Musings
It seems strange that we are at the end of a millennium; or yet still at the beginning of a new one. I remember when I was about 6, a teacher asked the class what they thought it would be like in the year 2000. I remember thinking I would be 40 and I would be so old I would be practically dead. And now here I am.
I wonder what people were doing on December 31, 1899. What were they thinking? Did they have their own Y2K bogie man? Could they imagine the future? Were they optimistic about the future?
I wonder if I am optimistic about the future. I would have to say yes, overall. Well, except for our seemingly irreversible environmental degradation…and terrorism…and ethnic cleansing…and the threat of nuclear war…and whether lasting peace in Northern Ireland is possible…and Mad Cow disease…
Millennium Prom Concert
After a leisurely morning, I get ready for the Millennium Prom concert. I walk from the Kensington High Street station to the Royal Albert Hall (RAH).
Photos line the halls of the star-studded RAH events—Lisa Minnelli, Phil Collins, Cliff Richards. I decline a drink knowing I have champagne coming in my box. But, of course, there is not. The box to my left has champagne. But my box and those to my right do not. I am bummed. I buy a glass of white wine at intermission because for some strange reason they do not sell champagne by the glass.
The auditorium is stunning. It is astonishingly large with rows and rows of boxes. The orchestra seats and the stage look small in comparison. It must hold 5,000 people.
Plastic bags on our table contain paper flags, poppers, streamers, and a noisemaker. There are 12 people in my box (not 8 as advertised) including two children. A little boy of about 6 is excited about the poppers and streamers. I gather from what his mother tells him that we are to save our poppers and streamers for the Rule Britannia finale. But that doesn’t stop the little boy from setting off as many as he can get his hands on, looking down at the people below who are being rained on by paper bits, and laughing his head off. I laugh along with him.
The concert starts with a number from Verdi played by the BBC Concert Orchestra. For the second number, I am surprised to see the conductor pick up a violin and play. Here is the program for the entire concert:
Verdi, Overture, The Force of Destiny
Vivaldi, Winter from the Four Seasons
Mascagni, Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana
Puccini, Act 1 Finale from La Boheme
Tchaikovsky, Grand Pas de Duex from Swan Lake
Vaughan Williams, Fantasia on Greensleeves
Gershwin, Rhapsody in Blue
Sullivan, Overture from The Yeomen of the Guard
Johann Strauss, The Blue Danube Waltz
Massenet, Mediation for Thais
Wood, Fantasia on British Sea Songs
Arne, Rule Britannia
Perry, Jerusalem
Offenback, Can-Can from Orpheus in the Underworld
Elgar, Pomp and Circumstance, March No. 1
There are some understudies filling in. The lead soprano is replaced. In addition because one of the dancers is ill, they substitute a dance from Don Quixote instead of the Swan Lake number.
The Johann Strauss dancers are wonderful. Four couples in period costume and ballgowns waltz in formations that portray boating on the Thames, swinging on a swing, riding a carousel, skating, a sleigh ride, and even a revolving door.
Who knew there are words to Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance? 5,000 Brits at Royal Albert Hall, that’s who! And they all sing along. At the end of the concert they play an additional hymn—Never Walk Alone—and then Auld Lang Syne.
My lasting memory will be the entire RAH audience waving little British flags and singing, “Rule Britannia, Britannia Rules the Waves.”
Once-in-a-Lifetime Fireworks
I make my way to Stacy and Matthew’s for dinner. There are fireworks going off as I walk along Steeples Road where they live. Sir Derek Jacobi has a lovely Christmas tree in his front window.
Stacy and Matthew and their friend, Jill, who flew in from the U.S. yesterday, are watching CNN. They tell me that Yeltsin has resigned and the terrorists have released the hostages on the plane in Pakistan. Despite the grave world events, we are more interested in watching the Millennial celebrations around the world. Afghanistan chimes midnight at 8:30 GMT. We can’t figure out why it is on the half-hour. We watch laser light shows at the Pyramids in Giza. The celebrations in Bethlehem are controversial. For the Jews, according to their calendar, it is the year 5067. For the Muslims, the celebrations come right in the middle of their holy prayers. President Clinton delivers a live message of peace for the world’s children.
We can see the Millennium Ferris Wheel from Stacy and Matthew’s picture window. As the fireworks erupt around the wheel, we can see them on TV and look out the window and watch it all live at the same time.
