Of Paintings and Passion Plays

I’m going to take a quick break from telling you about Morocco (really, all that’s left is my last day there) so that I can tell you about Friday (April 6).

Having been stuck in bed for most of the first week of Easter Break, I was determined to get out and do something on Friday. Unfortunately, I’m still at that phase of recovery where I get tired very easily, and so I planned on making said-adventure pretty small. Boy, did I misjudge.

I kicked things off by finally going to the Charles Dickens Museum. Now, you have to understand that this was one of those things from our 2008 trip to London that I really regretted not having time to do, and since the museum’s closing for renovation on April 10th it was kind of a now-or-never thing.

And now that I’ve been, I can honestly say: thank goodness we did not make it back in 2008, because if I had dragged Nic to this and the Royal Mews back then, it probably would have been the end of our relationship.

Seriously, even I was bored at the Dickens Museum (shocking, right?).

Entrance to the Dickens Museum

 Basically, it’s in a townhouse that Dickens lived in alongside his family for about two years. To the museum's credit, despite the short time of occupancy this is the only house of Dickens’ that still survives. Unfortunately, once inside you’re given practically no information (just one, single-sided informational page in each room). Furthermore, items are displayed within cases without explanation, and most of the furniture is replicated. The biggest draw for the proprietors seems to be the café (which takes up three of the five rooms on the ground floor), and a looping film that was so boring I had to leave after less than 10 minutes. 

Dickens' Study: the desk under the window is the same upon which he penned his last words.

Sitting Room

 All in all, I was majorly disappointed in the Charles Dickens Museum I’m sad to say. Then again, I am probably guilty of building it up in my mind over the last four years, ensuring that it could never live up to my expectations.

Following the museum, I was still feeling relatively okay, so I decided to wander around London for a bit, which I always enjoy doing. 

Soon thereafter, I found myself standing in front of the British Museum. I started to go in, but having been there before, I knew what an exhausting experience that would be. Instead, I decided to keeping walking, heading toward Trafalgar Square for some picture taking. 

I stopped en route at LJ’s for some coffee and at the not-as-skeezy-as-its-website-makes-it-look Prowler to finally pick-up a copy of Beautiful Thing on DVD (which they had on sale for £6—normally, the cheapest you can find it for in the US is $30+.)

Eventually, I arrived at Trafalgar Square...only to discover that it was packed! Apparently, a local church was putting on a public performance of The Passion of Jesus. But I’ll come back to that in a bit…

A packed Trafalgar Square and National Gallery. Note the pretty blue sky--that will be relevant later on.

In an attempt to avoid the large crowd outside, I thought this might be a good opportunity to duck into the National Gallery. It was okay—certainly far better than the Dickens Museum. As with most museums, they would not allow photography and, anyway, there really wasn’t anything there that I was interested enough in to go out of my way to record. 

That being said, there was a nice exhibition of Titan’s work that I liked, as well as some always enjoyable pieces by Seurat and Monet (including ‘The Water-Lily Pond’). The piece that I was most excited to see at the National Gallery, however, was van Eyck’s ‘The Arnolfini Portrait.’

NB: This image is not mine.

I’m realizing now, as I write this, that my attraction to this painting might actually stem from an old coffee table book my maternal grandmother used to have, and which I used to thumb through as a child. The more I think about it, I have vague recollections of stopping on a photo of ‘The Arnolfini Portrait’ every time I flipped through the book, mesmerized even as a small child by the mirror in the background (without realizing at the time the significance of it). 

Damn, I really wish I had remembered this while I was there!

After going through the National Gallery, I headed next door to the National Portrait Gallery, where they had an exhibition devoted to Princesses Charlotte and Victoria (later Queen Victoria). And while it was a decent exhibit, and one which I was thrilled to see, I was pleasantly surprised to find far more interesting pieces at the NPG!

The very first piece I came across upon entering the gallery was the portrait of Princes William and Harry from 2010 (their first). I remember when this painting was unveiled I like it quite a bit, so I was thrilled to see it, unexpectedly, in person. 

