Chapter
2
March 2000: Merchant Taylor Hall, Brighton, Cambridge, Guildhall,
Brussels
Next
door neighbors Beth and Bob are suddenly en route to Massachusetts
with Sam today; her father died yesterday from prostate cancer.
She's the youngest child, and he was 81 and wonderful, and
has battled this disease for about ten years. She's been in
tears all day, and last night brought over her huge fragrant
white stargazer lilies to for me to enjoy in her absence.
Her mom is 79; Beth has two brothers there and a sister in
Chicago.
I
met more neighbors: Sue, a blonde who's been across the way for 13 years, with
a daughter in Los Angeles and a local son, our son Pat's age, who took her to
a show last week. She turned down a fortune for her house recently, and is elated
at finally getting council permission to add a roof terrace, like ours, after
a lengthy battle. Adrianna, directly across the way, is a very pretty small brunette
with shoulder length hair. She's Italian and prefers London; her white-maned British
husband Don prefers Italy, and they have a house there and in Switzerland. My
neighbor with the feisty Westie, Rocky, just separated from her boyfriend, and
one of her two daughters moved home after 3 years in Manhattan. Her front entry
planters were ripped off a couple of years age, and her new ones are chained to
the house; Sue had earlier lost two guardian lions; Beth lost large cement planters,
but the trellises were left. Whose house do the planters adorn now? Even
the bills in England are polite! The phone company wrote, "The bill we sent
you does not appear to have been paid. Could you please now make payment using
the slip below. If you have paid recently please accept our thanks and apologies
for having troubled you." What a difference from, say, Southern Union Gas
in Austin, who says, basically, pay now or sleep wid da fishes. Here's
something British: I can go to the Post Office for a free bus and tube pass because
I'm now 60! I also registered at the train station and my ticket to Oxford is
now twelve pounds rather than eighteen. (It would be yet cheaper if I rode "after
half-nine" in the morning.) Last
night, Saturday, Mike and I went to a KCWC (Kensington Chelsea Women's Club, a
group of 1200 females) party in one of the most elegant buildings I have ever
seen. We arrived by cab after a long ride past the stores of Oxford St., past
Saville Row, with men's clothing shops one after another, through Piccadilly,
with crowds surging and swirling everywhere beneath neon lit marquees, and past
countless brightly lit shop windows. Riding along the Embankment, we viewed the
entire city in shadowy outlines across the wide, dark shimmering Thames, reflecting
buildings emblazoned with lights and punctuated by the sky-high millennial British
Airways ferris wheel. The
party was at the Merchant Tailor Hall in the City, the one-mile square financial
area filled with mostly dark bank and insurance buildings. We entered a large
classical stone doorway into a hall with wide wooden coat-check tables and tuxedoed
attendants, then passed by several waiters, each bearing glittering trays of champagne.
The guests were elegant, with many women in long dresses, and the men in tuxes.
On our right was a large oak staircase, dripping with carved garlands of fruits
and vegetables and softened by an elegant deep oriental carpet. We walked past
it, glasses in hand, into a large drawing room warmed by a large blazing fireplace
in a carved marble mantel. The dark walls, paneled and carved, displayed elegant
gilt mirrors and candelabra, gleaming in the subdued light. An enormous oriental
carpet was awesome in itself, and in the center of the room were claw-footed wooden
tables later to be used for casino gambling. Through the leaded multi-paneled
windows we saw a beautiful stone terrace, filled with potted plants, tables and
chairs, and in the center, a tall carved fountain spouting tall columns of water.
As Mike and I strolled, eyes popping, a small white-gloved army, who continually
refilled the champagne glasses-passed trays of tasty and imaginative hors d'ouevres
-- or we could stroll to the bar for something stronger. Upstairs, the library
continued our steeping in elegance, and we peered inside beveled glass-covered
bookshelves at rows of leather-bound Punch and thousands of other leather and
gold volumes, and commented on the deep carpet. What a place to do your homework!
