December 28, 1999 – The Royal Mews, Albert Memorial, and National Theater

I don’t sleep well. The room is hot and the bed small. At about 6:00 AM, it occurs to me that I can push the two small twin beds together and this gives me a little more room.

While eating breakfast I write a few thank you notes hoping to mail them today. Alas, it’s a public holiday and the post office is closed. Yesterday was a bank holiday. Don’t ask me the difference between the two, all I know is that the shops never seem to be open.

I walk down to the Royal Mews half expecting it to be closed too, but, happily, it is open. The Mews are essentially the Queen’s stables, which store the royal carriages, including the incredible 1762 Coronation Carriage. I never realized how ornate it is. Pastel paintings of an Italian design decorate the sides with heavy gold outlining the rim of the coach. Massive gold tritons (half-man, half-fish) on the front and back commemorate Britain’s seafaring heritage. A few hours later, thinking back about the coach, all I can remember of it is gold.

I also see the Queen Alexandra state coach, or what is also known as the Glass Coach, which carried the crown for State Opening of Parliament and is used for weddings, including to carry Diana to St Paul’s Cathedral on the day of her marriage to Prince Charles. Although it is not really glass, it does have big glass windows so people can clearly see the occupants inside as they pass.

I check out the half-price ticket offerings at Leicester Square and purchase a ticket for a new play called Battle Royal with Zoë Wanamaker. The show is about George IV and his disastrous 1795 marriage to the German Princess, Caroline of Brunswick. While waiting in line for tickets, I meet two American ladies; a little older than me who are vacationing in London for the holidays. We will be sitting next to each other at the National Theater, near Waterloo station.

After a quick lunch, I head back to see if Harrods is open. Just as I get off the train at Knightsbridge, I hear the announcer say, “Turn right to exit. The Brompton Street exit is closed. Harrods is closed today.” I turn around and get back on the train I just exited.

Instead, I go to Kensington High Street and do some window shopping. I stop to admire the Albert Memorial. Newly restored, the central figure of the Prince dazzles in gold. Queen Victoria’s consort is seated; he wears the robes of state and is covered by an ornate, steeple-like canopy that soars 176 feet high.

At the memorial’s base are stone sculptures of 169 composers, architects, poets, painters, and sculptors. And if all of this is not enough, the statue’s square podium has, at each corner, marble statues representing science and industry, agriculture, etc. and at the furthest outer corners of the canopy’s base are four more sculptures symbolizing four continents with groupings of native animals and ethnographic characters (source). The whole thing is well and truly over the top.

However I love the outer sculptures, which are arresting and realistic. I spend a long time looking at each one.

Across the street from the memorial is Royal Albert Hall where I am able to get a ticket for Friday’s matinee Millennium Prom—with the BBC Concert Orchestra and including the Johann Strauss Dancers. A box ticket seat at £35 is more than I want to pay. The ticket agent tells me I get champagne and refreshments in the box seat. What the heck. I tell her to charge it.

At Waterloo, I can’t even find my way out of the tube station. I follow the signs for what seems like a full block. The exit signs lead me to what looks like a back alley. I give up and decide to get a taxi. The taxi driver points and says, “But the National is just across the bridge.” He must have sensed my desperation because he quickly adds, “But I will take you if you want to go.” It is worth the £3 to me even if it is not for him.

The National Theater is a huge, concrete monstrosity housing four theaters in one building including the Olivier Theater and the Lyttleton where I am going. Known to be critical of modern architecture, Prince Charles said the National Theater, “was a clever way of building a nuclear power station in the middle of London without anyone objecting”. Sadly, I have to agree with him.

I am in the first balcony. My friends from Leicester Square arrive about two minutes before the curtain. They also had a hard time finding the theater. I don’t have time to ask them if they came through Waterloo station before the lights go down and the show starts.

The play is excellent. An historically accurate account of George IV who reluctantly agrees to marry so that Parliament will pay off his debts. He takes an immediate dislike to his new bride and within months wants to divorce her, but Parliament is having none of it. After he banishes her from Court, Caroline lives in Italy where she takes up with an Italian Count. When he becomes king, George bans her from the coronation, ruthlessly placing guards at the doors to bar her from entering. His extravagant lifestyle and shabby treatment of his consort make him unpopular and Caroline has the sympathy of the British populace. She died not long after the Coronation. It is a three-hour play but goes by very quickly. Zoë Wannamaker is terrific.

I join my two new friends for a late dinner and take a taxi back to my hotel.