My next unexpected, but totally welcomed, surprise was their collection of Tudor and Elizabethan portraits! Here I encountered more paintings that I was all-too-familiar with, as they’re used in just about ever historical documentary about Henry VIII’s famous family. Such paintings include the following:

Queen Elizabeth I Coronation Painting [NB: This image is not mine!]

Queen Elizabeth I [NB: This image is not mine!]

Queen Mary I [NB: This image is not mine!]

King Edward VI [NB: This image is not mine!]

Sadly, the famous portrait of Anne Boleyn is being restored, and was not on display.

There was also the (life-sized) drawing seen here:

King Henry VIII and his father. [NB: This image is not mine]

Though this particular one was never used (presumably a second one was created, which was used and subsequently ruined), such drawings were used as a means of facilitating the creation of life-sized murals circa the 1500s. Basically:

The cartoon is exactly the same size as the finished painting and was used to transfer [the artist] Holbein's design to its intended position on the palace wall. To do this the cartoon was pricked along the main outlines of the composition and then fixed in the intended position on the wall. Chalk or charcoal dust was then brushed into the holes made by pricking, thus transferring the outline to the wall. Holbein could then proceed with filling in his design. ~ National Portrait Gallery Description

Very interesting!

Another highlight of my trip to the National Portrait Gallery was a small selection of photographs of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II taken by Sir Cecil Beaton in the late ’50s and early ’60s, including an amazing one of her in full regalia (including tiara) and leaning somewhat wearily against the arm of a couch at the palace. 

While at the National Portrait Gallery I received a text from EN, informing me that she was also in the Trafalgar Square area—turns out, she was there to watch the Passion of Jesus performance happening outside. We made plans to go for coffee after the show, and so when I was done at the gallery I went and met her in the square.

I arrived during the telling of the Last Supper, and wound up staying until the end. I have to say, they actually did a really good job (excepting, of course, the predominance of whiteness amongst the cast). 

Two things that are particularly interesting to note about the performance:

First, the actor playing Caiaphas (the high priest who played in instrumental role in the crucifixion of Christ) sounded remarkably like the late Billy Barty, known for his iconic portrayal of Gwildor of Thenur (and more)! In fact, so close was the sound of their voices that I frequently had to remind myself that Mr Barty is dead and that it could not possibly be him.

Second, the producers did a really good job of portraying the crucifixion: before the audience's collective eyes, three crosses were raised near Trafalgar Square’s large central column. What was really interesting about this bit though, was the moment wherein the Jesus character died. I had been watching the sky above for a bit—most of the day had been warm and sunny (as reflected in the earlier picture I posted), but as the play progressed it was steadily growing cooler. Sure enough, it just so happened that by the end of the crucifixion scene it was gray, cold, and slightly drizzling. Though the play’s sponsors had nothing to do with that, it was a cool effect to go along with the performance!

'Jesus' being 'nailed' to the cross.

And it is on that note that I will close. I hadn’t intended for this entry to be as long as it turned out to be (especially since I have a lot of other stuff I want to work on today). 

Until next time…

Sickness = Unproductiveness

Just a quick update on this, the last day of March 2012. 

Hard to believe, but I’ve only got 65 days left of my study abroad experience. It seems like just yesterday that I was marveling and lamenting over how long it would be until I was home again—and now, it seems like it’s just right around the corner.

At any rate, Easter Break has finally started—hurrah! Two full weeks of relaxation = bliss! 

Alas, I’ve started the break on somewhat of a bad note, as I’ve been laid-up in bed and feeling sick. Fortunately, the stuff I got from the pharmacy earlier today seems to be helping somewhat, so hopefully I’ll be back on my feet soon.

In the meantime, I’ve spent most of today watching stuff on the interwebs: 

I’ve finished the first seven episodes of ‘Modern Family,’ which both EN and Nic have been after me to watch for a bit. I honestly haven’t laughed as hard and consistently at a show since ‘Arrested Development!’ There are so many great lines, and I have to admit that the Cam and Mitchell characters are Nic and I (respectively)—seriously, it’s a bit frightening at times how similar we are.

[NB: Okay, I confess that the above example is a bad one—for the most part, I am far more like Mitchell than Cam. However, ABC has blocked me from seeing most of the clips over here, so I'll work with what I have.]