The entry into
the downstairs ballroom sported a shiny silver bell about 3 feet high, which hung
from a dark wooden stand. A braided navy blue silk tassel hung from its clapper;
formerly it hung from Queen Victoria's yacht. The band played on a stage area
at one end, and a second story balcony with heavy dark wood and iron railings
girded the room; at the upper rear wall were affixed pipes from the large built-in
organ. The band could've been in a New York City supper club, smooth and elegant,
with two girl vocalists who alternately sang with the bandleader. The dance floor
was surrounded by large round tables of 10 along both side walls. We had a great
evening, ending with dancing, port, and gambling, and a lot of pleasant memories.
The Merchant
Tailors are one of the original 12 guilds of the city, still very involved in
governing that one-mile area, the City of London. This grand hall, which escaped
the great fire of 1666, was built with their members' money, and is used just
for occasions like ours. It could never be replicated under modern conditions
of cost and workmanship! I
learned a lot more about the city's government from my visit to the medieval Guildhall
the next week with KCWC. It was built in the early 1400's to replace a twelfth
century hall, since London's first mayor, Dick Whittington-of the famous cat-was
reelected four times to office starting in 1489. That was before Columbus! We
met a uniformed guide who explained about the large stone room where we gathered,
which contains both the foot/inch/yard measure as well as the newer metric measure
on shiny brass plaques that are the world standard. He peered over his glasses
and said he was selected for the job because he was exactly 6 feet tall and had
a foot, in his shoe, exactly a foot long! He showed the inch, yard, and other
measurements modern and ancient, alluding to the plaques inset in stone. In the
room there are beautiful stained glass windows installed by glaziers with an 800
year history, but they are all replacements for those fire-bombed in 1940. Embroidered
banners hanging on poles above us represent the twelve main guilds, the oldest
being the Mercers, (think thread) and the shields above them carved and painted
onto the banked oak ceiling represent 100 other city guilds. There is a new guild
soon to be added, computers and information science. It takes seven years to become
a livery company, be approved, design a shield and gather enough money from potential
members to adopt a charitable target. One shield held a "demi-virgin"
who, we were informed, was no relation to Demi Moore. Turns out a demi meant the
girl's top half was the only part of her displayed, wearing a medieval gown. We
saw the wooden carved 9 ft. giants Gog and Magog, who have overlooked the area
from the musicians' balcony since 1708, but these too are replacements post 1940.
Guilds regulated
commerce in the city as well as worldwide, and developed and policed requirements
of their members. Work of the guilds may evolve or change, since the ancient fan
makers now work in heating and air conditioning. Vintners, clock workers, weavers,
fishmongers, grocers, goldsmiths-all still function. The guilds elect the lord
mayor of London from one of their alderman who has already served office as sheriff.
The sheriff was once the shire reeve, whence the word. The election and silent
installation take place in the Guildhall. The city today leads the world in banking
and insurance. (Ken Livingston has jumped his Labor party mates including the
PM Tony Blair, and has caused a huge stir here by standing for the mayoral election
after pledging not to.) During
our visit, workmen were busy unloading hundreds of pots of plants and placing
them, tall leafy green ones in the rear and fragrant daffodils in the front, atop
black plastic sheets against the walls. The workmen said Prince Edward, the Earl
of Wessex, and his bride Sophie were due to arrive that evening, and by tomorrow
all the green plants would be back in the city greenhouse and the flowers planted
in public parks. We
then visited the adjacent City of London Art Gallery, with rich collections mostly
commissioned or bought by the city, such as portraits of rulers, history, or donated
pieces. There is an enormous mural size Copley British battle scene, the Siege
of Gibraltar, 1783, and since our guide was a conservator, we learned how difficult
it was to install the painting, now hung by huge chains and now has 5 layers of
backup canvas to help preserve it. It had been kept on a 10 foot diameter roller
to help prevent peeling and flaking. The golden frame alone must weigh hundreds
of pounds and be worth lots. Many paintings are kept in storage vaults for lack
of display space, but collection includes Constable, Gainsborough, Reynolds, and
others which are rotated regularly. Next
door on the same plaza is a church built in 1677 by Christopher Wren after the
great fire of London, but it lost its roof and more in 1940 to German firebombs,
and has been rebuilt. Its entire name is St. Lawrence Jewry, since it was next
to the Jewish trading area; the earlier church dated from 1136. The Lord Mayor's
pew and mace are there. (Once there were 126 churches in the square mile of the
City. Citizens must've built faster than the Medici!) Since its rebuilding as
a guild rather than as a church, there is a free piano concert there Mondays,
and on Tuesdays, an organ concert, at 1PM. An offering plate sits near the door.
