2004-2005 London, Alone and Together

London, Alone and Together 2004–2005

Journals kept by Susan Hanes during four trips to England in 2004—2005.

Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, copyright 2005.

Cover: Berkeley Square, London

London, Alone and Together 2004—2005

This is a collection of journals from four trips I made to England during 2004 and 2005. I went on my own two times and twice with George. Although three included other parts of England and one, Paris, all were centered on my beloved London.

Susan Hanes

London: Wilkie, William Morris and Friends May 21-31, 2004

The opportunity to join members of the Wilkie Collins and Thackeray Societies

Founded in 1933 as a stronghold of Labor and Socialist literature, the library has

at a formal dinner at the Reform Club provided the basis (or excuse?) for my

had a diverse past from its origins in 1738 as a school, to its various incarnations

return to London. Although Jake and I have enjoyed memorable trips to France

as a craft workshop, a pub, a coffee house, and the home of the London

and Spain in the last year and a half, I found myself anxious to return to my

Patriotic Club. Marx and Engels created their brochures there and Lenin printed

favorite place and to see old friends. This time I was on my own again, Jake

his newsletter, Justice, and sent it back to Russia. After the tour we enjoyed tea

preferring to join me when we have time to drive out of the city and make it

and biscuits in the reading room before the meeting broke up. With the help of

more of a trip. It was a stormy start as American Airlines 777 sat on the tarmac

a fellow member, I found the tube, bought a carnet of tickets and went back to

at O’Hare for two hours, waiting out a raging thunderstorm, sheets of rain

Baker Street and the hotel, stopping briefly at Shepherd’s to pick up wine,

pouring down the windows and thunder, lightning, and hail giving us their best. I

water, and goodies for the room. Jet lag was starting to kick in by then and I

was thankful that planes no longer take off in such bad weather. I would so

had a delicious evening, enjoying a warm bath and a room service “bedroom

much rather ride out the storm on terra firma. The seatbelt sign stayed on most

picnic” before turning in.

of the flight but we arrived on a sunny morning in London. As we descended through a few puffy clouds, I felt my heart flutter in anticipation. I never get excited about a trip until we are circling to land, but as we flew over the verdant English countryside, I was filled with a sense of expectation. I found a welcoming committee there to meet me. Vicky, Michael and Will Palau were among the throngs lining both sides of the exit from customs; I felt like I was a star arriving at the Oscars. After hugs and greetings, Mike and Will went to get the car while Vicky helped me arrange my mobile phone and change some money. They drove me directly to the Dorset Square Hotel in Marylebone and waited while I checked in and was shown to a small room tucked away on the third floor. I dumped my bags and hurried out to the waiting car. The Palaus dropped me off at the first point on my agenda, the Annual General Meeting of the William Morris Society. This time, rather than being in Hammersmith, it was held at the Karl Marx Memorial Library in Clerkenwell Green. There were about 40 in attendance, mostly older people who had come to hear a talk by the librarian about Morris’s socialist interests, followed by a tour of the library.

I awoke twelve hours later to another sunny morning. Taking my time getting

Crafts Holy Trinity Church but found that it was closed. By then it was time for

showered and dressed, I headed for Bloomsbury to look for a book fair I had

me to start for Putney and I caught the 22 bus to Putney Bridge and walked the

seen advertised. I found the Royal National Hotel near Russell Square but the

familiar way to Trish and Charles’ home. Passing Festing Road, I thought of the

show was disappointing. I remembered being there before and not being

many happy times I had spent there. This time, however, they greeted me at Elm

impressed then either, but it was fun to look around just the same. Afterwards, I

House, where Trish’s sister Penny lives. Trish and Charles have just sold their

walked towards the British Museum, enjoying a sense of familiarity. I had a light

Putney house and bought a place in Parson’s Green. We shared a fresh salad and

lunch and a glass of wine at a nearly bistro before hopping on the Metropolitan

grilled chicken and then Charles drove me to see their new home. Parson’s

Line for South Kensington. I shopped at the Conran Shop next to the Michelin

Green is a lovely neighborhood with larger row houses. As we walked to their

Bibendum building and delighted in buying French wooden toys for my expected

house on Quarrendon Road, they regailed me with their plans. We topped off

grandchildren. I walked up to Sloane Square with the idea of visiting the Arts and

the evening with lattes at Tootsies before Charles drove me back to the hotel.

Monday morning, I made my way through the throngs of commuters to the

dress and huge pink hat. She grabbed my arm and off we went around the

Baker Street station and then to Covent Garden for the antiques market. I

plaza, deciding on a shady table in one of the cafes. We munched our salads

almost beat the dealers themselves but poked around until their booths were

and chatted together as we watched an acrobat walking around on his hands

set up. It was a real mixed bag: some dealers seemed quite professional with

to the delight of a circle of tourists. After lunch, Trish took me through the

careful explanations on their labels and fixed prices; others looked as if they

Royal Opera House, sharing her memories of wondrous nights there as a

had merely cleared away their morning tea things and decided to sell them.

young girl. I left Trish to do her errands and visited Lord Leighton’s home in

Still others were not selling antiques at all, but ₤4 Pashmina scarves, religious

Holland Park. President of the Royal Academy, Frederick Leighton

trinkets, and cheap jewelry. It was fun to just saunter along, looking at all that

(1830-1896) built this amazing house for himself in 1866. It is furnished to the

stuff. I did find a few treasures however, including a tin box featuring a fat

highest standards, and the exotic Arab Hall is covered with panels of glazed

woman advertising desiccated soups, a dog nut cracker, and a cream jar with

tiles from the Middle East. A mosaic floor spreads around a bubbling fountain

great graphics. I was to meet Trish at 1:00, but finding that I had seen all I

and the walls are hung with numerous examples of his work as well as paintings by Burne-Jones and Millais and their contemporaries. Leighton’s studio was alive with activity. Art students were working at their easels while a young woman posed. The smell of oil paint and the sight of those young artists gave me the sense that I was standing among the Pre-Raphaelites themselves as they experimented with their explosive notions of art and expression. A special bonus was a small exhibit centering on the relationship of Edward Burne-Jones and May Gaskill, the young woman who touched his life with love and excitement in his final years. Their intriguing story, told mainly through his letters to her, has been turned into a book, A Profound Secret. The exhibit featured his letters and the cartoon drawings that he did for May and her children, as well as a shawl that he designed for her and that

cared to see in an hour or so, decided to jump on the tube and see what was

she stitched. Dinner was simple that night—an asparagus risotto-–before I

new at the British Library before meeting her. The tube certainly makes these

caught the tube to Spitalfields and then a taxi to 18 Folgate Road and the

decisions possible, for in only a few minutes I was crossing over to the

Denis Severs House. The ten rooms of this 18th century home comprise the

courtyard of the Library. I went through an exhibit on the Silk Road before

residence of the Jervis family, an imaginary clan of Huguenot silk weavers that

visiting the permanent collection. The holdings on display never cease to

lived there for five generations. After paying my ₤12, I joined a few others and

amaze me—all those treasures in one room: the Magna Carta, the Lindisfarne

quietly padded around the candlelit rooms, absorbing the sounds and smells

Gospels, Shakespeare’s First Folio, the manuscript of Alice in Wonderland—and

of those historical phantoms. Once I allowed myself to be taken in, the place

on and on. It always fills me with awe. After a quick run through the gift shop

was evocative beyond words. With the burning candles, the smoking pipe, the

it was time to get back to Covent Garden to meet Trish. We found each

half-eaten suppers, the wet laundry hanging in the upper stair, I felt a bit like Si

other outside the tube station and I almost did not recognize her in a flowing

Morley in Jack Finney’s Time and Again.

British Library

Opera House

Leighton House

Severs House

First thing Tuesday, I set out for Piccadilly and an antique market at St. James Church. However, I could see that it was going to be a disappointment even though it was not completely set up. Instead I ordered a latte and croissant at a little café across the street. From there I went into Fortnum & Mason and perused the array of foods and condiments on display. After some debate, I bought an F&M signature biscuit barrel although I was not too sure how I would get it back. However, I have always managed somehow, so didn’t let that stop me. I also found gifts for Jake and Al and Em among the traditional fitted picnic hampers, wisely arranging for them to be mailed. I continued towards Bond Street, looking in the windows of the exclusive shops along the way. I went into Smythson’s and ordered note cards, using my plate that they have on file. I also visited Halcyon Days where I found a tiny antique knitting shuttle, carved with a little heart, for my collection. Taking the tube back to Bloomsbury, I went to Jarndyce where I found a parody of a travel book dating from the mid-nineteenth century. It will be perfect for Jake. I returned to the hotel for a break before meeting Suzanne Madigan for dinner. We decided to eat at the Potting Shed, the little restaurant beneath the street at my hotel. It was pleasant and relaxing and we had a leisurely dinner and lots of catching up.

Next morning, I headed for Camden Passage. The narrow lanes and tiny antique shops remind me of the Marché aux Puces in Paris. As I turned a corner, I found myself in front of Judith Lassalle, a purveyor of antique games and toys whose shop I had been looking for on several of my past trips. I had once bought an antique wooden game from her at the Russell Square Book Fair and was happy to discover her little shop. She had some wonderful treasures and I had a fine time making my selections. She is planning to retire and move out to the country with her son; I used that news as an excuse to buy several beautiful old games that were housed in wooden boxes.

