Chapter 38: My Last Day in London with Godot & the Buskers

What are we doing here? That is the question. We are waiting for Godot to come.

In many ways, I have come full circle: At Acadia University in the 1960s, I was required to study Samuel Beckett's 1955 English version of Waiting for Godot, probably for my favourite prof, Dr. Bill Bittner, an Irishman himself. In later years, my son and I enjoyed Star Trek: The Next Generation and became enamoured with Patrick Stewart, or Captain Picard. At about the same time, I became familiar with the young actor, Ian McKellan, who once made a one-made show entitled Acting Shakespeare, parts of which I often showed my students on VHS when we read Macbeth or Hamlet. Still later, I admired his film work, especially in Gods and Monsters, his modern version of Richard III, and even more when he became Gandalf in Lord of the Rings.

Is it any surprise that when I read that these two great actors, Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan, were appearing together this season in Beckett's Waiting for Godot, that I eventually ordered a ticket, choosing it for my last weekend in England? And then, by fluke, my seven-year-old grandson and I watched on the telly two nights before a half-hour programme about the staging and the rehearsals for the same production at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. I arrive four hours early to pick up my ticket, not hiding my enthusiasm too well! My grandson had wondered if he could come, but I had found the last good seat. (It happened that there was an empty seat behind mine, but nothing could be done about it. I am also given the opportunity to buy an even better seat nearer the front, but to do so I would have had to forfeit the $100 cost of the ticket I already had and pay even more. My seat is fine.) People line up to pay £41 for seats from which one can only see half of the stage!

The first theatre here, the "Little Theatre in the Hay," was built in 1720. In 1820 the Buckingham Palace architect, John Nash, designed the new Theatre Royal Haymarket in his Regency style, and essentially this is the same theatre in use today. Although refurbished more than once, the plush and sumptuous interior is much the same as it was earlier, although the more modern seats were installed in about 1904. The show on television showed workers repairing broken seats, right up to the Premiere this spring. In fact, one seat is being repaired during the Interval today. An interesting tidbit has John Guilgud producing plays here during the War, sleeping in Dressing Room 10 during the Blitz. We are told that it was business as usual during the War. In 1994, a £1.3 million refurbishment was completed, apparently including the application of 1200 books of 24-carat English gold leaf in the auditorium. (A word I often hear Brits using is "brilliant." In some way it correctly describes the total effect of the gilding. Today the interiors of many theatres assault the audience with ugliness; there is something quite pleasant about watching theatre in such a splendid environment.)
It is made quite clear by the young ushers that photography inside the theatre is forbidden. I am in my seat thirty minutes early--the first one seated--and I take out my camera and sneak a shot before anyone notices---it does not turn out! Later, I review pictures taken earlier at Covent Gardens. A polite lass comes over and whispers to me to remember that photography is prohibited!
What must I say about the performance itself? First, I know something about the theatre; both my parents were actors, and some of my earliest memories are of sitting patiently in theatres as they rehearsed dramatic productions. My grandson was impressed to know that I was in my first play at age 8, as a pageboy in one of the Richard plays, on Acadia University's stage. I continued performing in plays until I was about sixteen; my son is a professional actor.

I think the production is superb; the set and lighting is as sparse and desolate, yet as believable at Beckett intended. The lone(ly) tree upon which Estragon and Vladimir plan to hang themselves (or not) commands the stage; the image of its newly acquired three leaves as the second act opens evokes all sorts of feelings and ideas. I go to the stage to look at the set during the Interval; it is as real as its unreality requires it to be, even close up, built of great 2-inch planks, sloping upwards to the back of the stage towards the ruins of the wall surrounding the church.

