Herbs and gardens and castles, oh, my!

We've had more than a few visits to London, particularly in the past two years--and so, we have been knocking several items off our must-see lists. The only problem is that we keep accumulating more. This year, I began the garden tour at the Folger, and was introduced to the medicinal uses of plants and herbs in the Elizabethan garden. Naturally, I thought it would be a great idea to see some gardens on this trip--and so we did. However, one site that you don't really hear about unless you are googling things like 'medicinal herbs' is the St. Thomas Old Operating Theater Museum and Herb Garret.

We first visited Southwark Cathedral and were happy to note that there was a plaque dedicated to Wenceslaus Hollar--Folger moment!--who had drawn (from the bell tower of this cathedral) the map of London that we talk about on our building tours. We then had lunch at the Borough Market, which startled us by having an iced tea stand. (Iced tea is not easy to find in London...) We then found the museum in the shadow of The Shard. Climbing up to the attic garret via a spiraling set of tiny steps, we emerged into (what else?) a gift shop--and continued up another flight to the garret. If you wanted to motivate children to take their present-day fruit-flavored vitamins and medicines--and appreciate them--you need look no further than the Herb Garret. Chocolate worm cakes to get rid of intestinal worms, nasty-sounding syrups, and weird-looking plants make you glad not to have lived back then. Though not for children, the recipe for a delightful concoction called 'Snail Water' contained pounds of snails and earthworms, mushed up with spices and herbs like wormwood and juniper berries and stuff I didn't even recognize, and called for this mixture to be steeped in wine and water overnight before administering. I suspect that its curative powers were the same as my mother's home remedy for sore throats: my sore throat was IMMEDIATELY cured at the prospect of enduring her treatment. I am certain snail water brought about the same reaction.

Many pictures later, we descended from the garret, having also walked through the operating theater, which must have been a gruesome place when in use.

Our next venture was to Hatfield House. It seemed to be a short train ride away, and the guidebooks all said that the gates were directly opposite the Hatfield train station. What they didn't mention was that the train station was under construction, so there was none to approach about return trips. But the gate (unmarked) was across the road, and we arrived shortly before the house opened for the day.

Now, I don't know how the rest of the world approaches travel and sightseeing. I have a novel approach--not a NEW approach, but one based on my mental picture of places, based on novels that I've read. Somewhere in the distant past, I remember reading a book about the young Elizabeth, living at Hatfield House with her grumpy half-sister Mary; running through the gardens, and basically being a teen-ager with crushes on certain courtiers, antipathy toward authority figures, and affection for her seldom-seen father, the King. A romanticized version, but more palatable to a young reader than a strictly factual history lesson. My imagined scenario was crushed by the immediate statement that Elizabeth never lived in this house; that it was built after her death by the Cecil family. That's "SISS-el", if you please. So the staircases and halls and windows really didn't contain one iota of ghostly presence or a molecule of oxygen that Elizabeth breathed. Bummer.

But I'd reckoned without the gardens. They may not have been the same mazes and alleys and walled outdoor rooms that she actually walked--but they could have been. The hedges and plants and lawns and fountains, the statuary and the scent of roses all could make you believe she was just around the next corner, reading a book or writing a letter. Or daydreaming about being queen. Cool.

So. Hatfield House gardens--and really, the house itself--did not disappoint. Back to London, and eventually, on to York, where we climb walls, visit the Minster, discover Vikings, take a boat ride, and eat some of the worst ice cream ever. Next time.

London, the Conference, the Tube strike, the Garrick Club...part one.

Where do I start? This has been a summer of travel, and after being untethered for so long, it's difficult to pull the balloon down and anchor it with some words about what we've seen. So, as usual, I will start in the middle and spin out events from both ends in the hope of meeting myself somewhere along the way. Sequence goes out the window; what you see is the stuff that stuck to the canvas, and maybe a little of what slid off onto the floor.

London, first. In a rare moment of common sense, we flew to Heathrow on the daytime flight, arriving at about 10:30 PM--not exactly rested, but nowhere near as jet-lagged as we've been on other occasions. A good night's sleep and a mind-numbing traffic-jam-ridden trip into the city later, we arrived at Boodles (Ian Fleming's--and thus, James Bond's--club just off Piccadilly) and dropped our bags. We headed for the Tate and had lunch, then gawked at paintings. 