Pleased with my purchases, I stopped for lunch at a little trattoria nearby and

brilliant Burne-Jones windows, resplendent with rich hues of crimson, azure, and

enjoyed a glass of wine and a dish of ravioli. I decided to try and find my way to

gold. I enjoyed a few quiet moments there, reflecting on being in London again

Walthamstow to see the William Morris Gallery. I had wanted to visit the

and the blessings of my many visits. Vicky drove to the Carlyle House at 24

Gallery on several earlier trips and thought that this was finally the time to do it.

Cheyne Row where we had tickets to a joint meeting of the Dickens and the

Not sure where to go once I came up from the tube, I found a taxi and let him

Carlyle Societies. On the way I told her of the day’s exploits and she

take me there. Home to the Morris family between 1848 and 1856, the large

congratulated me on my bravado in walking through Walthamstow on my own.

house is now filled with displays connected to the work of Morris & Co. I

We arrived early enough to explore the house and garden before the meeting

enjoyed seeing examples of his wallpaper designs and furniture as well as pages

started. This was a treat, especially after I had read about Jane and Thomas

from his Kelmscott Press books, including the Chaucer. Asking the fellow at the

Carlyle’s interesting marriage in Phyllis Rose’s book, Parallel Lives. The program

desk about getting back to the station, I was told it was only a short walk so I

consisted of members from both societies reading from the writings of Carlyle

set out along the high street, passing curry establishments, bars, and cheap

and Dickens as we savored our surroundings and imagined similar evenings of

clothing shops along the way. I hurried back to the hotel for a quick change

long ago. After sharing a glass of wine in the basement kitchen with other

before meeting Vicky at her workplace at Savills on Sloane Square. Arriving

Society members, Vicky and I went for the Indian food I had been craving. At

early, I found that Holy Trinity Church was open. I went in and looked up at the

Star of India, we chatted and ate, catching up on each other’s lives.

Figuring that I had done about all the antiquing that I should, I decided the next morning to visit the V&A. Getting off the tube, I found myself surrounded by masses of school children but was relieved that they were visiting the Natural History Museum across the street. I spent time with the Constable paintings and visited the Morris, Gamble, and Poynter Refreshment Rooms, and walked through the displays of silverware and embroidered textiles. By mid-afternoon I decided to return to the hotel in order to give myself plenty of time to get ready for the highlight of my trip: a special dinner at the Reform Club for members of the Thackeray and Wilkie Collins Societies. I dressed carefully and was downstairs to meet Faith and Bill Clarke at 6:30 when they arrived with their driver to pick me up. We slipped through the traffic and soon were climbing the steps to the great club in our formal attire. It was a grand place, with huge columns at the four corners of the great hall. The club smelled of old cigars and older leather. We were ushered up to the library where we were greeted by Andrew Gasson and Paul Lewis and other members of the two Societies. I met a couple who recognized me as being at the Carlyle evening that previous evening and also saw Pierre Tissot, the Dutch man I’d met years ago at another Wilkie event. I was introduced to the guest of honor, author P.D. James, who was our speaker. She was a tiny, neat woman of 84, with lovely skin and a bright smile. I was enchanted to meet her. We exchanged a few words and then it was time to be seated. The library was filled with round tables with one long head table in the center. I was seated there, between Faith and Bill and across from Lady James. The portly president of the Thackeray Society smacked the table with a wooden mallet for silence and then asked the blessing in Latin. Dinner was elegant and beautifully presented. After dessert and coffee and chocolates, our speaker was introduced. Lady James gave a riveting talk about Wilkie Collins and his influence on detective fiction. She is a magnetic speaker and of course, her topic was of great interest to us. Afterwards, she signed my copy of The Murder Room and wrote that it was signed on the occasion of our evening at the Reform Club. Faith, Bill, and I were exhilarated as we drove back to the hotel, commenting that seldom are events as good as we imagine them to be, but that in this instance, the evening could not have been more special.

Friday morning, I was up early to catch the train from Charing Cross to

walk from the train station in the town of Bexley, tucked behind red brick walls

Bexleyheath for a visit to Red House, home to William and Jane Morris from

in a suburban neighborhood. I enjoyed the tour of the home and the chance to

1860 to 1865. Designed by architect Phillip Webb, it was the only house that

walk around the grounds afterwards. I had lunch at the bakery in Bexley before

William Morris ever owned. Burne-Jones called it “The beautifullest place on

catching the train back into London. I decided to finish off my “Morris and

earth” and Morris planned to create a palace of art there with his friends.

Friends” day by visiting the Pre-Raphaelite paintings at the Tate Gallery. It felt

Although the dream only lasted for five years, the house is still a treasure that

like meeting old friends again to see the works of Burne-Jones and Millais and

is now owned by the National Trust. The furnishings are few, but it is the

Rossetti that hang together on the high walls. By that time, I was starting to

architecture and the site itself that charm the visitor. The house is a two-mile

fade and decided to have a glass of wine and a simple dinner at the hotel.

The trip to Red House had been so enjoyable that I was inspired to take

they made themselves. Many of these are still in the house and have been

another expedition out of town the next morning. I realized how easy it is to

augmented with other Morris furniture and art pottery. At the head of the

hop on a train and explore a new area. This time, I kept to my William Morris

stairs hangs a magnificent tapestry of St. Agnes, designed by Burne-Jones and

theme by visiting Standen, a house designed by Morris’s friend Phillip Webb

Morris. That is definitely the piece I would carry out under my coat. I decided

and completed in 1894 for the prosperous London solicitor, James Beale. The

that Standen is my favorite Morris-inspired place. I wandered in the gardens

home is a testament to Webb’s love of fine craftsmanship and modesty, for it

and then took the footpath through the woods and back into town, following

is nestled into the hills of West Sussex, offering pastoral views but not

directions from the National Trust volunteers at the entrance. It was pleasant

commanding the landscape itself. I took the train from Victoria to East

to slow down and enjoy the walk and savor this time to myself. After

Grinstead, about an hour’s ride from the city. Arriving at the station, I took a

climbing the steep hill into town, I looked into the shop windows. East

bus to the turn-off and then followed the driver’s instructions, walking up a

Grinstead is an attractive little town of 16th century half-timbered buildings. I

tree-lined lane to the entrance. The National Trust had set up a tea room in

stopped in a particularly intriguing old shop that sold antique maps and prints,

the garden and I had a ploughman’s lunch before visiting the house. What a

and after talking to the proprietor, purchased an 1845 map of Cornwall.

treat it was! Standen is vast, the rooms combining plain paneling with the

Perhaps this was the very map that Wilkie used when he made his 1850

color and pattern of Morris wallpapers, carpets, and fabrics. The Beale family

Rambles Beyond Railways. With luck, I just managed to catch the 4:30 train

had furnished the house with comfortable Victorian pieces and embroideries

back to London with minutes to spare.

Sunday was my last full day in London. I awoke early and spent a couple of hours trying to fit everything into my bags. It would seem that it would not be a problem since I bought a backpack on one of my shopping jaunts, but it took a lot of creative organization. By late morning I was ready to walk to Russell Square for the PBFA Book Fair at the Russell Hotel.

Arriving early, I spent an hour or so in the café on the square, enjoying the opportunity to reflect on my experiences of the past week.

My last day in London and the first chance I have had to just pause and let my mind wander. I am sitting in a café on Russell Square, waiting for the PBFA Book Fair to begin at noon in the grand old Russell Hotel behind me. Out in the center of the square some sort of celebration is unfolding. I haven’t quite figured out what it is, but there are drummers and four large figures that look like they are made of plaster. One looks like the wicked queen in Sleeping Beauty, one looks like Bacchus, one appears to be a king with a red cape and the fourth looks like some kind of priest in a green robe. A man is holding up a giant bird on a stick and is moving it up and down in time to the drumming. A crowd is growing and it looks as if the people in the center are dancing around in a circle. The crowd is young; some have little children with them. From here, the crowd looks benign but these days I immediately find myself looking for some political purpose. I am keeping my seat, enjoying my solitude here in the café, even with all that is going on around me. The cappuccino machine is gurgling, orders are being shouted, a young Asian woman with a piercingly sharp voice barks out numbers as the orders are ready. But it is quiet in my corner where the few people are sitting, each at their own table, reading the papers and sipping at their cups of cooling coffee. This has been a good week. Even when I thought London had worked all of its healing magic on me after Houston’s death and I was ready to take the step into the next chapter of my life, I find that I still experience a sense of renewal in this place. London, with its sooty streets, crowded tubes, clumsy mixture of sophisticated businessmen, awestruck tourists and international students— London still embraces me. Or perhaps it is the other way around. London shows me my own strength, my own depth, my own complexity. When I am alone here I am forced to find my way and make my plans, and when I am with my friends here I am allowed to open myself up and drink in the joy of the relationships I have come to cherish. Being in London provides the opportunity to gain perspective. I can step back and allow myself to be seized with a sense of gratitude that pours over me. I am renewed as I allow my thoughts to caress the memories of the life I have lived and the people I have loved. Thank you, London, for giving me this, yet again.