The organist is chosen for a number of years and Ms. Ennis marvelously performed
several Bach pieces and other selections for a fairly small audience. The church
is mostly white walled, with wood paneling and mostly clear glass except for a
beautiful St. Michael window. There are a few other bits of colored glass, some
tall silver altar ornaments, and the requisite plaques of war heroes and rulers
on the walls. I left a pound, but hope to come back for more concerts. Pounds
are large and heavy, and it's easy to gather a few "pounds of pounds"
in your wallet! Paper dollars are much lighter! My
sister Peggy arrived one morning, and we walked to the Wallace Collection for
a lecture on French furniture. She was amazed with the scope of the collections
there, free to the public in a fine large building once family owned. There are,
besides paintings, clocks, china, armor, ivories, manuscripts, sculpture, and
furniture. I will be going to many events there, I think. Afterward, we walked
along Oxford Street and stopped in the lavish food courts at Selfridges en route
home. Mike had
a meeting in Brighton, so Peggy and I took the train with him, walking to nearby
Paddington early on Ash Wednesday. It was blustery in Brighton; we walked straight
from the train station through the windy town, and finally spied the gray ocean
rolling ahead, flanked with long amusement piers and a wide gray stony beach.
(Americans should prize their beautiful soft sand beaches!) Most of the taffy
and food shops were quiet, some were closed, but in the warm arcade there were
an amazing number of computer-run games to play: landing planes, racing cars,
pinball, and much more, all with blinking lights and gongs. The place must be
wild on a summer's day! The
best was yet to come, however, and we walked to the Royal Pavilion, one of the
best restored places I have ever seen! I'd read about it for years in Art History
books, but never expected such splendor. It is not unlike a small scale Versailles,
with beautiful gardens and thousands of details carefully attended. George IV
escaped London here as a young man, wildly carrying on in relentless pursuit of
wine, women and song, plunging himself into romantic and racing debt as he oversaw
every detail of his Indian style beige pleasure palace crowned with bulging minarets.
All the while he was secretly married to Mrs. Fitzherbert, a Catholic, although
for financial purposes he later endured a disastrous marriage to his German first
cousin. Their sexual relations, perhaps only once but at most three times, we're
told, produced a daughter Charlotte in the total of five weeks the miserable couple
lived together. In the meantime, his dad was busy losing the colonies. George,
who had innumerable affairs, later brought his wife to court for adultery, hoping
vainly for a divorce. After
strolling through magnificent gardens filled with innumerable period flowers and
trees, Peggy and I walked into a large Chinese style foyer. We were surrounded
with faux bamboo carved of ash and silkwood, and a banister of mahogany carved
as bamboo, since the metal carved staircase was considered too cold for ladies'
hands. Chinese figures and paintings were everywhere, a la Chinoiserie fashion
of the day, in a busy pink and blue color scheme with specially woven rugs to
match. Down the
long hall, the eye-popping dining room was set elegantly as for a banquet, overhung
by an enormous crystal chandelier below an ornate 11 foot silver dragon. The one-ton
wonder had over 30,000 (I think) glass globes hanging on it, and also candelabras
at the walls, which made us realize what a job the lamplighter had in those days!
