A London Journey
April 11 - April 13
11 April 1999
I’m here! In St. Albans, at Peter’s dining room table, amidst the leftovers from last night’s dinner: treacle pudding and very congealed custard (which was warm and lovely last night). The sun is shining and I’m trying very hard to not think I might have caught a cold on the plane. I’m sure it’s just jet-lagged weariness and new air.
There’s so much to relate – waiting for Gary to come get me to the airport; a bon voyage gift of … toilet paper (!); a terribly cramped flight (but smooth with good service and good food); Peter taking me on a whirlwind tour of Sainsbury’s, the local supermarket, on the way in while he stocked up for the week. I thought he was joking when he put in 4 bottles of red wine, 3 or 4 of white, and said, “That’ll do for tonight.” Well, Peter, his friend Chris, and I polished off 4 of those bottles, and I think Peter and Chris had another after I went to bed. An interesting method of dealing with jet lag!
After we got to his place and dropped off my luggage, we walked to the market – up hill (I’m so out of shape, but I did make it) – stopped at a bookie’s (licensed, legal) to put a bet on the Grand National, being run in an hour or so, then on to the market, where Peter bought more things – fish and fruit and artichokes. At one stall they proudly advertised “rock hard salad tomatoes”! Yes, Peter said, tomatoes for salads can’t be squishy. Yechh. My, my – another cultural difference. Like cold toast.
The supermarket was full of all sorts of ethnic items: jars of curry and packages of naan and frozen Peking duck and packaged Chinese pancakes . . . so different from Seattle. Maybe not from more culturally diverse communities in the US, on, say, the East Coast, but definitely more diverse than Seattle (or Spokane!).
Let’s see – there’s Peter, his son John, his son Ollie, his daughter Fran (in whose room – the “granny flat” – I’m staying, as she’s in college at Bristol – except she’s on holiday, at a theatre festival in Scarborough), his friend Chris, John’s ex-girlfriend Vic. It was a comfortable, fun evening – I drank too much, but I did sleep after!
Peter, in St. AlbansWhat did Peter say about our students? That they were about at their A-levels (i.e., just beginning college). That they should know English profs can be mean. That if they’re told to read a text for class, they’ll be expected to have read it so the class can build from there. They won’t spend time in class reviewing the book.
Peter’s son John (19) told me how intimidated he was by America, how many guns there are – all the typical European stereotypes of the US, even though he lived in Louisiana for a year, and Fran spent a year in Seattle. But given what makes the evening news, who can quarrel. (After the fact – the second week I was there, two teenage boys walked into a school in Colorado and shot up the place – killed several students and a teacher before committing suicide. At the same time there was a nail bomb set off in the London neighborhood of Brixton, and another one a week later after I went home. And this week a well-known BBC news anchor was gunned down in front of her London home. Alas, the US doesn’t have a monopoly on violence, though we have the reputation for it after all.)
Both Peter’s boys seemed pleasant, at ease, articulate – I see so few kids their age in social circumstances I have no way to measure whether this is unusual or not. But since they’ll be in and out all the time I’m here, it’s certainly a plus.
The St. Albans market was much like the English markets I’d seen before – fresh fruits, vegetables, meat, fish, sundries of all sorts, artsy-craftsy things not too much in evidence. There was the stall with framed mounted bodies of huge insects: butterflies, beetles, spiders – I was going to get something until I realized what they were: living things that had been killed for display – but they were gorgeous! The market in St. Albans has been happening on Wednesdays and Saturdays for almost 1000 years – that’s one thing the Fremont market can’t say for itself.
Today (Sunday) we’re going to Janet and Joe Dunlop’s for dinner. Roger and Dorothy Sale will be there, but they forgot to invite David McCracken ?. And perhaps we’ll be able to meet Jean Elliott, who will teach a literature course for us next year.
I’ve been sitting here alone and quiet until just a few minutes ago when Chris and then Peter came down – now they’re running around cleaning up, and I’m feeling as if I should help – better leave off and be sociable.