Taking a break from ‘Modern Family,’ I turned to a gay French flick called ‘Just a Question of Love,’ starring the hot-as-balls and openly gay Cyrille Thouvenin. The story was only so-so, but nonetheless nice in terms of being mindless fluff that I could follow in spite of my medication-induced mental fog…and, it had a happy, sappy ending. And I’m always a sucker for happy, sappy gay love stories…which explains why I then spent the next little bit watching the story of Josh and Nate from ‘Waterloo Road,’ followed by a series of short films along the same line.

So, yeah, not really a productive day.

But, I have lots of things planned for Easter Break, so hopefully there will be some more interesting updates coming down the pike. Since the weather’s supposed to be fairly crappy over the next few days, I’m hoping to do a lot of the indoorsy things that have been on my to-do list for ages, such as: visiting the Victoria & Albert Museum, cruising through the Tate Modern, visiting Charles Dickens’ House, touring BBC, and maybe even getting a drink or two at the Ice Bar. Oh! And I've discovered where they filmed many of the exterior shots from 'Beautiful Thing,' and so I simply must go there and snag some photos!

 

In the meantime, it’s time for my next dose of medicine and so I’ll close. In parting, I leave you with the song that’s been stuck in my head all bloody day…

"Is it Drunk, Ye Are?"

[Yes, that title's a reference to Darby O'Gill and the Little People. It's still practically St Patricks' Day, so bite me if you disapprove of my obscure 'Irish' references.]

I have definitely been paying homage to my Irish roots this weekend, and I know my liver will be quite happy to return to a state of normality over the next few days. But, an awesome time was had throughout, and I was able to engage in some much-needed catching up with friends…

Friday (16 March) found me meeting up with my friend EN—the other student from Columbia who’s attending UEL—for a late dinner. And I mean late! Initially we had difficulty finding anyplace that was still serving dinner because it was after 10 PM. Finally, on the verge of absolute starvation, we stumbled into a place called Maxwell’s in Covent Garden...what we didn’t catch was the blub about it being the “best American restaurant in London.”

Seriously.

After we caught on—somewhere between seeing the large portrait of ‘Aunt Jemima’ that loomed over my shoulder, and the giant, golden Presidential Seal that was visible over EN’s shoulder—I was forced to ask her why it was that we kept winding up in American cafes? (You may remember from this post that the first time we toured around London together we also wound up in such a setting—quite by accident, I assure you!) We never did come up with an answer.

You can actually catch a glimpse of the 'Aunt Jemima' poster on their website! *SMDH*

At any rate, the food was both okay and reasonably priced. Sadly, the waiter sucked—he was so busy schmoozing with the table behind us about his time in Italy that it took almost 20 minutes (I was timing it) to get his attention so that we could request the check. In the end, we didn’t leave Maxwell’s until about 12:15 AM. That’s right: A.M. Suffice to say, I won’t be rushing back to dine there anytime soon.

Freed from Maxwell’s, we headed to Soho—turns out EN had never been to a gay club before, and I was determined to rectify this grave oversight in funness. (Yeah, I know that's not a real word.) Though EN and I had wristbands to get into G-A-Y Bar from earlier in the night, they were already closed, and so we headed to Village instead. We had enough time for exactly one drink, accompanied by a bartop performance of Aretha Franklin’s ‘Think’ (the 'Blues Brothers' version, one of my favorite songs) as rendered by a queen and some scantily clad men, before Village too shut down. Le sigh. A bit disgusted, we called it a night.

Whereas Friday wound up being an early night (relatively speaking), last night was anything but…but I’ll get to that in a moment.

First things first: my Saturday night started off with a trip to Leicester Square Theatre in order to catch the divine (and problematic) Joan Collins in her one-woman show ‘One Night with Joan.’

Two Sexy Bitches?

It was everything I expected it to be, and more! 

Basically, the gist is that you have an auditorium filled with middle-aged gay men who are hootin’ and hollerin’ as Collins sits back and tells them (us) about her sordid life—everything form her childhood, to first-husband Maxwell Reed’s attempt at selling her to “an Arab sheik for £10,000”, to Marilyn Monroe’s advice about the Casting Couch. In all, no big shocks there, and pretty much what you would expect from such a performance.

