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.