Sir Ian McKellan is a better actor than Patrick Stewart, with a wider range of facial and bodily gestures and a more flexible voice; a couple of times, I imagined I was hearing Captain Picard intruding into Vladimir's character. Yet, in their physical presence on the stage they are both excellent, especially when they are being comical. The scene in which Vladimir and Estragon switch hats back and forth, adding Lucky's, is especially well done. Not forgetting the other characters: Simon Callow as Pozzo and Ronald Pickup as Lucky are also excellent. In fact, the only actor who is applauded during the performance is Pickup, at the end of his single speech in the play. It is quite astounding. Amongst many, another memorable scene is one in which Vladimir has Estragon roll up his trouser legs to "prove" that Lucky had kicked him in the shins. Not only is it funny, but I winced when I saw his bare legs, covered with dirt and sores. Perhaps it is in such details that the production succeeds so well. Perhaps it is in the lines and words that the characters speak: A favourite of mine: "We are all born mad; some remain so." Certainly, many cannot understand all of what Beckett intended. McKellan is quoted in the programme:

I was frightened of the play when we started rehearsals, because I've not seen a production that I was at ease with totally. I thought the play was a bit obscure. That means either I was being a bad audience or those productions weren't as good as they might've been, because now we're delving into it I see that it is rich, heart-warming and joyful. It's going to be a wonderful play to perform.

I am not alone in feeling that it is also a wonderful play to watch, not finding it obscure, but rich, heart-warming and joyful.

I spend some time wandering about Piccadilly Circus--avoiding the Piccadilly Commandos--and enjoy this vibrant part of London, full of tourists.

Swiss Court is marked by this unusual sign: it is called the Cantonical Tree and features the coats of arms of the 26 Cantons of Switzerland. The Court was opened in 1991 to honour the United Kingdom's "lasting friendship" with Switzerland.
Regent Street opens off Piccadilly Circus. My guidebook tells me to come in December to see it decorated with Christmas Lights. OK. Now on my "To Do List" for another visit.

Of course, there are dozens of theatres in the West End, many of which are big shows. I wander about looking at marquees.

I spend part of the day visiting Covent Gardens, originally designed by Inigo Jones as the fashionable place to live in London; it did not remain such for long as fruit and vegetable markets became established there, and by the mid-18th century, the Piazza itself had turned into seedy lodgings, gambling dens, brothels and taverns. Today, the whole district has assumed the name of the original and is full of shops, and restaurants of every kind.
The Seven Dials Monument is located where seven roads converge at this intersection. The original monument was built in about 1690 and removed in about 1773. A replacement was erected here in 1988-1989. Curiously, there are only SIX sundials on the Seven Dials monument. (Some believe the mystery is based on there only being six roads here originally; others believe the column itself is the seventh dial.)

Down tiny little Rose Street I come upon "The Lamb and Flag," one of London's oldest pubs, built in 1623.

On Bow Street I find the Royal Opera House, where many of the world's greatest opera singers have performed. For some reason, I never developed by father's passion for opera.

Located on Bow Street is the Bow Street Magistrate's Court, next to Broad Court, where I find this wonderful little sculpture.

Entitled "Young Dancer" it was created by Enzo Plazzotta (1921-1981) and installed in 1988, a gift from his estate.

"The White Lion" is just one of dozens of well maintained public houses throughout this district. At least these aren't amongst the fifty pubs closing in the UK every week.

I chance upon the Freemasons' Hall, an imposing art deco building, covering two and one quarter acres; it was built 1927-1933 as a memorial to the many Freemasons who died on active service in the First World War. Initially known as the Masonic Peace Memorial, it reverted to the name Freemasons' Hall at the outbreak of war in 1939.Opposite the Covent Garden Piazza and Central Market is St Paul's Church, designed in 1633 by Inigo Jones, in the style of the Italian Renaissance architect, Andrea Palladio.
By 1828, the wholesale produce market at Covent Garden had become the largest in the country, and a market hall was erected to ease congestion. Since the Market moved elsewhere in 1973, the site has been re-developed to become one of London's liveliest areas, full of street entertainers or buskers and crowds of visitors.

It is time to leave London through one of the ubiquitous Underground Stations. This one requires I use the lift or walk down 193 steps! HAH!

I now know all about Marylebone Station, Oyster Cards, steep escalators and over-crowded Underground trains. I do not particularly care for the surging crowds, or standing back to back or belly to belly in the subway cars.

Serenity only returns once in the countryside heading back towards Oxfordshire, seeing green field like those below. (Bill Bryson commented that Britain's greatest crop should be considered chlorophyll!) I have completed another successful visit to London; in fact, I have seen most of what one ought to see, I suppose, but I like it so much I will gladly go back if the chance comes again.

"What do we do now that we are happy?" Vladimir asks Estrogon.