The many sideboards lining the walls were covered with one of the nation's largest
collections of gilded plate. Alongside each place at the dining table, small golden
buckets once held crushed ice, so that the footmen could twirl wineglasses upside
down in them, ensuring cooled wines. The buckets matched the golden candelabra
and fruit epergnes on the rich white tablecloth. The kitchen was, in its day,
a marvel, one of many there to prepare elaborate feasts overseen by Chef Careme,
whose name we know today from Crème Caramel. (One of the menus offered
over 100 possible courses.) There were butcher tables, baking areas, a self-turning
5 tiered smokejack, or rotisserie, enormous ovens, and 550 matched copper pans
engraved DW which actually once belonged to the Duke of Wellington. The original
pans went missing. Four
tall slender pillars holding the roof were painted brown with green flowing metal
palm leaves attached at the top. The huge wooden tables, not the originals, were
used as hospital beds for Indian soldiers during WWI. These eastern-style surroundings
would supposedly make them feel more at home! The music rooms, drawing rooms,
bedrooms and ballroom boasted equal splendor, richly furnished with care taken
to match original paint and fabrics. Some wallpapers required carving large wooden
block to hand print repeated patterns. The lush red velvet drapery and swags in
the music room were hung with hundreds of border tassels, each hand carved from
wood, then covered in wool felt, and hand twined with gleaming golden thread.
Each cost more than £75. The wall to wall elaborate music room rug was woven
in Ireland from a loom built for it, but soon after installation, a hurricane
dislodged one of the minaret balls and sent it plummeting through the roof and
deep into the floor. The rug was sent back to Ireland for reweaving, and the mend
is nearly invisible. Overlooking a rug mend when there were hundreds of things
vying for the eye seems pretty normal. Victoria
lived in this house awhile and, as her family grew, she decided that they were
too far from the sea and moved to the Isle of Wight, taking all furnishings from
the Pavilion. This included rugs, drapes, and every last scrap. The swirling minarets
and Indian arches she thought a bit extreme for her taste, and the building was
left for the city to purchase, but today grants, foundations, taxes and good will
have refurbished it, even replacing some fiberglass replacement minarets with
the real thing. Mike's
and my visit to Cambridge the next week was impressive. We met the other scientists
at the train station and arrived about an hour later, to check in to our hotel
at the edge of the town. One of the most impressive things about Cambridge's colleges
is that, although separate, each has its own campus with a library, master's house,
chapel, and gardens, spread throughout the area. There is not a weed to be seen
in those lush gardens, and thousands of plants are arranged so that no matter
what season of the year, there is something beautiful growing. The rooflines of
the town are visually intoxicating to me, with multiple chimneys, towers, flags,
and crenellations thrusting upwards from every side. One
Wednesday evening was memorable. To honor Jackie and Ben Wilcox, who did a post-doc
here many years ago and now are about to retire, we were guests at a private dinner
at Selwyn College. Bevin Breathwaite of TWI Ltd. picked us up and drove us over
the moonlit River Cam in a Renault van, and we met the other fellows in a dark
paneled room with a single long table. A waiter served champagne and drinks as
we were introduced. Colin explained that Selwyn had been an outstanding student
athlete who eventually went into the clergy of New Zealand. The college was begun
as his memorial, and is one of the newer ones, less lavish than some others to
keep costs down, and often attended by poor clergymen's sons. After the soup course,
we had fish in a white sauce--which didn't really require our using our fish knives,
but how often do you get them in America?--and then the lamb was carved on the
trolley for us. A choice of claret, 20 year old Port, or barsac was available
after dessert to go with the cheese board, and then coffee. Across from me was
affable Tony Kelly, who had pioneered polymer joinings and served on the board
of America's Johnson's Wax. We talked of many things, including how to deal with