Later that night
Home again after a lonnnnng afternoon and evening at Janet and Joe Dunlop’s – with Roger and Dorothy Sale (but they’d all forgot to invite David ?). I had a very strong cup of coffee and now I’m awake when I should be sleeping. I find myself wishing for some unorchestrated free time, wanting to “do” St. Albans or go on to Norwich – there’s a lot of people overload.
Peter walked me to the Thameslink train station a couple blocks from his house, and bought day travelcards. Rode in to Kings Cross Thameslink in London, then he showed me back ways to the classroom which I doubt I can duplicate. The beginning seemed … uh … seamy – rundown – though there was a nice little square with kids playing ball – recently renovated. The classroom is in an old church hall – the building is the United Reform Church House (with a United Reform Church next door around the corner). Wonder whether there’s any relation to, say, the UCC in the States. There is a simpler, if longer, route from the train station, and we followed that back.
Looking down Wakefield Street
(classroom building on left)Then we got on the tube to Janet’s in Wembley. It was full of people laughing and shouting and singing, some in very wild red, green and white get-ups – the tube stop was across from a huge stadium and the crowds were going to a rugby match between Wales and England. The pubs down the street from the tube stop were full of people, and as we walked by two across the street from each other, we had to make our way through huge crowds of – basically – Wales supporters, some standing in the street waving and genuflecting and leading cheers. We’d almost passed through them when one fellow walked up to us. “Are you Welsh!” he cried. “Uh… yes!” I answered, and he gestured an approval. Not a fan, of course, but I am indeed Welsh, and happy to join them for the day. (And I covet the scarves, all red and green and white and gold, that many were wearing. Couldn’t really manage one of the Cat-inna-Hat red and green striped hats, though, but they were very striking, as were the fool’s motley caps, and all sots of Welsh flags draped around people’s shoulders.)
A not-too-long walk up a long hill to Janet’s – she lives in a very posh part of town. Seems her husband Joe was an actor—some films, some stage, and a very long turn as a character on a major soap (!). Perhaps the first gay character on regular TV in the 70s Peter said. The UK was more than 20 years ahead of the US, and the gay character on All My Children only lasted 18 months or so!
Janet does psychotherapy as well as homestays. And Joe has gone into screenwriting. Evidently he has had a long dry spell with few commissions and no sales of “spec” scripts – one assumes they have investments, as they are obviously living rather well. A neighbor stopped by from gardening and had a drink with us – he was the lead violin (Concertmaster?) with the London Philharmonic and did studio work – had just been working on the new Star Wars soundtrack!
Janet at homeJane and Joe’s son, daughter (Kristin) and boyfriend were there – she, like Peter’s kids, was quite articulate and opinionated – at one point she went on about dreadful US chocolate that was “grainy” instead of melt-in-your-mouth smooth like theirs (they had some on the table to sample). Well, so much for the Frangos! I hope the UW mug and t-shirt were better choices.
Scotch, champagne, wine with dinner – roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes (peel and parbroil, then roast in oil and garlic) – shredded vegies, fresh beans – crème caramel and lemon merangue pie, biscuits, cheese – they go to France to shop! Leave about 6 a.m., return by 6 p.m.! Lots of drink (including sparkling and still bottled water). Very loud, very animated conversation – one could shift between 2 – 4 discussions going on at once. Long-standing good friends, and finally they all decided to leave and, perhaps in consideration of the late hour, called a private cab to take Peter, Dorothy, Roger and me into central London, where Peter and I caught the train back to St. Albans.
Once home, Peter tried to show me on the map in the London A-Z the way we had gone to the classroom. He also gave me a list of the week’s organized activities, class schedules, and his comings and goings next week – tomorrow (Monday) is David’s theater class in the morning, Roger’s London class in the afternoon. Then the new guy doing “Contemporary Britain” in the morning on Tuesday, Roger again in the afternoon, and Stratford on Wednesday and Thursday (including Warwick Castle on Thursday morning). One more set of classes Friday. A lonnnng week.
And I hear rain and wind lashing outside – could finally be cold tomorrow. My little black jacket has been too much till now – tomorrow it may not be enough. And I have to get up in 5 or 6 hours. And, alas, I knew I shouldn’t have had the coffee, because I’m wide awake. And a little disoriented.