Just before noon I walked over to the fair, finding a long line waiting to get in. I

Just before six, I said good-by to my friends and took the tube south to

heard someone comment, “Can’t imagine people queued up to buy old

Putney. Trish was there to meet me at the foot of the bridge and drove me to

books!” The doors opened and we all shuffled forward into two huge rooms

Elm House where I was greeted by Annabelle and Charles. We walked up to

filled with books. The sellers were from throughout the UK and France,

Blades Restaurant for dinner and I felt quite nostalgic as I remembered the

Germany, and the US. I saw several familiar faces and quite a few familiar

many times I have been with them in this place. Charles and I enjoyed a

names—Sylvia and Brian from Yew Tree Books in Kent, Brian and Janet from

flavorful veal chop and chips. We asked if I could have a copy of the menu

Jarndyce, MacDonnell Books from up north. I almost bought a yellowback of

with its depiction of the bridge and a boat on the river. The owner presented

Fallen Leaves, but a quick call to Jake said that I already had it. So that one goes

me with one—signed by him and the waitress. It is an appropriate souvenir of

to Andrew. I also ran into Roger Baskes from Chicago. A fun purchase was an

my visits to the McGregors. We returned to Elm House for a glass of wine

1860’s book of “Ghosts” that appear on the wall after staring at the page. I

before they hustled me into a taxi back to the hotel.

stopped at the hotel to drop off my purchases and then took the tube to Swiss Cottage where I walked down to Andrew’s flat. He had invited Paul and his new friend Emma Lynch, Pierre Tissot and me for tea and a chance to see

I awoke early to another perfect sunny day. I checked out of the Dorset

the newest additions to his Wilkie collection, particularly a William Collins

Square and met Vicky and Michael at the curb for the drive back to Heathrow.

painting. It was fun to talk Wilkie with this group over tea and scones. I took a

Soon I was on a plane bound for Chicago, with my bag full of treasures and

photo of the group, as I have done on most of my visits.

my heart full of memories.

London and Southeastern England September 10-19, 2004

I am spoiled by an embarrassment of riches. Just over three months after my

Patrixbourne that we had happily arrived on a bikers’ open house day, thus

last trip to London, I was back on the same American Airlines flight I had taken

insuring that we would find a welcome at the places we hoped to visit. Of

in May. This time, however, it was a lovely clear evening and Jake was with me.

greatest significance at St. Mary’s Patrixbourne is the Norman doorway, deeply

Our flight was smooth and we had no complaints. We arrived an hour ahead

recessed under five arches with an unusual triangular gable above. The church

of schedule but the time was quickly lost as we tackled the usual hassles of

also has an interesting wheel window on the east wall with spokes that

retrieving bags, changing money, and finding the car rental office. In due course

disappear into the mouths of monsters at the rim. While Jake chatted with a

we were on the M20 driving east towards Canterbury in a new Vauxhall

couple who were stationed there to greet the bikers, I discovered a spooky

sedan. As usual, Jake had made careful plans to maximize our time and we

overgrown cypress-lined pathway that ran from the doorway of the church

exited onto the A2 to the first stop on our itinerary. We discovered at

into the woods.

St. Mary’s Patrixbourne

St. Nicholas Barfrestone

The village of Barfrestone was not easy to find, even with our detailed

closing. Even though I had stayed at the Country Hotel when Houston and I

ordinance map, but after a series of turns and a little backtracking, we found

came to Canterbury in 1998, it was no easier to find this time. Even the

the church on a small bluff adjacent to a pub. Called “The Kilpeck of the

policewoman we finally asked had a hard time directing us, as it is located on a

South,” St. Nicholas Barfrestone rates four stars in Simon Jenkins’ England’s

pedestrian mall with only one-way streets surrounding. However, with a bit of

Thousand Best Churches because of its complete Norman decoration. The

luck, I recognized the hotel’s parking garage that we had found only by luck the

south doorway is especially rich with well-preserved late Norman carving. A

last time as well. We checked in and stopped in our room just long enough to

fleet of carved corbel heads lines the walls and above is a huge wheel window,

dump our luggage and throw open the windows to a fresh breeze. As we

similar to the one at Patrixbourne. We were ready for a little refreshment by

walked to the cathedral, we found the town bustling with shoppers and

then and walked over to the Yew Tree Pub next door. While Jake ordered a

visitors. We spent a couple of hours exploring the cathedral and the close,

pint of the local brew on tap, I enjoyed a hard cider and we chatted about

stopped for a supper of meat pies and chips at the 15th century Weaver’s

politics with the affable proprietor. A short time later we were entering

Cottage, and fell into bed, tired but pleased that we had managed to stay

Canterbury, intending to check into our hotel and get to the cathedral before

awake and take full advantage of our first day.

Canterbury Cathedral

St. Leonard Hythe

After enjoying a full English breakfast (carefully avoiding the blood sausage that even Jake wasn’t buying) we retrieved our car and departed for Hythe, thankful for the bright sunny morning. We found St. Leonard, rising like a huge cliff of stone on the steep hillside above the old town. Unfortunately, a service was in progress, preventing our entering the crypt that is celebrated as

We explored the steep and narrow streets and Jake pointed out the Mermaid

England’s most gruesome ossuary. Kept from the spectacle of rows upon rows

Inn, reputed haunt of smuggler gangs. We also found the home of Henry

of skeletal remains, we contented ourselves by strolling through the church

James located near the squat-towered 12th century Church of St. Mary’s.

grounds, searching out interesting tombstones. We tried unsuccessfully to find

There was a flower festival going on inside the church and intricate floral

the church at New Romney but continued instead to Brookland. With its

arrangements had been set out throughout the sanctuary. Our brilliant day

bizarre detached bell tower, the exterior of St. Augustine is a jumble of

began to cloud over as we passed Hastings and stopped at Battle, the real site

extensions. The interior, however, is spacious and uniform, with Gothic arches

of the famous battle. We stopped for a ploughman’s lunch and a pint at the

dividing the chancel into three wide bays. The jewel of the church, however, is

appropriately named 1066 Pub. In spite of a light drizzle, we walked the

a 12th century lead font, richly decorated with signs of the zodiac and rural

battlegrounds and abbey, stopping briefly to photograph two men dressed in

activities associated with the various times of the year. It is a shame that this

Saxon and Norman attire. Due to scheduling problems, we had to drive right

intriguing church has been encroached by rows of featureless bungalows. We

past our hotel for the following night in order to reach the evening’s

drove southwest to the attractive village of Rye, once a port city, but due to

accommodation near East Grinstead. Gravetye Manor is an Elizabethan stone

the sea’s retreat, now lying two miles inland.

mansion built in 1598. In 1884, the great gardener William Robinson bought the house and the surrounding thousand acres and created a fabulous natural English garden. The house is now a Relais et Chateaux, restored to its earlier luxury and elegance. We were delighted when we were shown to our spacious room with views of the countryside. We dropped our things in the room and went for a walk through the gardens surrounding the house. While Jake went back for a rest, I followed a path winding down to the trout lake and along the shore until it disappeared into the woods. Dark clouds were starting to gather and I hurried back to the room for a nap myself before we went down to dinner in the grand wood-paneled dining room. The food was delicious, with fresh vegetables from the garden highlighting the meal. To start, I had langoustine tortellini followed by sea bass. Jake chose wild Alaskan salmon and partridge. For dessert Jake had the pineapple tarte Tatin and I enjoyed a summer pudding with fresh berries. Although it stormed and blew all night and the leaded windows rattled, we were snug and warm in our fourposter bed.

Gravetye Manor

St. Mary’s Rye

The morning brought back clear skies and after a breakfast featuring locally-

house is surrounded by a mote, with leaded Gothic windows piercing

made comfitures, we drove to Hever Castle. At one time the home of Anne

ragstone walls. As Jenkins remarks, “Ightham is England at peace with nature.”