We met a large format canvas from the Boydell Shakespeare Gallery: King Lear--and had our first Folger moment. Folger has a large format Romeo and Juliet scene, that we docents mention as being so big that it had to be removed from its frame in order to be brought into the Reading Room. Now we could see how big BIG is. Standing next to the painting where it hung on a normal wall, we could see it was twice our height. It's hard to see that on the R&J as it is hung high on the wall above the RR balcony. (It's fair to say right here that Folger connections were everywhere we went--sometimes sought out, sometimes purely coincidental...) 

As part of JC's meeting, next morning we visited The National Geographical Society. I found it disappointing. Lots of portraits of lots of explorers. Lots of Antarctic material. Lots of famous Brits whose exploits were unknown to me. Lots of mentions of lack of funding. Yes. The next day at the British Library, we fared better. Maps! Journals! (And if you are surprised to hear me getting excited about maps, I wholly understand. I'm not sure why, (perhaps only by contrast with the Geographical Society egg-laying) but the maps were fascinating. Henry Stanley and Dr. Livingstone's maps and journals were right there on the table, full of amazingly detailed notes about conversations with natives and carefully crafted hand-drawn maps of their travels in their huge journals. Darkest Africa--revealed! I somewhat resented the intrusion of the little guy in charge of the conference when he launched off into a critique of The African Queen and how one of the maps showed errors in the screenplay. Thank you. I would rather imagine Stanley's REAL journeys than a fictional Hollywood one. 

Also at the British Library was an exhibit on the Magna Carta, which is celebrating an anniversary this year. An impressive testament to the history of British (and American) law. And in a somewhat strange addition to the exhibit, a woman had embroidered (with the help of a number of prisoners) the Wikipedia entry (complete with illustrations and pictures) on the Magna Carta. Why Wikipedia? Who knows? 

No account of our week in London would be complete without the mention of the Tube strike. For more than 24 hours, the workers on the London Underground stopped, leaving millions of people at the mercy of traffic, buses, taxis--and ever-present roadwork. Traffic exceeded any I've seen anywhere. A taxi driver told us that 4 million people come into London to work each day--and I think we saw most of them. Needless to say, we did a lot of walking. The evening of the conference dinner (I won't talk about that) we came out around 10 PM to find all the streets doing their rendition of New Year's Eve in Times Square: crowds of people everywhere, crammed buses, bus stops swamped with people, all taxis occupied...we ended up taking a pedi-cab back to Boodles. Fortunately, the folks were back on the job the next day, and we were back to using our trusty Oyster cards.

What else? Before the tumult of the strike, we had made dinner reservations at The Garrick Club, which has a reciprocal arrangement with Washington's Metropolitan Club, just as Boodles does. And so we went to Leicester Square and wandered around till we located the club. We were early and asked the porter if we might have a look around before dinner. He told us to go ahead...and so we did. Folger moments galore. 

First, at the top of the staircase was a portrait of Sarah Siddons as Lady Macbeth. The one that the Folger has an engraving of in the administrative hall. The painting is better. There were also innumerable paintings of actors and actresses the length and breadth and height of the staircase. Heads swiveling and steps slowing at each recognition, we made our way to the second floor. There was more. More pictures, more display cases filled with small items belonging to Henry Irving or David Garrick or...well, name an actor, any actor. JC found a book that the porter had mentioned that identified each portrait. We went into the bar, got a drink and pored over the book. We met a member with a pink and blue (club colors) tie who said we should meet the secretary and arrange a proper tour. And he found her for us. We arranged to come back the next day and meet the librarian. Then, our first guy called out to another member, who had written the history of the club. We asked where we could buy one, and he called out for the bartender to bring us one, autographed it, then proceeded to guide us through all the portraits on the walls of the bar. Did we know that Sir John Gielgud had initially been blackballed because he was gay? And yes, he was subsequently admitted. Noel Coward,  Richard Burton, Alec Guinness, actresses we didn't know, and some that everyone did. Wow.

As if that little intro was not enough, the dinner was wonderful. More later.