Must get stamps and mail postcards tomorrow. Buy a phone card (figure out where to do that). Phone Helen. See about phoning home – Saturday or Sunday could be about St. Albans – or Saturday, Sunday and Monday – then Tuesday to Norwich? Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, back Friday, home Saturday. Peter says there’s a bus from here to Heathrow. Must check.
***
Notes from classes:Monday, 12 April
Oroonoko (1688): Year of Glorious Revolution (William & Mary come to throne). 1660: Restoration. Return of theatre. Othello one of first plays performed.
Southern’s 1690 production of Oroonoko not the one we’ll see in Stratford – ours is a contemporary adaptation (Nigerian playwright).
Othello: 1604. Tragedy: Intensify basic human emotions, make outcomes extreme.
“When he loves me not, Chaos has come again”Desdimona not passive heroine – important because of death scene: she is embodiment of active love – her death is expression of active love. She dies with perfect love for the man who murders her – What kind of love is this? An extraordinary love. (Hmmmm – don’t know if I can buy this…)
Change of pace: re. e-mail: students in London program may want to unsubscribe from ENGLMAJORS list while in London—lots of irrelevant messages clogging up system.
Re. Janet: hasn’t advertised for new homestay families for years – gets new families by referrals from old families; then she visits. Constantly changing list. (When she advertises, she just gets people with a room for rent). She works with two other programs (Antioch, 4 weeks; and a womens studies program.)
***
The preceding are notes taken from classes, etc., today (Monday). Well, yesterday, really, as I’ve just gotten up at 2 a.m. Tuesday, having slept a good deal from early in the evening – exhausted.
Monday morning I got up and had a cup of tea, then off to the train station with Peter’s instructions in hand—bought a return ticket to Hampton Court (L11.60), but got off a Kings Cross Thameslink. (Peter said this would be cheaper than a return to Kings Cross, but it turned out that was also L11.60.) The train was full of commuters—had to stand, but at least it was the fast train. As reported by last year’s students, all stood or sat in silence, most reading papers, or in some cases books – no one met anyone else’s eyes. (Wales won, by the way – disappointment for the English – I think that gave Scotland the championship – Celtic pride!)
Very busy, very crowded – I got out of Kings Cross Thameslink station and immediately became lost. Kept looking at my London A-Z, looking at the street names on buildings (England, like all Europe, puts street signs on the buildings, not on poles on the corners as in the US). Names in A-Z matched names on buildings, but I still couldn’t see that the geography made any sense. I started and stopped and backtracked and finally seemed to be on the right road. I stopped at a shop, bought two more post cards, stamps, a phone card, went a little further and wrote, addressed, and stamped all the cards (from St. Albans and London) and dropped them in a post box on the way.
UW students frolicking in front of the classroom buildingA block or two from the school, two of our students came up behind me. “Sherry! We thought we saw someone consulting her A-Z! What are you doing here?” And they escorted me the rest of the way to class.
First was David’s theater course – the room (even though they had the heat on) was cold. (Last year, Peter said, no one ever turned the heat on – no wonder they froze! – this year, he told them about the heat, but they still waited for someone else to do it – finally got the message, however.) A plain hall, squarish, beams in the ceiling (real? can’t tell, but I would guess not), plain chairs in a circle – sound of the heater made it hard for some students to hear. The students read bits from Othello out loud – well, they’re not actors, are they? – and didn’t seem to me to have much responsiveness in discussion. David was much more positive about them when we talked afterwards. Of course, having brought my Dover thrift edition of Othello, I forgot to bring it – but recognizing scenes – remembering Lewis Owen reading that last speech (“Put out the light, and then put out the light….”) Ahhhhhh
David's Theatre courseDavid took me to lunch a few blocks away – wonderfully posh pub – Goose and Granite (one of a chain, I think). Had a huge steak and kidney pie with puff pastry crust, with a half of bitter. David had lasagna, which looked quite wonderful. An old lady was alone at another table and several businessmen were nearby. Very nice.