Boleyn, it was purchased by William Waldorf Astor in 1903 and lavishly

As we explored the great hall and the library, I was struck with how cozy and

restored. Today, the castle is the incarnation of Astor’s vision of what a classic

livable the house is. Most of the rooms beckoned the visitor to plop down in

Tudor house should be. After announcing in 1890 that America was “no

a comfy chair with a good book and a cup of tea. Of particular interest to me

longer a fit place for a gentleman to live” he came to England to find a place

was a collection of schoolgirl samplers mounted on the wall in the upstairs

that was. Hever (along with Clivedon, where we stopped during our Thames

hallway. Our hotel that night was Stone House in Rushlake Green, where we

River cruise in 2000) was the result of that search. It remains one of England’s

arrived at 5:00. This massive house has been in the same family for over 500

most remarkable works of architectural revival. We arrived early enough to

years, and the owner met us at the door and showed us to a huge bedroom

have the castle to ourselves, which added to the atmosphere of eerie

and bath (with wing chairs and a sofa situated between the toilet and the

antiquity. We walked through the rooms, marveling at the exquisite detail in

bidet). He offered us tea in the drawing room which we gratefully accepted

every aspect of the restoration, from the classic marquetry on the paneled

before taking a walk around the grounds and gardens. Beautiful flowers

drawing room walls to the massively carved bookcases in the library. Walking

bloomed along the house and a vegetable garden in the back was reminiscent

through the adjacent Italian gardens rich with borders of autumn colors that

of Mr. McGregor’s, with cabbages and pumpkins, spinach and greens in

offset a collection of classical artifacts, we reached the lake and stopped to

profusion within rabbit-proof walls. Espalier apple trees were laden with fruit,

watch a column of ducks floating to the shore in rigid formation. Our intent

at easy reach for sampling. As the day’s light began to fade, we retired to our

was to visit Knole, but after a major effort to find it, we discovered to our

room for a rest and a bath. Later, guests assembled in the drawing room for

disappointment that it was closed on Tuesdays. We hadn’t even considered

sherry before dinner prepared by the lady of the house. The vegetables that

the possibility of Tuesdays being a problem but soon learned that National

we had seen in the garden accompanied tender lamb. We enjoyed the

Trust properties purposely have rolling closing days so that the public will

ambiance of the dining room, its dark paneling setting off quirky portraits of

always have a place to visit, regardless of the day of the week. However, it

the owners’ ancestors.

necessitates careful consulting of the Trust schedule. We reconnoitered at the White Hart across the street from Knole and, over bowls of hot carrot soup, bread and cheese and a couple of ales, we decided that our next stop would be Ightham Mote. Another product of American intervention, Ightham Mote was discovered by young Charles Robinson on a cycling tour of Kent before the First World War. When he later discovered that it was for sale he made an offer for the property. Later he had second thoughts and wrote a letter withdrawing it. That letter was never posted and the property became his.

Robinson proceeded to restore it and eventually left it to the National Trust.

Our drive down to the site led us through a thickly wooded hollow and the approach to this secluded house is evocative of the stuff of fairy tales. The

Stone House

Hever Castle

Ightham Mote

We awoke to a blustery day and left between rain clouds, driving to Bray on Thames for lunch at The Fat Duck, Heston Blumenthal’s Michelin three-star restaurant that is located in a clapboard house directly on the road. We had a leisurely three-course lunch featuring such delightfully quirky dishes as snail porridge and red cabbage gazpacho with mustard ice cream. Most of the afternoon was spent returning the car, bussing to Heathrow and catching the Express train to Paddington where we took a taxi to the Dorset Square Hotel. It felt like coming home to be back so soon, and the same bespeckled young man greeted us and showed us to our room overlooking the square. After settling in we went for a walk along the Marylebone High Street where we looked in shop windows. Still too full from our Fat Duck experience to need a proper meal, we stopped at the Allsop Arms, a pub around the corner from the hotel, where we ordered fish and chips and joined a lively group watching Chelsea beat Paris on the television. After returning to the room, I made several calls to friends we planned to see in the next few days. We were sobered to learn that Trish McGregor had been admitted to the hospital with troubling symptoms relating to a return of her cancer. This was difficult news to hear and we made plans to visit her on Thursday.

The Fat Duck

long, however, for it was soon time to start getting ready for the special evening ahead. Faith called us at 6:00 to say that they were running late so we took a taxi to the Palace Theater. Crowds were forming as we arrived; the red carpet was out and the media had their cameras aimed. It was thrilling. As we entered the theater, we found Faith and Bill waiting for us with her cousin Tony and his friend Jill. People were everywhere and the air was thick with anticipation. The portrait of Wilkie by Millais, on loan from the National Portrait Gallery, was on display in the lobby as well as the original Woman in White poster by Frederick Walker.

Bill and Andrew Gasson had provided memorabilia from their collections and written the text for placards that hung along the passageways. We had just toasted Wilkie and each other when the house lights flickered, announcing the start of the performance. We found our seats just as the overture began. It was all great fun and I was enchanted as much by Faith’s obvious pleasure as by the performance itself. With the “cinemascope” graphics and a moving platform, the Wednesday was Woman in White day. It was hard to believe that at last the day

staging was intriguing. As the cast bowed to the final applause, Faith and I agreed

had come to attend the opening of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s new musical, after

that Wilkie would have been thoroughly pleased with the whole thing. The six

so many months’ anticipation. It was also antique day at Camden Passage, so

of us were taken by hired car to Joe Allen’s American restaurant for a late

while Jake went to the British Museum, I took the tube to Angel and found my

supper. There, over spare ribs and pecan pie, we celebrated the evening’s

way back to narrow Pierpont Lane and Judith Lassalle’s tiny toy shop at the end.

success and toasted Wilkie for bringing us all together for this great event.

She had a couple of fun games for me to add to my collection. I was tempted by some French paper puppets as well but decided to hold off and think about them first. At Donay Games, I bought a wooden Halma game that Carole, the owner, had saved for me. Jake and I had 2:00 reservations at Terrance Conran’s newest restaurant, The Orrery. Our table allowed us to enjoy the view of the park though treetops framed by massive arched windows. We were treated to a special three-course lunch with many added touches. As a first course, I had shellfish bisque with lobster ravioli, followed by Corsican seabass filet with parsnips and vanilla volute. Jake chose Ballotin of duck and foie gras, pain d'épice and caramelized quince purée. For the main course he had calf’s liver, ventreche and Balsamic dressing. For dessert, I had Coffee Opera, Bailey’s Sabayon and mandarin sorbet and Jake chose the cheese selection. Afterwards, we walked around Marylebone, stopping to browse at Daunt’s Bookstore. We didn’t stay

It was hard to get to sleep after all the excitement and harder to get going in

but we had no luck. Later we went to South Kensington and met Charles

the morning but we roused ourselves and were on our way to the British

McGregor in the lobby of the Royal Marsden Hospital. He took us up to Trish’s

Museum by 10:00. We visited some of our favorite holdings: the Parthenon, the

room. There she was, obviously very uncomfortable, but wearing pearls with

Assyrian Lion Hunt, and the Benin Bronzes, as well as some new ones, including

her indomitable spirit evident as always. We had a short visit but Trish needed

a special exhibit of Sudanese antiquities from the Khartoum Museum and an

to rest so we left after fifteen minutes or so. Charles drove us to Parson’s

exhibit on the Enlightenment, beautifully displayed in the old Reading Room. I

Green and took us through the house they moved into in June. I thought how

left Jake to run across the street to Jarndyce where I chatted with owner Bryan

different this was from my past visits to the McGregors in Putney and that crazy

Ashe and managed to find two books to add to our shelves. We tubed back to

little house bustling with pets, children, and activity. The three of us went

Baker Street and stopped for a glass of wine at a New Zealand bar aptly named

around the corner and had a simple dinner at Strata before we headed back

Suze. Jake asked for a menu or matches or anything else with the name on it,

into town with heavy hearts.

Feeling lazy, we slept late and didn’t leave the hotel until midmorning, just in time

token wooden spoon with carved heart in the handle and a heart-shaped brass

for our lunch reservations at Bibendum, the Conran-owned restaurant in the

snuffbox. I could have done a lot more damage but restrained myself from

Michelin tire headquarters. We arrived early enough to visit the adjacent Conran

buying a beautiful sampler and countless other treasures. As I left, I called Jake on

Shop where I bought two wooden Michelin trucks for my grandsons. The

his cell phone and he walked down to meet me. We continued along the King’s

restaurant’s décor was a blend of whites and blues, accented by the huge

Road to Sloane Square and Vicky’s office. As I have done in the past when I have

stained-glass windows featuring Bibendum, the Michelin tire man. Again, we

arrived early to meet her, we went into Holy Trinity across the street and

chose the three-course lunch menu, enjoying our food, our wine, and our time

paused for a few moments, gazing up at the Byrne-Jones windows. We went to

together. Jake and I parted ways after leaving the restaurant. He wanted to visit

collect Vicky and, finding that she still wasn’t able to get away, walked over to a

the V&A while I went to Chelsea Town Hall to an antique show that had just

café on the square and ordered a glass of wine. Soon we saw her smiling face in

opened. What a thrill that was. It seemed that practically everything in the show

the crowd and after hugs and hellos, met up with Michael and drove to Oxo

appealed to me. The emphasis was more on the warm country antiques that I

Tower for dinner. What a magnificent view we enjoyed from our table!

love rather than the more formal pieces that I usually see at London shows. I

Although we thought we were too full from lunch to have an appetite, we

bought several country pieces with hearts—a Scandinavian hand-loom, a love-

managed to do pretty well.