But it really was funny in that uber-campy way! Her stories about run-ins with the likes of Joan Crawford (her namesake) and Bette Davis were riotous, and she never once hesitated to make fun of her own acting abilities and/or the roles that she's accepted during her career! (And yes, she did make a dig at Linda Evans/Krystle, and joked about the shoulder pads being so large that the women had to enter rooms sideways.) There were so many names dropped during the show that I was tripping over them as I left. Also, putting her ‘bitch’ reputation on display for the audience, Ms. Collins started heckling a drunken guy in the audience during the second act for the way he laughed—that's right, she heckled an audience member. Fortunately he didn’t seem to mind. 

And how could I talk about the actress behind Alexis Morell-Carrington-Colby-Dexter-Rowan-Colby without addressing her ensemble? Ms. Collins spent the first act in a heavily sequined, black, off-the-shoulders number that was highly reminiscent of the Catwoman costumes from the Adam West era. (NB: This is different from the costume seen in the video and picture above.) And then, for the second act, she switched into a white-and-gold gown that could have come from the Dynasty costume department. Awesome!

As for the theatre itself, it was super-small! My ticket—though it was billed as being off to the side and near the back—was practically in the center and only twelve rows back, owing to the size of the place. I could see everything perfectly, including the little puff of smoke (vapor) coming from Ms. Collins’ cigarette. Also related to the performance space, I have to give major props to the Leicester Square Theatre staff for getting in on the fun: the announcer's voice at the beginning—the one that tells the younger people to silence their cell phones and the older people to unwrap their Wearther’s Candies—concluded with, “[If we catch you taking pictures] our staff has been trained to go the 'full Alexis' on you!” HA!

In the midst of my night with Joan I received a text from TvH asking me if I wanted to “drink like the Irish do?” For some reason, at the time this struck me as a challenge to my Irishness by my German friend, so I replied that I would meet him and his friends at Village following the show. Thus began my St Patricks’ Day shenanigans in earnest…

In total, the seven of us went from Village, to another place with overpriced drinks that we never caught the name of (and which  might have been a club for straights), back to Village, to G-A-Y Late (circa 1:00 AM), and, finally, Heaven (around 3:00 AM). By the time I left Heaven and made it to my bus, the sun was coming up.

Shockingly, I got up before noon and didn’t really feel any negative side-effects. Mind you, I also didn’t try to do anything mentally or physically challenging, opting instead to spend most of the day in bed, watching old episodes of ‘Come Dine with Me.’

Then, a little before 5 PM, I made my way back down to central London for the third time in as many days, this time to meet K&M at a pub called The George. The pub’s roots date back to (at least) the mid-16th-Century, and it has been connected to Shakespeare, Dickens, and even Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Of course, I simply had to celebrate the history surrounding The George with a couple of Guinnesses (Guinni?)—it would have been rude of me not to. In all seriousness, though, it was great to finally have a chance to catch-up with K&M—they’re such wonderful people, and have been so kind to this lonely American abroad in so many ways.

The George [NB: This is not my photo!]

So, yeah: crazy-long weekend, but one filled with good times and great friends! 

How Meeting Patrick Stewart Sent Me to (Gay) Heaven

As soon as Nic ‘heard’ that I was in a funk a couple of days ago, he dropped what he was doing and insisted that I call him right away—he’s so wonderful! We spent some time chatting, and while we were doing so he was determined to find something that might cheer me up: he succeeded.

Nic found out that the incomparable Sir Patrick Stewart—favored by me particularly for his portrayal of Captain Jean-Luc Picard—was starring in a play called Bingo not far from me! And, doubly fortunate, there was one open seat available for last night’s (3 March) performance. Within moments, I had a ticket for said-seat.

NB: This is not my photo!

 So, last night I found myself headed to the Young Vic, sister-theatre to the famous Old Vic. Not surprisingly, I got there about an hour early (I prefer to be early rather than late), leaving me a bit of time to wander around and enjoy a glass of wine, since the theatre itself is attached to a pub. 