Returned for Roger’s class and ran into Janet coming out from her conferences with the students. It began pouring rain as we stood on the steps. Wish we’d managed to have more time to talk. I asked about how she selects and screens families, but would have liked to talk more about how the students are doing, what they should be told that we aren’t telling, etc. – it’s been too easy to get carried away with the fun of it all. I’m just realizing that I may not get to meet next year’s new prof (a woman – English – no, London – novels Peter has said) – and she lives right by the school. But Peter is gone today until late, Stratford tomorrow and Thursday. Peter’s gone again Friday, I think. Maybe Saturday, but … well, I can do St. Alban’s Sunday and/or Monday.
Roger is Roger in class – holding forth, but being interesting as only he can. They’re writing their own novels about London and now reading Mrs. Dalloway. He made it seem really interesting – I’ll try to get a copy before Friday afternoon.
Roger’s class ended earlier than I thought it would, so I went off to the new British Library – right across from St. Pancras, just a few blocks from the school.
Big, modern, red brick and oddly painted red rosettes on the wall (Roses of England? looked more like a Chinese restaurant – when I mentioned this to Peter later, he said the Times had used the exact same analogy – at least I’m in good company – David likes it – likes the varying roof lines – oh well). Nice sweeping courtyard/patio leading up to it however. Impressive opening hall, and wonderful exhibits: the Beowulf ms., The Book of Kells, Christine de Pisan, all sorts of illuminated mss., Jewish texts and Hindu and Buddhist and Korans – Beatles memorabilia and a Canterbury Tales and the Magna Carta. Some interactive exhibits I didn’t pursue.
Found the loo and phones. Couldn’t make the damn phone card work, so used my Visa – have no idea what I spent. Talked to Mother (just getting up), called Helen and Vernon Simmons – he answered with a business name, so of course I thought I had the wrong number. When I asked what number I’d gotten, he said, “This sounds like an American lady,” and I introduced myself and asked for Helen: “My cats are friends with your cats on the internet.” I think he was a big bemused.
She’s going to find some train times (turned out later they were pretty much what I’d come up with on the web) and fax them to me at Peter’s – then I’ll have to figure out how to make the connections. I can buy the ticket here at St. Albans, but I need to check again today to see if I save money by buying a couple days early. A couple days, only, I think – go up on Tuesday, back perhaps on Thursday. Want to figure a way to get in to Norwich – will look forward to the trout stream.
After talking to Helen and Vernon, I went to the British Library gift shop—bought some books and had them shipped – surface, so lord knows how long it will take (but it turned out later, they went immediately – must have been air – were waiting for me when I got back to the UW). May go back and get a mug for Nick or some book on books.
Got lost going back to Kings Cross, though you’d have thought I’d figured it out by now. It was cold – drizzly. There was a rainbow I tried to photograph, but bet it won’t come out.
Tried to get in the turnstiles with this morning’s ticket – didn’t work (!) – found the return ticket – had no sense of which train to catch. Can’t understand the PA announcements – though I heard that folks for St. Albans should get on this one, so did. It was the slow train, but really didn’t take all that long. Stood part way, then got a seat. Somehow didn’t end up at the same exit as with Peter (because the slow train stops at a different platform than the fast train, I later learned). Went up and down steps and bridges (followed the crowd, and went up and across towards the station –which made a longer walk home – I should have gone up and across in the opposite direction, which would have taken me to the platform that exits a block from Peter’s house – finally figured that out by the time my trip was over!)
Horrid traffic on Victoria Street, which had to be crossed to get to Peter’s. And for a minute, I couldn’t find his cul-de-sac. But I did, finally – in the cold rain – John was sitting in the living room and waved me in as I approached the house. I collapsed. He and his brother Ollie and I watched some TV. Julia (Peter’s ex-wife) arrived to take Ollie home, so I met her. Quite pleasant. As Peter said – unconventional family.
John cooked Chinese duck and pancakes and hoisin sauce – some of what I saw Peter buy Saturday. Quite good and I was full from lunch and tired, so there was more than enough for John to have the last pancake. I went to bed and died. Woke up at 1:55 a.m. to use the facilities and write this – this morning (Tuesday) is the British Institutions class. I have to get a description of that novel class – then Roger is having his kids write this afternoon, so I think I’ll take a pass on his class today – gives me the afternoon to, say, shop!