The following morning, we walked through Marylebone to the Wallace

with beetroot and pickled walnut, Jake settled on the grouse and I crossed my

Collection, a museum I have managed to miss each time I have come to

fingers and ordered middlewhite and parsnips. We finished with roast figs with

London. Although the rooms are rich with Sèvres porcelain, inlaid boulle

crème fraiche and apple sorbet served with Polish vodka. We agreed that the

cabinets, armor, paintings, and other decorative objects, we generally found the

desserts were the highlight of this singular dining experience. After returning to

ornate nature of the collection unappealing. Continuing to Mayfair, we passed

our hotel we were not quite ready to call it a night, deciding instead to take a

Berkeley Square and strolled along Bond Street, looking into the shop windows.

walk around the neighborhood. We stopped again at Allsop’s for a drink before

In Burlington Arcade we bought some Christmas gifts at the Irish Linen Shop.

going up to the room and trying to figure out how to get all of our purchases

After lunch at Rowands, we went to Hatcher’s Bookstore where we went

into our bags.

crazy. An hour or so later, laden with heavy bags, we caught the tube back to the hotel. It was just starting to sprinkle as we reached the door and we enjoyed a cozy afternoon looking through our new books and listening to the

All too soon we were once again retracing our steps to Paddington and on to

rain beat against the window. Our final dinner was at St. Johns, a restaurant

Heathrow for the flight home. As we boarded the plane and settled in our

featuring “nose to tail” dining in the Barbican area of London. Not only was the

seats, I had a chance to reflect on this latest London visit. Being able to return

menu quirky, but the restaurant resembled a warehouse, with whitewashed

after only three months was a treat that I probably will not have again for some

walls and hooded lights on poles descending from the high ceiling. The tables

time. Thinking over this visit, I felt a particular comfort being in London that I

were covered with butcher paper and simple wooden chairs completed the

had not experienced before. Not only had I returned to old friends, but

austere look. Jake had read about the cuisine and looked forward to trying their

London itself had become an old friend. It was a trip of varied emotions as well:

most exotic dishes. He started with chicory and foie gras and encouraged me to

the excitement of attending The Woman in White, the warmth of spending time

try their signature starter of roast bone marrow and parsley salad. After

with Vicky, the sadness of seeing Trish in pain and Charles so tired. London and

considering such entrees as stinking bishop, faggot and mash, and ox tongue

I continue to grow and our relationship is closer than ever.

Celebrating a New Chapter: Sheffield and London March 17-24, 2005

As a way of transitioning from working in the suburbs to life in the city, I once

throughout. I discovered the Theatre Building in what appeared to be an old

again retreated to the place where I gain perspective: London. My motivation

church, a couple of blocks from the hotel. I located the Octagon Center and

this time was a Wilkie Collins Conference at the University of Sheffield on

Student Union, where I found a shop where I could buy some inexpensive

March 19. It was just too close to my retirement date to pass up. I merely had

notebooks to fit my new Smythson A4 portfolio. (The ones from Smythson

to make my last day a vacation and the timing was perfect. I arrived at O’Hare

cost $45 each.) I continued through clusters of Gothic-inspired red brick

two hours prior to my 8:15 PM American Airlines 46 departure and for once,

buildings that constitute the campus center, passing the medical school and

quickly slipped through security. I had plenty of time to grab a snack and start

hospital. On the way back, I walked along a high street of small shops. After

on my little bottle of wine. The flight was fine, in spite of a long period of mild

stopping to top up my UK phone, I was ready to return to the hotel and have

turbulence that did not really bother me. We landed a little ahead of schedule

dinner and an early night. Unfortunately, the kitchen forgot about my order

at 10:00 AM. I followed my normal procedure: getting through customs and

and I had to wait almost an hour and a half before being presented with a

immigration, changing money and buying a ticket for the Heathrow Express

plate that was swimming in sauce that I had expressly said I did not want. But

(more than $50 round trip with the present exchange rate). This time,

it was time for a bath and bed anyway. I was up early, glad that I had been

however, once I got into Paddington, I toted my bags onto the Circle Line to

able to sleep through the night.

St. Pancras Station where I bought a ticket for Sheffield. I had an hour or so to wait and passed the time in a small pub, strategically placed by the tracks.

Who says beer isn’t for breakfast? Soon I was rolling through the English countryside. As I watched the farms and fields and factories zip by, I enjoyed the feeling of freedom that washed over me. Two hours later, we pulled into the station at Sheffield and I took a taxi to the Rutland Hotel, located (I was promised) within walking distance of the conference. A rambling Victorian stone building, it was the kind of place that seemed to beckon one to come in for a cream tea. I found my room to be clean and simple, with a newly refurbished bathroom. After dropping off my things, I went in search of the Theatre Building where the conference was to be held the next morning.

Sheffield is a hilly south Yorkshire city of 430,000 with a university that sprawls

Vivisection in Heart and Science.” The program concluded with a wine reception followed by dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. I enjoyed seeing my old friends as well as visiting with Jenny Taylor (a big name in the Wilkie world) and others from Italy, Japan, and the UK. *Below is the book that was published as a result of the conference.

After tea and toast at the hotel, I walked down to the Theatre Building. The conference started at 9:45, but I was happy to meet old friends at the coffee time beforehand: Andrew Gasson, Pierre Tissot from the Netherlands, Paul Lewis and his girlfriend, Emma Lynch. I was also pleased to meet several people whom I knew by reputation, including Graham Law and Jenny Bourne Taylor.

Attendees came from three continents, and included three Americans beside myself. It was fun to know that we all shared a passion for Wilkie Collins. The day flew by. There were three panels: Dickens and Correspondence; a choice of Art and Illustration or Gender and Identity; and Genre and Narrative, with a lunch break after the second session. Paul and Graham spoke about their work on the soon-to-be-published four-volume collection of Wilkie’s correspondence. It was fascinating to hear about the detective work they employed to decipher a letter that was found burned in reverse onto the back of a piece of paper. Other talks included “The Evil of Raphaelesque Art: An Arc Throughout the Fiction of Wilkie Collins” and “Penetrating Eyes: Narrative

Early the next morning, I was awakened by what sounded like gunshots, followed by urgent but unintelligible voices below. Unable to get back to sleep, I lay in bed and listened for the sirens that never came. At morning light, I got up and dressed and was out of my room by 7:00. While waiting in the lobby for my taxi, I asked the innkeeper about last night’s excitement. He looked at me as if I were crazy. Who knows, perhaps that was just life as usual in this industrial northern city. Four hours later, my train pulled into London. I took a taxi to the Lansdowne Club, located at Fitzmaurice (“Fitzmorris”) Place, right off Berkeley Square. One of the nicest things about membership in the Women’s Athletic Club of Chicago is its reciprocal arrangement with other clubs. The Lansdowne is a grand old place with a lot of charm, and with newly renovated rooms, one could enjoy the old-world appeal without old world bathrooms. I was pleased with my arrangements and especially with the club’s Mayfair location. Divesting myself of my bags, I walked the short distance to the National Gallery to see Caravaggio: The Final Years. The exhibit consisted of just sixteen paintings completed in the four years from the time Caravaggio murdered a man in a dual until his own death in 1610. Each piece probed the human condition with depth and sympathy, and I found the show to be deeply moving. I walked through the Sainsbury Wing afterwards, visiting the Wilton Triptych and enjoying works by Fra Angelico, Pietro and Van Eyck. Leaving the Gallery, I crossed through Trafalgar Square to Bond Street, window-shopping my way back to the club.I had a steak sandwich and a glass of wine in the casual bar area followed by a luxurious bath and bed.

First thing in the morning, I walked over to Berkeley Square and found a spot on one of the benches that line the green. As I sat there, sheltered by the ancient Plane trees—among the oldest in London—I thought of my parents who so loved that place and visited it often on their frequent trips to London.

Berkeley Square: As I sit on one of the inscribed benches, given in appreciation by someone who once loved this bit of Eden, I am thinking of my father, who loved it along with the rest: the ancient Plane trees, the rich lawn interrupted by the first rupture of spring daffodils. A rumble of traffic around the square quickly recedes; my senses instead seek repose. Here I can pause and think about this new chapter in my life. It seems so appropriate to start again in London. London, the place that has seen me grow and change over these past seven years. I let my mind wander as I watch two dogs roughhouse under the trees. I want this time to count. I fear looking back and wondering where the time went. Let me start my thoughts flowing by going over this past year in Oak Park. Surely it could not have been more of a success. What had been one of the bleakest times in my life became a glowing success as we all—OPPL and me—celebrated our improbable collaboration. I left there feeling that my gifts and my management style were not only appreciated, but validated. And in my old home community. I will be forever grateful for that opportunity and for those I came to love there. And now, renewed, I have new opportunities to learn what life has to offer. I want to renew my relationship with God. I continually feel His presence with me; I want to make a difference somewhere. I want to recommit to my marriage with Jake, cherishing our friendship and avoiding the bickering we sometimes get into. I want to maintain my independence, to push myself, to try new things . Will I seek that PhD or just write an article? A book? I would love that. I want to make Em as happy as I can. I want to make a difference in my grandchildren’s lives. I want Mike and Chris to be proud of me. I want to honor Houston’s memory. The sun just came out again and shines on these pages. I am grateful for the blessing of life and the abundance of God’s gifts. With a willing heart, I am ready to start this new chapter.