problems from drugs, which he thinks should be legalized and regulated. Mike sat
at the other end near Allen Windle and Richard Dolby and talked about the structure
of the colleges. Later, our host toasted Jackie and Ben, and Ben returned a toast
before our drive to the hotel. The next day, after breakfast overlooking the hotel
greensward, Jackie and I peered into as many colleges as we could, walking through
the gardens but never on the grass. Only fellows may tread on the grass! When
they lived here before, Jackie was busy with little children, ages 2, 4, and 6,
trying to keep warm in an unusually cold winter, so our explorations brought her
new sights as well as old memories. We
ate lunch at the Fitzwilliam museum, where we spent an hour with their tremendous
collections before going on a tour from the Cambridge Tourist Office, led by a
tall slender Dutch woman whose son and husband are at the University. We learned
that selection to the University is strictly on merit, that fewer than 1 percent
fail, that students are not allowed cars (hence the humongous number of bikes
everywhere), and that tuition costs no more than at other schools. The differences
may be in boarding costs, but there are grants available. School ends in 3 years
for most undergrads, and 4 for engineers, and women are finally admitted to all
colleges. When Magdalene (pronounced Maudlin) went coed in the late '60's, students
wore black armbands, but historically, we were reminded that aristocratic women
founded some colleges. Since the late '60's, academic robes needn't be worn in
town, but are required for many occasions, including meetings with one's advisor,
who so closely oversees readings that many students seldom attend lectures. We
never saw real sun in our walk, but strolled past the Cam with punters on the
narrow gray-green river, navigating past the budding weeping willows and stone
bridges. Some wore straw boaters in spite of the cold, but most of their passengers
wisely snuggled low under plaid blankets below the standing boatmen. While
Jackie and I toured, the boys were at TWI, a world famous institute dedicated
to the technologies of material joining. Bevin Breathwaite is the CEO. They were
astounded by the latest techniques in "toys"--joining polymers, metals,
and other exotic materials. This group has worked with the Navy for over 30 years
and is most impressive, with world-class scientists and engineers. When were first
married, I briefly worked for Professor Bruce Chalmers at Harvard, who edited
the Metallurgy Journal, and all the British scientists knew him. (I made $50 a
week.) The most
elaborate building at the University is the King's college chapel, which we visited
in the afternoon. That night, the others took the train back, but Mike and I stayed
for Evensong and Eucharist, sung a cappella in a Lenten severe modern, sometimes
atonal style. We queued at 5 for the 5:30 service. The Sanctus and Agnus Dei were
familiar and scripture readings were in English in dim candlelight. The choir,
14 Eton boys and 16 male students, sit in carved pews before the elaborate oak
screen of the long and lofty fan ceiling church. The masters sit in the top row
above them, reminiscent of days when students attended daily chapel and were overseen.
The headmaster or proctor sat at one side of the entry and the vice proctor at
the other. The walls were pierced with carvings and multicolored stained glass,
removed during the war, that are stunning. The glass is medieval Flemish except
the huge rear window, telling old and New Testament stories. Henry
VI, a pious Catholic, began the church after more than 100 Oxford refugees arrived
to begin a new university on the Cam, but it was not finished until Henry VIII,
and after the fellows, once clergy, had converted to the English church. Henricus
Rex, HR, is inscribed in many of the screen's roundels. The Tudor rose, French
Fleur de lis, and portcullis (Henry VI's emblem) are carved into the limestone
walls repeatedly, along with the greyhound of the Earl of Richmond, another of
Henry's titles, the Scottish unicorn, and the British lion. The Tudors were much
showier than Henry VI could ever have imagined. There are also shops, markets,
and other university buildings with quite modern architecture, but most of them
lie at the outskirts of the medieval and Victorian building at the town's center.
