It is close to noon by the time I get to Harrods. I want to buy some Stilton for Brian and have it shipped. A woman at the check-out counter assures me they will ship it and gives me information on weight, price, and all the procedures. But when I go get the Stilton and come back, a different cashier says, “Oh, we’re not shipping anything now until after January 6.” Why January 6? Why not the next business day after New Year’s? It all just seems so arbitrary. I sigh. How does Harrods stay in business? After much deliberation, I decide to buy the cheese anyway and take it home on the plane. I can store it in the refrigerator at the hotel in the meantime.
The Britain at War museum near London Bridge brings to life the air raids and bombings of London during World War II. Sitting in a pitch-black shelter in a simulated air raid, I can see nothing, but hear the sounds of bombs falling around me and sirens wailing. It is eerie and more than a little unsettling. There is also an exhibit that reproduces a bombed-out street. I walk along the smoky dark street with fires flickering and silhouette images of firemen rescuing people and putting out fires. It is all very realistic, well, except for the mannequins, which look obviously fake.
The 1940-41 Nazi bombing of London killed nearly 30,000 civilians, many more than I ever realized. To quote Churchill, or rather to paraphrase him, “If Britain still stands 1,000 years from now, men may look back and say ‘This was their finest hour.’”
I walk down by Tower Bridge, through Potters Field Park along the Thames, and have some great views.
The Bramah Tea and Coffee Museum gives an interesting history of the tea trade in England. There is also a huge collection of teapots, including one 12-foot-high ceramic Brown Betty commemorating the 60th anniversary of Queen Victoria’s accession to the throne and the world’s largest teapot that serves 800 cups of tea. Of course, I have to stop in the café for tea and cake. It is teatime after all.
I go back to my hotel to rest for a bit before heading to Stacy and Matthew’s flat in North London.
It takes me just over an hour to get there on the tube and then walking the eight blocks or so to their flat. Carolyn and Frank are already there. Stacy serves wine and cheese before we head out to the pub. Stacy tells me the delicious, dry, crumbly cheese, which I thought was Parmesan, is a farmer’s cheddar that she got at Covent Garden.
Before going to the pub, we walk up Primrose Hill. The view of the London skyline is wonderful. The BT Tower and St. Paul’s dome stand out against the night sky. It is clear, not too cold, although there is a thin layer of frost over everything that makes it slippery. Venus shines brightly in the clear night sky.
Photo: Wikimedia Commons
The pub, the Lansdowne, is just a few blocks away. It is excellent. I have the salmon and tarragon fish cakes, soft inside with soft lumps of mashed potato and crispy on the outside and served with a tomato coulis. The group treats me for my going away, which is so nice of them. We sit and talk until about 10:00 PM. We talk about everything from traveling, to London living, to questions for their Tony Blair meeting. The fellows have a meeting scheduled with Tony Blair in February. I am heartbroken to miss it.
Stacy’s work at the Social Exclusion Office has finally come together; she starts after the New Year. She even has a leather chair; a big step up from no chair at all. She is very happy.
Stacy teases about my paper. She says, “187 footnotes! How can we live up to that?” She takes to calling me 187.
I make plans for dinner and the fireworks with Stacy and Matthew on New Year’s Eve and plans for dinner with Carolyn and Frank on New Year’s Day. As we put on our coats to leave the pub, some people are obviously coveting our table. They are friendly but sit down quickly before we even clear the way. One chap says to me, “Bundle up, it’s cold out there.” It is actually quite balmy—in the 40s. I certainly don’t need my scarf and gloves. They have not experienced Maine in December.
Jody’s UK Memories 