Apparently, the Ferris wheel failed its latest safety check, so no one is going to be seeing the fireworks from the top of the London Eye tonight. Those people who had tickets for the wheel will be getting, as a consolation, a Millennium party on a barge in the Thames and free plane tickets to a destination of their choice from the wheel’s sponsor, British Airways. Matthew asks, “Would you want to fly in any plane owned by the company whose Ferris wheel failed its safety tests?”
Jill makes supper—a cheesy Spaghetti Pancake—that is delicious. We have salad and bread and a bottle of Merlot that I brought. They have some amazing chocolate desserts. I have a half of a big, dense, truffle-like chocolate covered with cocoa powder.
A little after 10:00 PM we head out to the fireworks.
It is to be the largest Millennial celebration in the world. Organizers are predicting 3 million people will be in central London. Fireworks will be launched simultaneously from 18 barges positioned along the Thames. And a 60-meter high line of flame, called the River of Fire, will shoot down the length of the river at 600 mph.
We take the Jubilee line to Green Park and change to the Victoria line to Vauxhall where we disembark.
All kind of humanity surrounds us. We see a couple of Bobbies making a man come down out of a tree. A group of young teenagers sits on the roof of a bus stop shelter. A quartet is dressed in 17th century costumes complete with hoop skirts and beehive white powdered wigs. Others are wearing neon green and blue wigs or gold lamé wigs. Hundreds of people have hair bands with little 2000 symbols bobbing at the end of Martian-like antennae. People walk along passing bottles of champagne around to all their friends.
We walk along Milbank on the west side of the Thames until we find a clear spot. It is 11:25 PM. We can see the Victoria Tower of the House of Lords, but we are not close enough to see Big Ben. Matthew gives us all poppers and horns and I have my noisemaker from this afternoon’s Prom. We pass the time chatting, tooting our paper blowouts, watching the crowd, and eating shortbread that Stacy cleverly thought to bring.
Matthew and Jody 
Stacy and Jody
I look at my watch at two minutes to midnight thinking, “We can’t see the clock on Big Ben. We have no Times Square ball to look at. No one is counting down. How are we going to know when it is midnight?” At that very moment, there is a loud bang and the entire London sky erupts with fireworks heralding the new Millennium.
The fireworks are amazing. We can see two barges to our right and three to our left from the way the Thames snakes through the city. If we stand on tipped toe, and if the illuminations are high in the air, we can see about five more as the river bends at Waterloo Bridge towards Tower Bridge. All the illuminations are identical—18 simultaneous explosions. I read in one article that said, if the night was clear, the London fireworks could be seen from outer space.
The fireworks last about 20 minutes. The air is pungent with gunpowder-scented smoke. The noise is deafening from the screaming rockets of 1 million pounds of fireworks; people cheering and singing, noisemakers being blown, horns honking, and church bells ringing.
But we did not see the River of Fire. A 60-meter high (200 feet) wall of flame would be hard to miss. We suspect it did not take place for some reason.
After the fireworks, along with 3 million other people, we try to get home. We walk with the crowds to Victoria station where Stacy, Matthew, and Jill veer off to the Northern line. I bid them a fond farewell and head for the Circle/District line. But, soon, I become part of a tight-squeezed crowd so compact I cannot move on my own. I have no way forward and no way out. Every few minutes the mass surges ahead a little, then stops. After being in the crowd for about 45 minutes, word spreads from the front that that authorities have closed Victoria station; there are too many people and it is too dangerous. I suspect it will open again as the crowd disperses, but I want to get out of the crush. As soon as the crowd eases enough so I can slip away, I do.
I don’t have many options. Taxis are not running tonight in central London. I decide to walk. Maybe another tube station further down the line will be open.
I don’t have a map, but I ask a police officer and he gives me general directions: Go along Buckingham Road, behind the back of Buckingham Palace, to Park Lane and along Hyde Park. I miss the turn behind Buckingham Palace and end up in front of it where the statue of Queen Victoria is delightfully illuminated. The Union Jack is flying (no Queen). I cut through Constitutional Hill to Wellington Arch, Britain’s answer to the Arc de Triomphe, with its bronze winged Angel of Peace also lit up like a herald.
I feel quite safe. There are thousands of people walking in every direction and it is festive. People are friendly and merry. A very drunk young man comes up to me, shakes my hand, and wishes me a happy New Year before moving on to the next person.
Happily I find a soggy map on the ground and I follow it to Marble Arch where I can finally get on the underground. I go the two stops to Queensway from where I walk home about two blocks. In all I walked about 2.5 miles and it is after 3:00 AM by the time I get to my hotel.
Jody’s UK Memories 