There is more technology emphasis at Cambridge, perhaps, than at Oxford, where
there is more literature and history. We
had dinner at a French bistro, Café Rouge, before a pleasant train ride
home. Most restaurants here won't serve before seven, so cafes and pubs fill the
food bill when convenience is in order. They even had a no smoking section, which
was full, and by next year, the pubs will be allowed to stay open at all hours
rather than closing at 11. No more "Time, gentlemen!" as Britain follows
the way of the Continent. We
visited Kew Gardens on a Saturday (via the tube) and were astonished by the size
and variety of the trees and plants-in glass conservatories and outdoors, desert
or water oriented, and more. A special show of orchids filled various locations,
and we bought a yellow one on the way home. The spring flowers and endless vistas
made us impatient to come back and walk through in other seasons, and we wished
we'd visited the National Arboretum near DC. Even though most of the trees weren't
out yet, there was a long queue to get in, and only one ticket office was open.
The British chap behind me leaned over and growled, "In America, this wouldn't
'appen!" (Every third Englishman has been to Orlando at least once!) Although
we spent hours and trod miles, there were areas we never saw. Duck and swans amused
the kiddies, but there were plenty of people just sitting in the sun, enjoying
the wild bursts of golden forsythia or the hundreds of pink, red, and white camellias,
which reminded me of the gardens of Charleston. I want to add sprinklers to our
Austin garden as soon as we get back home! Bad
news from Austin today, on several fronts. Our friend Peggy Meek lost her only
sibling, Joan, to Lou Gehrig's disease after a short battle. It is a terrible
way to go, gradually losing the ability to walk and move, but not to think. Peggy
has gone to Canada once again and now has only her mother there. She has deep
faith and will comfort her family. Marshall Frazier lost his cancer battle as
well, and Mike was a day too late for his funeral. Marshall spent years of service
to UT ARL and his quick smile and brilliance will be missed. His wife Elaine will
continue her work there. On a different level, our Texas plumbing has broken for
the second time and the insurance company is there again. The tenants are peeved.
On a food note, our son Pat's band had a great record release party and they are
playing for SXSW. Mike read about South by Southwest, a big international music
bash in Spring Break week in British Airways' magazine en route from Japan. You
can hear the music-kind of ska/rock on their Stingers website. However, there's
some language not picked up at home, and I don't advise letting kids hear some
of it! Saturday
afternoon we walked past the chadors on Edgware Road to the Church Street market,
and were told it's the oldest daily street market in London. Foods, clothes, and
merchandise of every variety were displayed from boxes, crates and various colored
tents for blocks along the street. We bought some plants for the roof garden and
passed on a set of 12 fish knives and forks that were from Victorian India, with
ivory handles. Did we save £200 or pass up a treasure? There must have been
half the languages of the world spoken, interwoven with Cockney everywhere. "Help
you, dahlin? 'at's a good un, 'tis. Toike it home wif you, Madam!" We
attended an OWL (Officers' Wives London) party for some of the people attached
to the Marleybone unit, the North Audley Navy building, and the Embassy. The Navy
rents a nice house on Bryanston Square for our hosts, the chief of staff Europe,
who is a Navy Captain, but provides no assistance in housekeeping whatsoever for
the couple, who tidies the loos and cleans up after these parties. We all brought
something, and Carol, our hostess, a Cordon Bleu student, made a birthday cake
for one of the women, which took her 2 days! What a beauty, with fresh flowers
on the cream spring "hat." I didn't taste, but chocolate, crème,
and strawberries, Mike reports, were fantastic. He leaves tomorrow for San Diego
and Austin. It's after one as I write and time for bed. March
22. Yesterday I visited the Lord Mayor's house, which is very close to last week's
Guildhall, in the middle of the financial district and across the road from the
Bank of England. It doesn't look like a house at all, since it's a huge gray 4
story stone building faced with eight enormous Greek columns. Its pediment represents
London, crowned, trampling Envy and, with the river Thames, receiving benefits
from Plenty. With the OWL wives, we were cheerily toured by a tall graying Welchman,
nearly understandable beneath his vigorous accent. The Georgian palace dates from
1752, and the vaulted entry area at street level was once planned for stables,
but later made into a more private entry than the columned formal front. The guests'
rest rooms were once used by house servants, and in the gents, we were told, a
plaque memorialized 20 years of service for old retainers. I forgot to look. The
upstairs rooms were beautifully refurbished in the early 1990's, with old paint
layers scraped and 23 carat gilding applied to walls and furniture. Period reproduction