That’s when it happened…

I had just received my wine and was standing off to the side of the bar (people-watching), when a door to my right whispered open and out stepped a bald man, sporting a thick but well-manicured white beard, in blue jeans and a casual yellow-and-green-checked shirt.

No way, I thought, that can’t be him!

The man moved to the bar and proceeded to order two drinks: ‘Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.’ (By the way, can I just note how amused I am that there's a YouTube compilation of that?)

At any rate, I didn’t actually hear the man order ala Picard—and at this point I still wasn’t sure that it was even really him, because no one else in the entire place seemed to notice him except for me—but the man was given two carry-out cups of some hot liquid, which he paid for out of his own pocket just like an ordinary customer (and not like a knighted star-performer who surely has minions for dealing with such tasks). 

Having paid, the man took his two cups of (hopefully) Earl Grey tea and turned once more toward the door from whence he had first emerged. As he walked by me, our eyes met—for the briefest flicker of a moment—and I knew in an instant that it really was Patrick Stewart standing less than three feet away from me! 

Holy Lwaxana Troi! 

Fortunately, I had enough of my wits about me in that moment that I didn’t just fall to the floor and start begging him to do the ‘Engage’-flick-of-the-wrist-gesture, or ask him if I could polish either the Enterprise or his sexy-ass 71 year-old dome. 

Instead, I offered him a coy smile that simply said, ‘Yes, I know who you are—I recognized you at once—and I’ll be right here after the show if you’re looking for someone who’ll do all of those things that Beverly refuses to.

Alas, he did not smile back—he’s probably already got an army of equally sexy Will Wheaton-types making that offer on a daily basis—but, damn it, our eyes met and in that moment we were soulmates (even if he doesn’t know it).

But enough about my ‘encounter at farpoint’ with the sexiest (male) septuagenarian I can think of. Let’s get on with the show itself…

NB: This is not my photo!

 [NB: I’m going to talk about the show in three parts: the story, the set, and the acting—I think this is the easiest way for me to describe the whys and hows some aspects of the show were wonderful and others were decidedly less-so.]

Bingo was written in the 1970s by a playwright with Marxist leanings named Edward Bond. As such, on top of being a tale about William Shakespeare’s later years and death, Bingo also contains a cautionary—or, at the very least, a disapproving—note about the wickedness of greed and class disparity. 

Sadly, Bingo could have been so much more than what it actually turned out to be. (This is especially true when viewed in the context of our current, global socioeconomic situation, and especially when paired with something like the Occupy movement.) Instead, it seems as if Bond doesn’t know what he wanted the show to really be about: is it a play about the frustrations of a popular artist? is it about greed? is it about mental illness? is it all of these things and, if so, wasn’t there a better way to weave them all together? 

In fact, the Shakespeare character himself—though onstage for almost every moment—is given so little to do and say that it wasn’t until halfway through the second act that I realized Bond was portraying him as a villain, and not someone (as I had been led to believe through earlier words, gestures, and staging) who was trying to thwart ‘the man’ from within.

As regards the set and staging, they did a really good job. Like Les Mis, Bingo uses a revolving stage. Throughout the course of the show, the stage goes from being a garden, to a public square, to a pub, to a snow-covered hilltop, and finally to Shakespeare’s bedroom. 

The usage of color and simple signifier props was very aesthetically pleasing in the outdoor scenes (e.g., in the hilltop scene, the only decoration(?) is the freshly fallen ‘snow’ and an all-black background—and I don’t know what they used to make the snow, but Patrick Stewart and another actor were able to pack it into something that looked and eventually ‘exploded’ like a legitimate snowball). 

Shakespeare with his daughter. [NB: This photo is not mine!]

 On the other hand, the interior sets were all heavily paneled, and had that air of controlled clutter that we tend to think of when we imagine interiors from the Elizabethan era. They were equally appealing in their lack of simplicity!

As wonderful as all of the sets were—the hilltop and the pub being especially well-executed (I swear I’ve been in that exact pub before!)—my favorite setting was the public square.

