIOR

UNKNOWN BY NAME OR RANK 

BROUGHT FROM FRANCE TO LIE AMONG

THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS OF THE LAND 

AND BURIED HERE ON ARMISTICE DAY

11 NOV: 1920, IN THE PRESENCE OF HIS MAJESTY 

KING GEORGE V

HIS MINISTERS OF STATE

THE CHIEFS OF HIS FORCES 

AND A VAST CONCOURSE OF THE NATION

THUS ARE COMMEMORATED THE MANY MULTITUDES 

WHO DURING THE GREAT WAR OF 1914 - 1918 

GAVE THE MOST THAT MAN CAN GIVE

 LIFE ITSELF

FOR GOD

FOR KING AND COUNTRY

FOR LOVED ONES HOME AND EMPIRE

FOR THE SACRED CAUSE OF JUSTICE AND

THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD

THEY BURIED HIM AMONG THE KINGS 

BECAUSE HE HAD DONE GOOD TOWARD GOD 

AND TOWARD HIS HOUSE"

The Unknown Warrior was brought from France, with great fanfare, aboard a French warship,  HMS Verdun, on 10 November 1920.   The bell from that warship hangs on a nearby pillar.   On another pillar is displayed the US Medal of Honor, which was awarded to the Unknown Warrior by the US Government.  After a funeral service attended by the Royal Family and other prominent members of British society, the Unknown Warrior was buried in the Abbey on 11 November 1920.   


As I stood over the Tomb and read the inscription, it was very hard not to start crying.   I'm sure the Tomb has seen more than its share of tears in 90 years.   Especially when I saw a couple of child's drawings sitting on the Tomb; where they possibly left by the children of a serving UK military member, who had been killed in Iraq or Afghanistan?

Between the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior and the West Door, is a huge green marble slab set in the floor, carved with the words: "REMEMBER WINSTON CHURCHILL".   The inscription also reads it was placed in the Abbey at the request of Queen Elizabeth II, on the 25th anniversary of the Battle of Britain, 15 September 1965.

Also near the West Door, but to the right, are buried several 20th-century British Prime Ministers: Clement Attlee, who defeated Churchill in the post-VE Day UK election; and Herbert Asquith, who was Prime Minister in the first years of the First World War.   David Lloyd George, who led Britain in the last half of the First World War, is also buried nearby.

I left the Abbey (and returned my audio tour mobile) at the West Door, and went next door to the Abbey's Bookshop, where I bought some postcards and a souvenir Abbey guide, and a map of London. 


Nearby is Parliament Square--which today was the site of a squatter camp protesting the UK's military involvement in Afghanistan.   The Square was fenced-off, which prevented one from actually getting into the green area of the Square.   I got a few photos of "Big Ben"--the famous clock-tower of the Houses of Parliament (the name actually refers to one of the bells inside the clock-tower), and then made my way up Whitehall, which is London's government road, where many of the major UK Government ministries (such as the Ministry of Defence and the Home Office) are located.

The sidewalks were very crowded, and the motor traffic roared by, as I walked away from the Houses of Parliament.   Halfway up Whitehall is The Cenotaph, which originally commemorated the UK's war dead from the First World War; today, it commemorates all the UK war dead, and was erected in 1920.   On the east and west sides of the memorial is the simple inscription:

THE GLORIOUS DEAD

The Cenotaph (photo left) is almost a traffic-island in the middle of Whitehall, except during the Armistice Day commemorations on 11 November.  On that day, The Queen and senior Royals, the Prime Minister and members of The Government, and UK service personnel gather here to remember the UK's war dead.  It's a very moving ceremony, which concludes with "The Two-Minute Silence" at 11 am--remembering the Armistice signed, that ended the First World War, and the UK's war dead.   There's nothing like it, anywhere.

Continuing up Whitehall past The Cenotaph, I spotted two gorgeous black horses standing in guard boxes, with young soldiers wearing brass helmets with plumes, and shining breast plates and brandishing swords: it was the Blues and Royals on guard (photo right) at Horse Guards Parade.   Groups of tourists from the UK and other countries snapped photos like crazy of the horses, which behaved impeccably in all the commotion.   One of the horses actually tried to sniff me, when I posed for a photo next to him!   

These young Guardsmen (photo left) hardly flinch, except to steady the horse if he gets the tiniest bit fractious, or if people get too close.   There are signs at both guard stalls that warn tourists the horses could bite, and to be careful.   The young men can't be much older than their mid-20s!  And they are all serving Army personnel.

By this point, my feet were screaming "ENOUGH ALREADY!", so it was time to call it a day.   But not before tromping across the vast Horse Guards Parade grounds situated in back of the building in the horse photos.

Horse Guards Parade is where the annual "Trooping the Colour" ceremony takes place, on The Queen's 'official' birthday in June (although Her Majesty's actual birthday is in April).   There are colorful bands, and soldiers marching to and fro.   The buildings with the domes are the HQ of the Horse Guards, and it also contains a very fine museum on the Horse Guards' history.

I also got a very quick snap of Prime Minister David Cameron's official London residence, at No. 10 Downing Street   But the photo below left  is as close as I was to get, for security reasons.

I would return for one more look at No. 10 on my last day.   And the atmosphere on my side of the fence wouldn't be quite so peaceful....

Before heading up Victoria Street and my hotel, I made one final stop at Parliament Square, where I found the statue below.  In fact, I had to blink my eyes several times, before my mind would register the fact!  What is this statue doing standing in central London???

I sure didn't believe it, considering how negatively President Abraham Lincoln was viewed by many in the UK during the American Civil War.   How could I not take a photo of his statue??

When I returned to my hotel room, I ordered In-Room Dining.   I didn't fancy spending my first night in London alone in a busy restaurant.   The food at the Crowne Plaza St James was absolutely fantastic, especially the Cold Melon soup: refreshing indeed!!!   I also called a couple of my British friends on the phone, and wrote up my postcards from the Abbey bookshop, and watched some telly.  And got off my poor sore feet!

I almost forgot to mention that, when I was getting ready for my shower earlier, I turned on the TV and watched a bit of "Prime Minister's Questions": the weekly question-and-answer session in the House of Commons, where the Government and the Opposition discuss foreign and domestic issues in a sometimes-raucous and always lively proceeding.   It makes the US Congress look tame indeed!