Regency furniture is used when originals are no longer available. During the war,
only one pane of the stained glass in the great Egyptian Hall, named after the
Battle of the Nile, was damaged. The room, which holds five or six hundred people
for receptions, has a high barrel vaulted coffered ceiling, and the carpet below
has flowers matching the coffer designs above. Interestingly, the Lord Mayor pays
for these receptions himself, since he draws neither salary nor entertainment
budget. The stairwell and rooms also contain a donated collection of Flemish and
Dutch paintings, mostly of daily life in homes and on the canals, including Hals,
Steen, van Ruysdael and Breughel. The Saloon is a huge hall that holds, aside
from one in Buckingham Palace, the finest cut glass chandelier in town, and every
August it is taken down and washed, piece by piece, and reassembled. The ceiling
around it, as the woodwork, are heavily ornamented in classical plaster and carving
motifs taken from Palladio and even the baths of Diocletian. The
Lord mayor wears an official golden necklace of s's and its medallion is filled
with diamonds. Since 1981, he uses a replica of the 1520 original, and we saw
both in the vault. The ceremonial mace and sword, carried by his entourage and
displayed whenever he goes, were there too. The replica mace actually splits into
2 parts "so it will it into the trunk of a Rolls Royce!" but it is so
heavy that our guide Jonathan, a Welsh Guard, borrowed his wife's shoulder pads
to stop bruising his shoulder each time he carried it. We also saw the Mourning
Sword, used last at Churchill's funeral, and the sword from Elizabeth II containing
thousands of pearls sewn onto the maroon velvet scabbard. There were many golden
covered chalices and cups, and another room full of silver serving pieces used
at state dinners in the Nile Room. The Lord Mayor and Mayoress live upstairs on
the next floor, and the top floor holds offices. This office is the one elected
by the aldermen at the Guildhall down the street, and operates on a non-political
party basis. The Lord Mayor's church is next door, and normally is open every
day with concerts of Fridays, but alas, was padlocked. I went home to finish my
overdue Texas sales taxes on paintings. Mar.
24: We had a farewell for Jackie and Ben at the Wargrave Arms, after which my
sister Peggy and I went to see Al Pacino in The Insider. We had a drink when we
got home and looked at all her pix of Jordan: she's stopping off in London en
route home from visiting our brother Pat in Amman, which I did a few years ago.
She has some beautiful photos of Petra, Jerash, and Mataba, including a few which
give a sense of grand scale, and was thrilled to return to hot and cold water
in public rest rooms as well as plenty of TP! She picked up marriage proposals
and was exhibit A for a few Jordanians, but came here single and happy. Several
words are differently used here. The presiding person at a mass is called the
president. Don't use the term "fanny" for your bottom (your bum, your
bot) because it means vagina. If you're stuffed, your fanny is full! If you're
pissed, you're drunk; gobsmacked, astonished. Gone potty over, gone missing? Raving
or absent. Popped your clogs? Rest in peace. A slap-up dinner is a fine one, and
if something is naff, I'm not sure. If you're gazumped, have you engaged in peculiar
sexual practices? Hardly. Rather, your landlord accepted a higher offer, and you
are now in the cold. Happens often in this property-mad city. A trilby hat is
one of many descriptions I've puzzled over. It's felt, with a dent and a brim,
taking its name from a play of the same title in which it was worn. The papers
routinely editorialize and colorfully describe, e.g. today's "currant-eyed,
whey-faced" woman in parliament, as opposed to another who sprang up to speak
"as smooth as a spring tulip." I miss the New York Times Sunday crossword
puzzles, and haven't yet mastered the British puzzles, but I'm making progress. On
Sunday, March 26, we went on Daylight Saving time and sprang forward, which meant
our walk through the park was an hour earlier. It didn't help that Peggy and I
had stayed out late the night before, coming home to find Mike and his bags waiting
at the front stoop. He arrived a day late and picked up a thousand dollar voucher
from American Airlines for overbooking; he spent the night in a Chicago hotel
after receiving his lifetime achievement award in San Diego from the American
Defense Preparedness Association. Peggy and I had gone to a Lebanese restaurant,
run by Egyptians, and had a marvelous dinner sharing mezzes and a kebob: Peggy
ordered well. The music, a strong beat, suddenly crescendoed and whoosh! Out leapt
a blonde middle aged woman with a beaded black bra, long black beaded skirt, and
headband. She energetically danced all through the club to a couple of tunes,
sometimes using castanets, winding around some of the patrons, dancing with the
brave, and generally enlivening things. After dinner we walked to the Wargrave
Arms for a glass of wine and listened to a patron's vigorous Jerry Lee Lewis attempt. Sunday
morning we all walked across the park to the Brompton Oratory for the eleven o'clock
Latin high mass. The huge ornate Baroque church could be in Rome in the '50's.