Before I can say why, however, it is necessary to provide a bit of exposition. In the first scene we are introduced to the character of a nameless young woman whose family has just died, and who is in search of food or money. She’s trying to make her way to another town where, she explains, she has an aunt who will take her in. Shakespeare immediately agrees to give the young woman both food and money—this is one of the first things that confused me about his ‘true’ feelings—but before he can help her, a series of events leads to her capture by Combe, the town magistrate (and the most clear-cut villain of the piece). Combe has the woman brutally whipped and beaten—to the point where she is left physically and mentally handicapped. In revenge, she begins setting fire to buildings around the town. Eventually, Combe recaptures her (after Shakespeare once again tries—and fails, thanks to his obnoxious daughter—to help), and she is publicly executed.

So, the public square set consists of the actress—whose appearance has been made-up to look like someone who’s been dead for some time—hung upon a gibbet near the back of the stage, approximately 12’ above the other actors. Though the actress never speaks—her character’s already dead—she is the undeniable focal point of the set. Even from the balcony (where I was sitting) one cannot help but escape her lifeless gaze, and the impact of its attendant commentary on issues of class, gender, and societal controls.

Finally, we come to my thoughts on the acting...

In some cases—such as with the men who portrayed Combe and Son—I’ve borne witness to better acting in high school plays. They were awful! That being said, Patrick Stewart and JohnMcEnery were phenomenal!

McEnery—who also played Mercutio in the famous 1968 film-version of Romeo & Juliet (among other things)—plays the role of Shakespeare’s gardener. His wife speaks highly of their time together before he was abducted by a press gang. At some point during that period, the gardener tried to help someone who was about to be executed, and was struck in the head with the blunt end of an ax. As a result, he has been left with (what his wife describes repeatedly as) ‘the needs of a man and mind of a child.’ The effect is a character that is often portrayed as mischievous and fun. 

In fact, one of the funniest scenes within Bingo takes place as a drunken Shakespeare is crossing the snow-covered hilltop described earlier, delivering the start of a heavy monologue, when suddenly a snowball thrown by the gardener pelts him hard in the back. What ensues is a ‘snowball fight’ between the show’s best actors—which Shakespeare inevitably loses because (much like Nic) the gardener’s ‘score’ is increased exponentially every time he announces it.

Sadly, however, McEnery’s character doesn’t fare any better in Bingo than he did in Romeo & Juliet, and by the end of the hilltop scene he is dead.

The Gardener and Unnamed Woman [NB: This is not my photo!]

Finally we come to Sir Stewart’s performance. In some ways, this is like me trying to describe my longing to be with Nic again—it seems a ‘futile’ endeavor.

He’s Patrick Stewart, and he’s amazing as always. The only problem is that he is so severely underutilized. True, he’s onstage at almost every moment, and through his gesturing and facial expressions he ensures that the audience never forgets him despite those long moments wherein we don’t hear him speak—but he nonetheless seemed constrained by a convoluted script.

But when he is allowed to speak, it’s phenomenal! During the third scene (the one in the public square), he yells at the gardener’s wife about people’s seemingly limitless ability to inflict pain upon others. As part of this powerful monologue, he describes the vile ‘sport’ of bear-baiting that was so popular at the time. For almost five minutes, Stewart rails in highly descriptive detail about the bears being blinded, chained down, stabbed, and set-upon by vicious dogs that tore at their throats—all the while throwing in approximations of the sound a whip makes (‘lash! lash!’) and violent gestures for emphasis—all of this going on, Stewart's Shakespeare laments, whilst the crowd cheered and ‘The Virgin [Queen Elizabeth I] cheered them on in shrill Latin!’ 

The Patrick Stewart in this scene—and in the hilltop scene, once the gardener leaves and he’s allowed to finish the monologue he started—is the one that I am so in love with. This is the Patrick Stewart that agonizingly refused to see five lights when there were only four!

Shakespeare in the Snow [NB: This is not my photo!]

 And so, after 2 ½ hours in this legendary man’s presence, it was time to go. I waited by the stage door for a bit after the show (hoping for an autograph), and though I saw everyone else come out, apparently Patrick left by means of a different back door. Oh, well—that doesn’t change in the least what an awesome experience it was to see him performing live!