I need to: Go to Harrod’s. Go to Dillons and use their computers to check e-mail and see how it’s done. Get back to St. Albans tourist center. Find out about the bus to Hatfield House and to Heathrow. (I saw buses outside the train station—maybe those are they and very convenient if so.) Buy gifts for office. Buy Mother’s Day present for Mother. Buy something for Gary. And Laura. Ah – Past Times is here in St. Albans. I need a day or two right here.
Now I may read Othello. Taxi to Harrod’s tomorrow? Uh . . . this afternoon.
Reflections: The awesome excitement I felt on my first trip is not here this time. And the pain in my leg is difficult. I feel rushed. But lying here tonight I’ve been trying to get a handle on things. If I can do that, it will work better. And there’s something calming about this feeling of familiarity.
The students seem pleasant and coalescing into a group. Roger, David and Janet all think they’re a good group. I think they’re doing well.
13 April 1999
Note: Look for websites/ links to Dillons (bookstore); British Museum; Corum Foundation; Dickens House. Get precise name of church/building where classes are held. Take more pictures – streets, pubs, etc.
***
On the slow train to London. More room, less frantic. Found out about Norwich and Heathrow. L35 to Norwich, hourly. L5 bus to Heathrow. Sun is shining. I like England!(Then got lost again!)
Regents Square United Reform Church. United Reform Church House. The church is around the corner from our classroom; the “House” is next door, and our building is part, I think, of this complex.
London classroom buildingOkay – got lost again leaving Kings Cross and I still don’t get it! Wandering up and down the same block, clutching my London A-Z, I attracted the pity of a nice construction worker who asked “Do you need a hand?” “Well, yes – I was lost yesterday and am lost again today.” And he pointed me toward Euston Road in exactly the opposite direction I would have taken. So off I went – in (deceptively?) sunny weather and am now in the Contemporary Britain class. (We’ll meet in the classroom on Friday – street people will speak about being homeless in London.)
Evening, 13 April 1999
It’s cold. Raw. Raining. Hard. A cricket match (the opening of the season) was cancelled for snow! Earlier it was lovely. After the Poli Sci class – which was interesting and promises more (street people coming to visit the class on Friday), and the prof is charming and so British: tweed and short white beard and chuckling disposition – anyway, I hailed a taxi and went to Harrod’s. How in the world did I ever drive in this city? We went round Trafalgar Square the through St. James toward Buckingham Palace – it was spring – tulips, trees in bloom, people walking along grassy fields – and through Knightsbridge to Harrod’s – L10 plus tip – found lots of Harrod’s souvenirs – bought L140 worth, mostly gifts for Mother, Gary and Laura – had them shipped, which was a wash in cost with the VAT exemption. Hope it all arrives ok!
Then wandered the food halls and bought Indian deli plus a goat-cheese tart – ended up eating them all on the train on the way back to St. Albans. Now Peter is going to be late home and called to tell John and me to go out for Indian food. John’s at a class, so we’ll see what we feel like when he gets home.The phone has been ringing all night – I’m taking lots of messages. I do feel much better– maybe it’s been jet lag and adrenaline let-down that’s been nagging around the edges.
And now there’s this lovely tv show on emergency veterinary medicine. RSPCA – mice attacked by hamster (!), fox with stillborn cub, dog with kidney infection – and all these people caring!
***
John came home, he and I got Indian takeaway from across the street, then watched the last episode of an 8-part gay soap opera he was taping for Peter. Evidently this was quite controversial when it first aired – but even so, they’re ahead of us in the US. Peter noted later that John had not wanted to watch, and had seen only a bit of the first episode – when he went to school the next day, everyone else had watched, and the teachers picked up on this and talked about it in class. The English teacher discussed episodic structure, the sociology teacher discussed issues of class, etc., -- Peter seemed quite amused to relate how he came home to watch us both watching it . . . perhaps he felt a bit proprietary?