Feeling refreshed and happy, I left the square and followed Bond Street, pausing

generally disappointing, but I was surprised to find some of her original

briefly at Smythson’s and at Sotheran’s Books before taking the tube to Holland

watercolors hung low and quite unprotected on the walls. Vicky and I enjoyed

Park and Leighton House where I met Vicky. She had taken the day off work so

looking at the vintage toys, many of which we remembered playing with

that we could spend it together. We decided that we were now quite spoiled,

ourselves. I also loved the Victorian games and made notes of several, with the

having seen each other four times in the last twelve months. At Leighton House

hope I could find them online. Our ears ringing, we left the museum and the

I wanted to see the exhibit of Millais’s small drawings and illustrations, including

sand box and tubed west to Chelsea Town Hall for the antique show. We paid

the frontispiece for Wilkie’s Mr. Wray’s Cash Box. It was a charming collection,

our 3 pounds and went in. I bought a few small items: a neat wooden tea

with preliminary sketches as well as finished etchings from Moxon’s Tennyson,

caddy, a little whist marker made of wood with a tiny bone hand pointing to

Parables of Our Lord, and Poets of the 19th Century, among others. I would love

the score, and a pewter candleholder with its snuffer intact. But on our final

to have a copy of just one of them! After a beer and lunch at a café near

pass, I discovered a wooden 19th century artists’ lay model, fully articulated, with a face that resembled a French mime. I had been looking for the perfect focal point for our den and there he was, with a pondering, wistful expression.

After some negotiating and decision-making (mail or take with?) and a call to Jake for confirmation, “Jeremy” left with me, traveling in a giant plaid plastic bag.

How to get him back on the plane would be determined later. By this time, we were ready for a glass of wine and something to go with it. I always love Indian food when I’m in London, so we decided to return to Star of India where we had shared such a good meal together when I was in London in May.

Harrod’s, we took the tube to Bethnal Green. Neither of us had ever been out to the Museum of Childhood in that eastern neighborhood, and as we came up from the station, we saw many women dressed in purdah. Our purpose in going that day was to see the Beatrix Potter exhibit. What we found was a large building in bedlam. Kids were running all over; a huge sandbox created not only a wonderful attraction but a colossal mess. The Potter exhibit was

Tuesday morning, after a cappuccino at Pret, I made my way through the rain

of art. Nonetheless, one was able to get a sense of the magnitude of Turkish

to meet Angela the V&A where we had advance tickets to the International

influence on Europe and the rest of the world.

Arts & Crafts exhibit. What a treat that was! One of the most influential, profound, and far-reaching design movements in modern history, Arts & Crafts began in Britain in 1880 with William Morris and his circle. It quickly spread across America and Europe before emerging as the Mingei movement in Japan. Following Morris’s tenet “To have nothing in your home that is not beautiful and useful”, the movement produced architecture and decorative arts that have retained a universal appeal. I took my time going through room after room of wondrous objects, ending with the reconstruction of an entire Mingei building, decorated down to the smallest detail. The exhibit moves to Indianapolis in the fall and I can’t wait to see it again. Angela and I had lunch

By this time, I was worn out. I left Angela and walked back to the club for a rest before going out to see Trish and Charles in their new home. After a tiring day, I treated myself to a taxi to Parson’s Green, not realizing until later together in the V&A’s cafeteria and then spent some time in the gift shop. I

that the cost would be about 70 pounds round trip. It was good to see

took Jake’s advice and looked in the UK Crafts Council section at the back of

Trish, but hard to see her suffering. Having completed her seventh round of

the shop. There I found a striking modernistic ring by designer Mark Nuell,

chemo the previous day, she was worn out. When I walked in she started to

set with a luminous moonstone. It was something I knew that he would like.

cry; it broke my heart. Dear Trish, who was such a source of strength for me,

The rain had subsided as we traveled by tube to the Royal Academy. We

now needed my strength in return. We had a quiet evening together, the

stood in line for tickets to The Turks: 600-1600. The exhibit was mobbed,

three of us, and as I tucked her into bed and said good-by to her, I promised

making it difficult to fully enjoy the pictorial miniatures and other tiny works

I would be back soon to sign her guest book for the tenth time.

I was up early in the morning as it was Wednesday, which meant Camden Passage antiques day. Although by now quite familiar with the way there, I found it much changed since my last visit. Pierpont Lane was a different place.

Gone was Judith Lassalle’s little antique toyshop. In its place was “The Fat Faced Cat” selling garish clothing. Donay’s Games was gone too, replaced by a shop selling old ceramics. I felt as if I were in a time warp, since I could still picture the way it was the last time I was there. I continued up the walk to the other areas. I did find some treasures, including a black lacquer box with the words “Empress Gloss” on the lid in fancy gold lettering. This I plan to use for my hair ornaments. I also found an Art Nouveau hand mirror for my dressing table and a decorative hair comb. I met some very nice vendors as well, but I was sorry that my vendor friends there had moved on. At noon, I met Faith and Bill Clarke at Smith Square for lunch at the Footstool, down in the crypt of St. John’s Church. As always, it was great to see them. We shared a meal before walking to the Tate for a guided tour of the Turner-Whistler-Monet exhibit.

Our guide seemed knowledgeable in spite of confusing the names of the artists.

It was also difficult to stay together with the crowds around each painting. All in all, I think that the better way to approach such an exhibit is with the selfguided audiotapes—or no guide at all. Faith, Bill and I said good-bye after the tour and I promised to come out to Greenwich on my next visit. It was a beautiful, balmy afternoon as I walked along the river to the station and returned to Mayfair. I stopped in again at Henry Sotheran Books and bought a Victorian history game for my collection, complete in its wooden box. Back at the club, I worked for an hour or so to organize things and figure out how to get Jeremy safely on the plane. Fortunately for his articulation, I was able to fold him up into a manageable bundle. I had dinner at the Lansdowne on my last evening, joining several men at the “Club Table”, having made no prior reservation. Any shyness I felt upon joining them was soon alleviated by warm greetings and pleasant conversation. In the morning, I had tea and a croissant in the dining room before checking out and making my way out to Heathrow for my 12:15 PM American flight home.

En Route: It’s four hours out of London; we are just flying over Godthab. I don’t know anything about Godthab except that it means that we are halfway home. I have not had—or taken—as the case may be, the time to think my way through this next chapter, other than my first morning in London at Berkeley Square. I was just considering whether my trip had been a failure in this respect. I’ve been busy almost every minute. Did I give myself the opportunity to just think? What I did accomplish, however, was to make a conscious break with my work and with my life in Oak Park-River Forest.

Perhaps this sense of ending and beginning was all that I needed. Maybe it was not necessary to figure everything out at this point. How could I, really? I don’t know where my path will next take me. But I do feel refreshed and ready to refocus. I have had a lovely time in London. I’ve seen Vicky, Trish, Angela, Faith and Bill and I feel grateful that I could be some support to Trish. When I talked to her last night, she told me that my visit had had a positive effect on her. I am thinking that maybe that is where I should find a hint for my direction. As I waited to leave today, I spoke to a woman who had recently lost her husband and who was returning from seeing her children and grandchildren. My words to her seemed to come from beyond myself, just as they had with Trish. I would love to be able to be a minister of comfort. It would be a blessing to be able to leave something positive behind as I make my way through life. Yes, once again, London has worked its magic on me. Things change there, just as they do everywhere—and yet London enlivens and renews my spirit again with its many moods: its sense of history, its worldliness, its sooty enchantment. This has actually been a perfect week and I feel ready to discover what’s waiting for me next.

Paris, Cambridge and London: A December Odyssey December 1-15, 2005

The most significant assembly of medieval illuminated manuscripts in England

at the desk and headed to Regalade, a cozy bistro serving southern French

in 100 years and an associated symposium at Cambridge University provided

fare. We were delighted with the dĂŠcor: rustic tables covered with old linen

the impetus for Jake to agree to a Christmas season trip that included Paris

kitchen towels, and simple utensils. The food was unpretentious and delicious,

and London. Not only were we excited about the prospect of the exceptional

especially mine, a delicate whitefish filet over flavorful fall vegetables. Well into

exhibit at the Fitzwilliam Museum, but I was anxious to see friends again and

the meal, we got a call from the Starks that they were on their way. Their train

have the opportunity to present Dagmar with a special gift. A little Christmas

had been delayed by no less than two separate suicides on the tracks. The

shopping in Paris and London wouldn’t hurt either. Our roundabout route to

proprietors of the restaurant were accommodating in allowing us to remain at

Paris began with a 5:15 PM flight to London aboard American Airlines flight

our table so that Dagmar and Klaus could enjoy dinner with us although we

86. Upon landing, we joined a huge non-EU crowd waiting to clear customs.

had almost finished. It did not take long for them to catch up with us and we

We made it through just as we were starting to feel some concern about

shared dessert and coffee together and caught up with our news.

making our carefully calculated reservations on the Eurostar. We took a tube to Waterloo where we joined masses of weekend holiday-seekers waiting for the train. Once on board, we were almost relieved that an hour and a half delay would allow us to catch a little sleep before we arrived in Paris. Our route through the English countryside revealed green fields and leaves still on the trees that belied the fact that we were now in December. In Paris, we faced the dreaded Metro stairs that we remembered from the last time we schlepped our luggage by our own steam. We managed somehow, and were relieved that it was a very short walk from the St. Germaine-Des-Pres Metro stop to the Hotel Angleterre on the cobblestoned Rue Jacob. The hotel, site of the 18th century British Embassy, was small and comfortable, with a large, slightly shabby room and marble bath. We inquired after Dagmar and Klaus, who we anticipated would precede us. They had not yet arrived from Stuttgart. We were happy to finally stash our bags and have a rest and a bath before dinner. As the Starks still had not arrived, we left instructions for them

We awoke to an overcast sky and walked over wet cobblestones to the Louvre. Rain during the night resulted in a chilly breeze but the fresh air felt good. While Dagmar and Klaus went their own way, Jake and I found the medieval art section where we enjoyed an “appetizer” to the feast that awaits us in Cambridge. We had seen many of the works on our earlier visits, but there were new discoveries to be made—reliquaries, ivories, and small decorative enamels. Jake led me through the Italian and early European paintings, pointing out his favorites. I never cease to learn from him. We went by Metro to the Site Richelieu, a picturesque branch of the Bibliothèque Nationale, where we saw two strikingly contrasting exhibits; the colorful, streamlined Art Deco posters of A.M. Cassandre and Sebastião Salgado’s moving black and white photographs of human suffering. Later, while Jake rested at the hotel, I took the opportunity to walk down the street to Comoglio, the little antique shop we discovered on our honeymoon.