One final note before I go: since I was already in the Soho area, and since I was still feeling the need to be around people, I went out again last night. The original plan was to meet TvH et al., but they wound up not being able to make it at the last minute. So, it was just me. At any rate, I went to Heaven, where I spent a few hours just dancing and enjoying being around so many other people.

[NB: This is not my photo!]

Nonetheless, being the shy, self-conscious introvert and crowd-phobic that I am, I never made it too far on to the dancefloor, preferring instead to stand near an escape route at all times. However, in terms of what I was talking about the other day about desiring benign human contact, it worked out perfectly! I kept getting (politely) jostled and bumped aside by people going to and from the bar, and instead of being annoyed in the slightest, it was wonderful! I left feeling quite recharged!

Oh, also: this place is even more like my old stomping grounds than KuBar (which is the comparison I made here)! 

Okay, this one wound up being quite a bit longer than expected, so I’ll close now. Ciao for now!

PS: I'm now quasi-officially 'one' degree away from Her Majesty! YES!

NB: This is not my photo!

Westminster Abbey: A History

So, after a rather lengthy disagreement between my laptop and my camera that started on Monday, they’ve finally patched up their differences and allowed me to upload more recent photos and videos. Meaning I’m back with another update.

I spent Monday morning in my continued pursuit of housing. Alas, I remained unsuccessful. (Are we noticing a trend here?) Frustrated and feeling as if my time in London was being wasted by people who cannot be “bovvered” to respond to my inquiries, I decided to check-off one of the things on my “To Do” list: tour Westminster Abbey.

Now, the first thing I should say is this: you’re not actually allowed to take photos within the abbey; but, as Nic can attest, I tend to work around such signage by taking secret videos when no one’s looking. The way I see it, I’m not using the flash setting, so there’s no risk of damaging anything—plus, for the most part, they’re only shared between me and my pals. No harm, no foul. At any rate, that’s why some of what follows are videos, and the images are fairly grainy (they’re screen caps).

First and foremost, a bit of history on the abbey itself:

“Westminster Abbey is steeped in more than a thousand years of history. Benedictine monks first came to this site in the middle of the tenth century, establishing a tradition of daily worship which continues to this day.

The Abbey has been the coronation church since 1066 and is the final resting place of seventeen monarchs.

The present church, begun by Henry III in 1245, is one of the most important Gothic buildings in the country, with the medieval shrine of an Anglo-Saxon saint still at its heart.

A treasure house of paintings, stained glass, pavements, textiles and other artifacts, Westminster Abbey is also the place where some of the most significant people in the nation's history are buried or commemorated. Taken as a whole the tombs and memorials comprise the most significant single collection of monumental sculpture anywhere in the United Kingdom.” ~ Official Site for Westminster Abbey

 

Bein' all touristy...

Pretty neat, huh?

As noted by the quoted section above, there is a “significant” collection of monumental sculpture within the abbey. This is not surprising, considering there are over 3,000 people buried there, including the likes of Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, Laurence Olivier, Rudyard Kipling, and Charles Dickens. 

Old Dickens was dead as a door-nail...

It’s practically impossible to be within the abbey walls without seeing and/or standing atop someone’s memorial!

But, for now, let’s look at some of the living, and then I’ll return to the dead people in a moment...

One of the things I was most eager to see was King Edward’s Chair (a.k.a. the Coronation Chair). This is the more well-known of two thrones the monarch occupies during the coronation ceremony. 

King Edward's Chair

The chair itself is has been used during every coronation ceremony since 1308, and once housed the Stone of Scone (the coronation seat for Scottish royalty). The fact that it looks a bit beat-up is not surprising, consider its age and the fact that for a long time it was not placed under lock-and-key as it is now—meaning the abbey’s students were able to carve their names and other sundry graffiti on its ancient surface.

It truly is a site to behold! And, one day—hopefully not for a very long time—Prince Charles will sit here, just as his mother did in 1953.

This image is NOT mine!

 

Another site from the abbey that some of you may recognize is the High Altar.

The High Altar...kind of.

Most recently, this was seen during the wedding ceremony of Prince William and the now-Duchess of Cambridge (nee: Catherine Middleton)

 Now, some interesting things to be pointed out here:

First, notice the two doors on either side of the altar. Near the end of the ceremony, the bride and groom exited through the door on the right, and then returned through the left-hand door a bit later. This was so they could sign the wedding register. What you may not know, however, is that on the other side of those doors is the tomb of Edward the Confessor, the man responsible for starting the abbey’s construction so long ago.