The priest keeps his back to the congregation, and responses are beautifully sung
by a professional choir. It's possible to go just for the music, but the place
is pretty impressive with golden mosaics and swirling saints and angels in enormous
arches and niches. Amazingly, we both recited Latin responses that we probably
haven't thought of for over forty years! Afterwards we had breakfast across the
street at Patisserie Valerie, rated ab fab in the breakfast and pastry department,
before we left Peggy and came home so Mike could hang a drape rod. That evening
he cooked a beef roast ("joint") and we chilled, watching Emma and Monarch
of the Glen.I had thought they were saying "Monica de Glen"! Those BBC
programs are what the TV tax buys! The
month ended with a chunnel train trip to Brussels, where Mike had meetings on
turning science into public policy, attended by an international group. I walked
to the enormous art museum both days. The early Dutch and Flemish fourteenth and
fifteenth century pieces were wonderful, and the modern art section lies in an
enormous new stone section which goes underground 6 stories. The selections range
from van der Weyden to Breughel to Oldenburg. On the third day, after the meetings,
we walked to some old churches and the Grand Place, the gorgeous main market square
surrounded by pierced stone carved guildhalls. There were tourists from every
nation, including a group of Alabama teenagers. We went into the City Museum in
the Hotel de Ville (City Hall) and an art exhibition, and had a great lunch of
fish chowder for me and more moules and frites for Mike, the national dish, I
guess, of Belgium. Before we left, we looked at tapestries and chose some small
lace and Belgian chocolate gifts. The
city is filled with grand stone buildings, and the Palais de Justice, Europe's
largest court building, could fit Texas' state capitol building inside it several
times. There are almost no parks or green garden spaces, however, so with the
gray overcast sky the city looks severe, broken by the sinuous art nouveau buildings.
It's noisy in the Avenue Louisa area where we stayed, busy with trams and traffic
amid upscale antique and chocolate shops, Gucci and Armani, and people don't pick
up after their dogs too well, so it's wise to watch your step. There were some
well-dressed streetwalkers in shop doors in the evening. The train stations are
in slightly depressed sections of town which look like they need a good soap and
water scrubbing, but there were cranes and building projects in many areas, as
well as church reconstruction where black corroded stones were being replaced
by newly carved sections. Belgium became a nation only in 1830 under King Leopold,
after being overrun by the Spanish, French, Germans, and others, and there are
still language and religious differences between the French and Flemish speakers.
Every sign is in these two languages. There is a mixed population, still largely
white, reflecting the Belgian colonial period in the Indies and Congo. In the
US, even though we speak many tongues, English is a unifying language, and thankfully,
we have no state religion.
Chapter
I
February
2000: Getting Settled
Chapter
3
April 2000
Chapter
4
May/June
2000
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