Mme. Comoglio was there and greeted me warmly, leading me up the ancient back stairs to upper rooms that were full of enticing French pewter and kitchenware. I made a few mental notes and then hurried back to the hotel for a nap myself. We met the Starks in the lobby and we all took the Metro together to another bistro, Aux Lyonnaise, where we enjoyed the food and wine of Lyon.

The Musée d'Orsay was our first agenda item on Sunday. Again, Dagmar and Klaus went off on their own while we visited the Impressionist galleries, enjoying the extraordinary collection. After a couple of hours, we took the Metro to the somewhat remote Site François-Mitterrand, the main branch of the Bibliothèque Nationale, for a magical exhibit of Medieval Bestiaries, a perfect accompaniment to our upcoming illuminated manuscript symposium. The books on exhibit displayed enchanting scenes of animals, real and imagined, intertwining with foliage, flowers and illuminated letters. We were to meet with the Starks at the Picasso Museum in the Marais, but, after waiting twenty minutes, we spotted Klaus approaching from down the street. They had decided not to wait in the long line (it was a free day at all Paris museums) but stopped instead at a nearby café.

I was delighted to pause for a cup of tea myself and felt far more prepared to enjoy the afternoon. Thus refreshed, we walked through the beautiful Place de Vosges. After cutting through the majestic 17th century Hotel de Sully, the Starks headed back to the hotel for a rest. This left us to do a little shopping in the Marais and the Ile-St. Louis. I found intriguing purses for Jen and Maggie in one shop and Jake located the place where we had purchased antique kitchen items on our honeymoon. This time we bought old linen kitchen towels that resembled those used as placemats at Regalade. We shopped our way slowly down the streets until we met Dagmar and Klaus at Mon Vieil Ami on Ile-St. Louis for another excellent meal.

The following morning, rather than having breakfast at the hotel, Dagmar and I

continued along Saint-Honoré, passing embassies and designer boutiques such

walked to the corner for tea and croissants at Laduree, famous for their

as Dior and Hermes. We stopped for a snack at a bar near the Elysse Palace

macaroons and other baked goods that are displayed in their windows in a

and then continued around the Madeleine, passing through Hediard and

profusion of colors and flavors. We found a quiet corner in their mural-painted

Fauchon to ogle the mountains of jewel-like fruits and candies piled in profusion

tearoom and caught up over our cups of Darjeeling. Before going back to meet

on decorative carts. At Place de la Concorde, we caught the Metro back to our

the men, I ran up the street to Librairie Pinault on rue Bonaparte where I

hotel to dress for dinner. Once again, while Jake rested, I returned to Mme.

bought some pewter book clips fashioned to look like hands that I had noticed

Comoglio’s for another look. This time I tried out my rusty French. She was

the day before. Soon we were on our way to the Galeries Nationales du

solicitous of my attempts as I discussed the purchase of an old metal garden

Grand-Palais to see an exhibit entitled Vienna 1900, showcasing works by the

vegetable sign. Our dinner that evening was the most upscale of the trip: a new

principal artists of the Viennese Secession: Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, Koloman

restaurant by Chef Dominique Bouchet, located in the 8th arrondissement. We

Moser, and Oskar Kokoschka. They had been brought together for the first

chose the eight-course degustation menu, although it took a little coaxing to get

time in this major exhibition. The show was well worth the hour wait to get in,

Klaus to agree. The menu consisted of olives, parmesan sticks; chestnut soup;

but it was difficult to maneuver through the crowds that filled the warren of

coquilles St-Jacques; St-Pierre [a fish]; canard foie gras; braised lamb with

small exhibit rooms. Glad to be out in the fresh air again, we walked down the

mashed potato; crème brulee with apples and spiced ice cream; and an

Champs-Elysées to peek into the new Louis Vuitton flagship store. We

assortment of cookies and candies.

Understandably, after that meal and the fine wines (and Klaus’s beer) that

our honeymoon hotel, the Aubusson. We shopped along the way for

accompanied it, we got off to a late start in the morning. We left the hotel

Christmas gifts, Jake having success in finding things for all of his girls. Back at

after 10:00, walking to Ile de la Cite along the southern edge to Notre Dame,

the hotel, Dagmar and I met for a glass of wine in the salon. It was then that I

shopping as we walked along the Rue de Buci. We continued to the Right

presented her with my special gift: a hand-bound book of all of our letters of

Bank, walking through the disappointing BHV department store. While Jake

the past twenty years. She was quite overcome, and as I read my special

went to the Willy Ronis à Paris photography exhibit at the Hôtel de Ville,

dedication letter out loud to her, we both were teary-eyed. We toasted our

Dagmar, Klaus and I found a nearby café where we ordered a light lunch. We

friendship and spoke of our gratitude in knowing each other. The restaurant

marveled at the way Jake needs no food when he is on his gallery missions.

that Jake found for us that evening was La Cerisaie, a tiny gem (22 seats) near

We met up again at 1:45 and continued our walk by the Tour St-Jacques (still

Tour Montparnasse, serving the cuisine of southwestern France. We had a

under renovation) and along the Seine, past the Sanmartine department store

hearty meal that included regional wines and cheeses and a specialty of

(which has been closed for safety issues and may not reopen). We crossed the

cherries in vinegar. That night we organized and packed for our departure in

river via Pont Neuf, pausing for pictures, to the Left Bank where we passed

the morning.

After an early breakfast, we said good-by to Dagmar and Klaus and struggled

Museum to see the Cambridge Illuminations exhibit while it was still open. What

with our bags to the Gare du Nord where we boarded the Eurostar back to

we found was an overwhelming display of illuminated medieval manuscripts—

Waterloo. This time we had no weekend crowds to deal with and the trip

books of hours, Bibles, Psalters, and books of fiction and histories-- the most

went according to schedule. We continued by tube to Kings Cross and

extensive such exhibit in England since 1907. They were glorious. A separate

purchased tickets just in time to hop aboard a 12:45 PM train for the 45-

room was devoted entirely to the newly acquired Macclesfield Psalter, a

minute trip to Cambridge. A taxi took us from the station to the Crowne Plaza

magnificent medieval book that had been unbound for conservation and was

Hotel located near the colleges. We were initially given a room reeking of

displayed in its entirety. That evening we took a taxi to Restaurant 22, a

cigarettes but eventually were relocated to a non-smoking room. We had no

Michelin Bib Gourmand located in a residential area, where we enjoyed a

time to catch our breath, for we set out immediately for the Fitzwilliam

satisfying English meal complete with Christmas pudding.

The next morning we had breakfast at an Italian restaurant near the

more speakers on topics such as children’s prayer books and individual books

symposium and at 10:00 we joined other attendees in Lady Mitchell Hall at

of hours. In the final session, the facilitator commended the conference

the Sidgewick Site on the University grounds. We registered and entered the

speakers on the quality of their presentations and noted the great distances

hall where rows of bench-desks were arranged in a semi-circle around the

that many had traveled. He also noted that the exhibit was more than a

speaker’s dais. Each day of the three-day symposium commenced with a

display of rare treasures; it was a revelation of cultural traditions. The

session of three speakers, followed by a tea break, then three more speakers

exhibition had been the best-attended show ever presented by the Fitzwilliam.

and an hour and a half break for lunch. The afternoon session again had three

He also pointed out that we are in the second golden age of manuscript

speakers, a tea break, and then three more speakers before ending at 5:30.

studies in the last 100 years, with facsimiles, exhibits, catalogs, and the Internet

During the lunch break on the first day, Jake and I used the time to visit a

all fueling a growing public interest in them. Jake and I celebrated the end of

second, smaller manuscripts exhibit located at the Cambridge University

the symposium with a ten-course tasting menu at Midsummer House, a

Library. This venue concentrated on science and literary books and University

Michelin two-starred restaurant. Located in the middle of a park and on the

documents. After the last afternoon speaker, we attended a wine reception at

River Cam, it offered modern cuisine of the type associated with Fernan Adria,

the Fitzwilliam Museum and examined the offerings in their bookstore.

Heston Blumenthal, and Grant Aschatz. Flights of wine accompanied each

Afterwards, we had a simple dinner of fish and chips at a local pub. Day Two

course and we enjoyed a leisurely dinner and our time together.

of the symposium started promptly at 9:00, so we had no time for breakfast.