(Yes, that very hurried video is the one I captured of the room behind the High Altar. The structure at the top is the tomb itself, and in the alcoves beneath it visitors can pray.)

 

Secondly, the man seen behind the Duchess' father is the fellow who lead our tour of the abbey!

The guy who looks like he's asleep--yup, that was my tour guide.

Now, as I said earlier, I want to get back to some of the dead people buried at the abbey. (’Cause, let’s be honest, that’s the biggest reason why I went!)

There are slightly less than twenty monarch entombed within the abbey walls (though, most of the recent royals are buried on the grounds of Windsor Castle). Aside from Edward the Confessor, there is also:

·      Henry III (King of England died 1272)

·      Edward I (King of England died 1307)

·      Edward III (King of England died 1377)

·      Richard II (King of England died 1400)

·      Henry V (King of England died 1422)

·      Edward V (King of England died 1483)

·      Henry VII (King of England died 1509)

·      Edward VI (King of England and Ireland died 1553)

·      James I (King of Great Britain and Ireland died 1625)

·      Charles II (King of Great Britain and Ireland died 1685)

·      Mary II (Queen of Great Britain and Ireland died 1694)

·      William of Orange (King of Great Britain and Ireland died 1702)

·      Anne (Queen of Great Britain and Ireland died 1714)

·      George II (King of Great Britain and Ireland died 1760)

Now, as impressive as that list is (at least to geeks like me), there are actually three names that I’ve left off. Three very, very important names—and the main ones I went to see:

·      Mary I (Queen of England and Ireland died 1558)

·      Elizabeth I (Queen of England and Ireland died 1603)

·      Mary, Queen of Scots (Queen of Scotland died 1587)

Let’s start with the first two names: 

Queens Mary I and Elizabeth I were both daughters of the infamous King Henry VIII. And they didn’t see eye-to-eye on much, mostly because Mary was Catholic and the daughter of Henry’s first wife (Catherine of Aragon), whereas Elizabeth was Protestant and the daughter of Henry’s second wife (Anne Boleyn).

When Henry died, followed shortly thereafter by his only recognized son (Edward VI), Mary became queen—and promptly declared Protestantism illegal. And then slaughtered a bunch of non-Catholics, earning her the nickname “Bloody Mary.”

Well, eventually, Mary herself died, succumbing to cancer two or three years into her reign. At which point Elizabeth ascended to the throne. I don’t suppose I have to say too much about Elizabeth I here, as her history is fairly well-known.

What I did not know, and what I imagine others didn’t either, is that, after Elizabeth died, her successor (King James I of England and VI of Scotland) had Elizabeth buried alongside Mary at Westminster Abbey.

 Yes, they share the same grave. King James even affixed an inscription that reads: “Consorts in realm and tomb, here we sleep, Elizabeth and Mary, sisters, in hope of resurrection.”

Since the new King shared Elizabeth’s religious philosophy, the memorial atop the tomb is dedicated solely to Elizabeth I. There are no effigies dedicated to her elder sister.

An acknowledgment of those who lost their lives over their faith.

Morbid? Perhaps. But, I was there!

Across the way from Queens Mary and Elizabeth rests another Mary—Mary, Queen of Scots. While Elizabeth I was still on the throne, she was worried that her cousin, the Queen of Scotland—as next in line for succession—might make a move to usurp the crown. So, it was off with her head!

At first, Mary was not buried in Westminster. However, when her son—yup, you guessed it: King James I of England and VI of Scotland—took over, he had his mother’s body exhumed and brought to the abbey, where she was buried near her cousins, Mary I and Elizabeth I.

Pretty self-explanatory...

Again, I recognize the morbidity--but I was there!

Whew!

Well, that was exhausting to type all out, and I’m sure you’re exhausted from reading it all! I think I’ll close now. I ain’t bovvered, though.

Until next time…

PS: Yes, the King James I mentioned here-and-there is the one the Bible translation is named after.