Entertained at the end of the train ride in by a wheeler who insisted on jumping off at Waterloo, rather than using the ramp that was about to be provided. He landed OK, but it looked to me a bit risky. Pushing the boundaries a bit, like blind people who ride horses or bicycles.
No.4 bus to St. Pauls, for which we had to walk onto the bridge, the proper bus stop being closed for road works or something. And it was raining slightly.
Three narrow boats heading upstream on the flood tide as we crossed, reminding me of a story that you had to watch the tides with narrow boats, as if you tried to go against the tide you were apt to be carried backwards.
Reminded in Fleet Street of a story from a chap from a printing family, now a taxi driver in Epsom, about how the pavements used to throb when the presses rolled into action. Must have been quite a place in its hey-day.
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| Holy café |
Onto the pleasantly amateurishly run entry operation at the cathedral, where we found that Lord Kitchener had done well in the memorial lottery, with a chapel which he had more or less to himself, just by the main entrance in the west doors.
Lots of brown wood, including the spiral columns to the high altar's canopy (aka baldequin) and some carved by no less an artist than Grinling Gibbons. Lots of mosaics covering the ceiling of the quire - which we only learned after the event had been installed in the late nineteenth century, at the high tide of the Arts & Crafts movement (on which readers are about to get more), in response to the queen's complaint that the place was a bit dingy. Overall effect impressive, but not unlike that of a large Italian church. Maybe just a touch papist and I doubt whether Oliver Cromwell would have approved.
Some of the stonework was quite florid too, but I failed to spot any green men, after the fashion of Ely Cathedral and I failed to find a trusty that I thought I could ask. Some church people get a bit touchy about such things. See reference 2.
I had forgotten the trompe l'oeil work around the base of the dome, a common feature of a lot of great buildings over the years, despite my long running series about fakes, with the most recent being just about a month ago now, at reference 3. It had been done rather well, fitting in well with both what was below and what was above.
The bigger memorials were mainly army and navy, a good proportion from the various wars with the French around the time of their revolution. Often taking the form of large, muscular men, more or less unclothed, with the memorial as a whole often being what later came to known as a tableau, inter alia a wheeze for getting around the rules about unclothed females on public stages. But we also had John Donne, sometime Dean, with his memorial from the 1630's being one of the few to survive the Great Fire.
As one rather expects in large churches these days, some rather poor modern art, with a pair of large white crucifixes, hanging off pillars into the body of the church, being particularly intrusive.
As at Westminster, a communion service was being celebrated in the middle of the day, quite reasonably attended and led by a proper, scarlet robed priest. With a lady assistant who had no idea how to use the microphone provided and who made a rather feeble job of her several readings.
Overall, an impressive space. It might not have had kings and queens, but it did have vistas and it did feel like a church.
Picnic'd downstairs, next to a large more or less naked memorial, rather larger than life size, to General Ponsonby. So, at long last, I come across a memorial to someone who fell at Waterloo, on which point see reference 4. A young man, picnic'ing by himself, asked me to take a souvenir picture of him in front of the general. Downstairs seemed to be where you were consigned if your memorial fell from favour upstairs, with one or two notable exceptions.
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| Foudroyant |
Somewhere along the way we came across an inscription, from around 1800, which mentioned the Foudroyant, a hulk in Portsmouth harbour on which I took a couple of holidays when I was around 12 or 13 or so. Hammocks from hooks in the beams and all. In course of one of which I took divine service at the small, wood-panelled chapel deep inside H.M.S Dolphin, during which the naval chaplain explained to us that all the fire and brimstone of Isaiah was warning us of the horrors of a coming nuclear war. And I was of an impressionable age. Sadly, Wikipedia explains that my Foudroyant was not the one on this memorial: '... As a replacement, Cobb purchased the 38-gun frigate Trincomalee, and renamed her Foudroyant in the previous ship's honour...'.
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| Ventilation shaft |
Out to some serious rain, and we scuttled for shelter under an old arch. Our guess that it was Temple Bar, this despite it being nowhere near Temple Tube Station, turns out to be correct. See reference 5 for its long and not entirely honourable history. Back right in the snap above, with a new ventilation shaft (for the car park underneath) in front of it. A shaft based on a design by Inigo Jones for a west front pinnacle to the cathedral, superseded by the Wren effort.
Strolled up to the Barbican where I was due to help them with some customer research, which turned out to be with a trio of IT people trying to pitch their invitation to donate right, in the ticketing part of their website. Entertaining enough to get a glimpse of the world of work again. Biscuits Home Office meeting-with-outside-visitors grade. Maybe the Barbican Centre works to the same rule book.
In the margins, we took a stroll around the by-ways of the centre, coming across various interesting odds and ends.
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| Silk Street |
A view from a balcony of the Bullingdon stand in Silk Street which I use from time to time.
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| Something arty |
Some faces, which BH thought were based on the masks traditionally used by luvvies. More often these days a sculpted souvenir stuck on the middle of the arch over the front of a stage.
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| Fire! |
Seemingly something to do with fires at the Barbican Centre, but exactly what, we failed to work out.
All of which was followed by another No.4 bus to take us to Waterloo. Sky still in a bit of a state, with all kinds of interesting cloud formations south.
It being a Friday we thought it best to book for ASK at Epsom, having been caught out before, with the result that we got a decent table, central but not small. Good all round view of the other diners.
But first we took an aperitif in the Slug & Lettuce in Ebbisham Square, just limbering up for a big Friday night out. The barmaid explained that it would probably get busy later on and I was able to explain that one of our sons used to use the place twenty years ago, at which time it, in the jargon of that time, would be rammed on a Friday night. I only realised later that this was probably before she had been born, but she had the grace to be amused just the same.
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| Gavi from ASK |
But atmosphere good, staff good, and all in all a good occasion, a good meal. With a bonus of a six week old baby for BH to admire on the way out. Not an age at which we starting taking either of ours out for meals.
Home to Calvados and the Mozart violin sonatas mentioned in the previous post.
Reference 1: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/search?q=AGM+at+Mansion+House. We don't seem to have visited St. Paul's cathedral since we went a couple of times with FIL, getting on for a decade ago now. Seems hard to credit.
Reference 2: https://psmv2.blogspot.com/2015/12/ely-5.html.
Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/07/fake-41.html.
Reference 4: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/03/ronan-ohara.html.
Reference 5: http://www.thetemplebar.info/history.html.
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