Speakers discussed such topics as apocalypse manuscripts, the Macclesfield Psalter, marginalia, and the Roman de la Rose. During our lunch break we were able to visit Kings College Chapel. The BBC was setting up for the annual Service of Lessons and Carols and some areas of the chapel were not accessible, but it was intriguing to see the extent of the wiring necessary to broadcast this service around the world. That evening was the highlight of the conference. At 6:30 PM we toured the Parker Library, the rare books library of Corpus Christi College. Christopher De Hamel, a fellow of Corpus Christi and a renowned illuminations expert, opened this treasure house to us and we had the opportunity to view numerous manuscripts that had not been included in the Fitzwilliam exhibition. Next, we walked across the College courtyard to the main dining hall for a candlelit banquet of fish, venison and copious amounts of wine. Christopher De Hamel gave a wonderfully witty speech about what would happen if we all were able to carry off our favorite item from the exhibition. This struck Jake and me as particularly a propos since we often play the game of “What would you like to carry out under your coat…” when we visit art galleries. The final day of the symposium brought

In the morning we returned to London by train, rolled our bags from station to station and finally to the Lansdowne Club, off Berkeley Square in Mayfair. After divesting ourselves of our luggage (always a huge relief), we walked to Russell Square where I went to the book fair at the Russell Hotel while Jake continued on to the British Museum. I was hoping to find Judith Lassalle, from whom I had purchased several antique games at her little shop, but she was nowhere to be found. Predictably I ran into Andrew Gasson, looking for all things Wilkie at the Tiger Books stall. It was nice to see him again, as well as Brian, the bookseller. I followed Jake to the British Museum and together we went through Forgotten Empire: the world of Ancient Persia, but found it disappointing. From there we walked to the British Library where we revisited at the fabulous manuscripts in the permanent display, including the Lindisfarne Gospels. We also spent time in the bookstore, perusing the excellent BL publications. That evening we met Vicky and Michael Palau at Galvin, a bistro that opened a few months earlier. It was great to see them again and we had a fun evening together. Michael ran a numerology evaluation on our birthdates and determined that Jake and I are well-suited. Well, that’s good news!

The next morning’s newspapers reported on a massive fire in an oil depot at

picturing myself on that sofa, entangled in the abundant lush foliage of the

Hempel Hampstead that threatened to create a poison cloud over London.

painting. We crossed a pedestrian bridge over the Thames in the deepening

Undaunted, we headed by tube to the Tate Britain for the exhibit on Degas,

shadows, stopping to gaze at the illuminated dome of St. Paul’s. Walking back

Sickert, and Toulouse-Lautrec. It was excellent, bringing together the artists’

to the hotel along Piccadilly, we went into Fortnum & Masons, finding it festive

paintings of London and Paris at the turn of the 20th century. Afterwards we

with shoppers and beautiful Christmas decorations. At 6:45 the Clarke’s driver

took a boat from one Tate to the other, as Jake had never been to the Tate

picked us up at the Lansdowne Club. Frank skillfully maneuvered us through

Modern. The special exhibition there was Henri Rousseau: Jungles in Paris,

rush hour traffic to Greenwich and dinner with Faith and Bill. Filled with Wilkie

which was also excellent. The rather depressing “secular cathedral”

memorabilia, their home is warm and inviting, and I enjoyed watching Faith

atmosphere of the Tate Modern was totally offset by the color and joy of the

show Jake their various treasures, including Wilkie’s desk and portraits of him

Rousseau paintings. I particularly enjoyed sitting in front of the The Dream,

and of his parents.

After a continental breakfast at the Lansdowne, we tubed to Trafalgar Square

Charles. Purposely arriving early, we stopped for a drink at the neighborhood

and visited the National Portrait Gallery to see an interesting show of artists’

pub, the Duke of the Green. It was very crowded, as it is obviously the place to

self-portraits. With portraits as diverse as Van Eyck, Velázquez, and Andy

go after work, and we had to do some maneuvering to find a place to sit.

Warhol, it was a most intriguing display. At the National Gallery, we split up.

Joining is at dinner was Skye McGregor, Charles’ niece from Australia. The

Jake looked at yet more art while I opted for lunch in the Sainsbury Wing café.

McGregors home was decorated and their Christmas tree was covered with

We met at the gallery shop and walked back through Mayfair, stopping at Sam

traditional Christmas crackers. After our dinner, topped off with Christmas

Fogg, perhaps the world’s leading illuminated manuscripts dealer, where we had

pudding, Charles played a CD for us and, with tears in his eyes, sang along to

a look at the medieval art in his gallery. How lovely it would be to own a

“God Bless Africa.” Trish was her spunky self in spite of her chemo treatments

manuscript as a souvenir of the symposium! That evening we took the tube to

and resulting side effects. It was a special moment for me when I signed her

Parson’s Green for dinner at the Quarrendon Street row house of Trish and

guest book for the tenth time, as I had promised in March when she was so ill.

On our last full day in London, Jake and I decided to go in different directions.

choices. That evening, the main course was chicken served with fresh

While he returned to the National Gallery, I took a train to the village of

vegetables. Simple, hearty food in simple, pleasant surroundings. We enjoyed

Dulwich to see Beatrix Potter: Artist and Illustrator at the Dulwich Picture

the meal so much that we decided to buy a copy of Sally’s cookbook, first

Gallery. The train ride was fun, the walk to the gallery pleasant, and the show

making sure that the recipe for the orange aperitif that we had was included.

was absolutely charming. Drawings of animals and fungi, most of them

Since our flight home was in the afternoon, we were able to sleep late on our

unpublished, enriched my appreciation of Potter and her work. Fortunately,

final morning in London. After packing up our bags and checking out, we met

there was an excellent catalog that pictured virtually everything in the show. I

Sam Fogg again and Jake discussed his interest in an Ethiopian wooden hand

took a short walk into town, which was reported to have changed little in the

cross. He told Sam that he would love to tour Ethiopia one day. Sam gave us

last 400 years. After noting the Jacobean cemetery and the ancient row

tips on travel there and some key names to assist with planning. Our final bit

houses, I returned to the gallery for lunch and tea. I left Dulwich, feeling quite

of Mayfair mischief before heading for Heathrow occurred when Jake pointed

refreshed, catching the train with only a minute or so to spare. Jake and I met

out Asprey’s, an elegant store with exquisite leather goods, silver, rare books

back at our room but I soon dashed out again to a nearby antique shop to

and accessories. It was there that Jake bought a scarf for his mother for

check out a 17th century tea caddy inlaid with a heart that I had previously

Christmas, and I found the black shawl that I had been looking for since our

found online. After some heavy negotiating I decided to buy it and arranged

trip to Spain. At last it was time to retrieve our bags and drag everything

for shipment to Chicago. After a brief rest and a bath before dinner, we left at

through the tube station to Heathrow. I am not sure how much longer I am

7:00 by tube for Kensington Church Street where we found Sally Clarke’s, a

going to be able to handle all of my luggage. By 3:30 we were boarding

well-regarded small restaurant with a menu that changed daily but offered no

American 91 for Chicago.

Aboard AA 91—We are nearing Godthab again, so I know that we are almost halfway home. I haven’t had a chance to journal on this trip— one of the differences between being on my own and traveling with Jake is the pace. We seem to be constantly on the go; I miss the opportunity to just sit and savor, be it in a booth in a Parisian café or on a bench in a London Square. I feel that sometimes, in the attempt to see all that we possibly can, I lose out on being able to just rest my mind in a place far from home. Those pleasant pauses give me the chance to reconnect with myself; to see where I am and assess where I am headed. This trip, coming after the busy, hectic, and emotionally taxing Thanksgiving weekend with the boys and their families, should have provided me with a needed break—a fresh perspective---but I haven’t had time to relax with my thoughts. How has this tenth London visit been and what has it meant to me? Being with a wealth of friends has been good for me. Conversations with Dagmar in Paris and with Vicky and Trish in London have reminded me that my children’s lives are their own, just as my life is mine. We can care for each other but we must allow those we love to live their own lives, even if that means allowing them to make their own mistakes. The decisions they make are nothing over which we have any control. We can only work on our own attitudes. It is not fair to Jake or to me to let other concerns affect the special times we share. I am afraid that this time, I did not remind myself to savor the blessings that abounded. Thinking back, these are moments to remember: • • • • • • • •

Sharing Dagmar’s surprised delight with our book of letters over a glass of wine in the salon of our Parisian hotel.

Enjoying tea in a quiet corner of the patisserie Laduree.

Savoring the excitement of the banquet in the venerable Corpus Christi dining hall.

Listening to the remarkable array of lecturers at the Cambridge Illuminations symposium.

Watching Michael Palau proudly plot our numbers at dinner, proving that Jake and I are perfectly suited to each other.

Seeing Trish’s chubby, flushed, and beaming face and signing her book for the tenth time as I promised I would.

Listening to Charles sing along to “God Bless Africa” in their parlor by the fire.

Learning from Jake as he earnestly shared his knowledge of art history with me in the various exhibits we visited.

Yes, this has been a remarkable trip, just as they all have been. My friends, my Jake, my London…I cherish it all.

Journals kept by Susan Hanes during four trips to England in 2004—2005. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, copyright 2005.