I cannot presume to speak for them, but now I must end this chapter and return to Canada. I have enjoyed blogging and hope you have enjoyed sharing my travels with me. With any luck, we can do it again in a year or so.

Farewell until then.

Chapter 37: Buckingham Palace & Notting Hill

Buckingham Palace is only open to the public for the two months which Queen Elizabeth spends in Scotland, so filled with memories of Petey and I pretending to be Prince Charles and Princess Anne when we were kids, I booked tickets for something called "A Royal Day Out." My day out starts at The Royal Mews.

The Main Entrance. In 1785 the gate porter at the Mews was charged with strict orders "to suffer no loose, idle or suspicious persons, or women of the town to lurk or harbour near the Mews and to shut the gate at ten at night." Knowing that two or three of these labels could be applied to me, I do not linger and instead join the other tourists and enter the Mews quadrangle.
To the uninitiated, the Royal Mews is that part of Buckingham Palace which houses the means of transport for the Royals, especially the carriages and horses, and provides everything needed to manage such a task, especially for the pomp and circumstance of ceremonial occasions.

Part of the Royal Stables, now housing displays, including small sleds, wagons and carriages.
A training ring. During the entire tour I only saw six horses and those I did see refused to pose for photos. (I think they knew about the Christmas I looked after my neighbour's horse; not only did he get out of the barn, but he stepped on my foot ON PURPOSE and neighed mockingly at me. I had very unkind words for him, so I think I am on some sort of horsey hit list!)

The Irish State Coach is one of the many in the Mews. Built in 1803 and purchased by Queen Victoria in Dublin in 1852, it was rebuilt in 1911 following a fire and completely restored in 1989. This is the coach the Queen normally uses to travel to Westminster for the State Opening of Parliament.
The Scottish State Coach. Each of the coaches is tucked into a separate coach house, rather difficult to photograph. This coach was first built in 1830.
The so-called Glass Coach, built in 1881, is noted for its unusual comfort because of its excellent suspension. Usually seen as the second coach in the Opening of Parliament procession, it is also the coach used by royal brides to travel to their weddings, most memorably for me, the "marriage" of Lady Diana Spencer on 9 July 1981.

A life-size display inside the Gold State Coach House, itself a fascinating sight, with four horses and two postillion riders; they (the horses) wear the No. 1 State Harness, the red Morocco set made in 1792.
The Gold State Coach is probably the best-known coach in the world and is so ornate to my eye that it is difficult to imagine it even being used for anything other than an illustration in a children's book about Magical Kingdoms! Built in 1762 by George III, it weights four tonnes and needs eight horses. It is most notably used in Coronations since 1821.

The coach is gilded all over and features four Tritons or sea gods and palm trees. As Horace Walpole snorted in his diary: "The supports are Tritons, not very well adapted for land carriage and formed of palm trees, which are as little aquatic as Tritons are terrestrial!"

A detail of one of the Tritons, and a door panel painted by the Florentine artist and engraver Giovanni Battista Cipriani (1727-85).

The only one of the Queen's Rolls-Royce Phantoms on display today. As far as I can tell, this is the 1950 Phantom IV Rolls-Royce made by H. J. Mulliner, often used by The Prince of Wales on official engagements.

Next, I walk up the road to the Queen's Gallery, housing treasures from the Queen's Collection, which consists of those works of art held in trust by the Queen for the people. The featured exhibit this summer is the collection of French Sèvres Porcelain.

Security for entering Buckingham Palace reminds me of Heathrow Airport at its most paranoid. It's a wonder I am permitted to carry my camera with me, but I am quite sure that it will be confiscated if I sneak it out for a surreptitious photo.

There is no way that I can do justice to the stunning beauty of the Palace State Rooms. It is not just the brilliance of the design of the rooms, but the attention to exquisite detail. A beautiful painting or an objet d'art is beautiful alone, but associated with hundreds of others equally gorgeous, one experiences an overwhelming sense of awe. I overhear people exclaiming "Oh my!" and "Wow!" and like sounds of appreciation. This summer, as part of the two-hour tour, we see many of the Queen's gowns as worn on various state visits. Some look rather "frowsy" but others are quite splendid. (I have run out of superlatives and empty adjectives, so I shall say no more.) If ever in London in August or September, spend the outrageously dear admission price and see the State Rooms of Buckingham Palace.

The West Front of Buckingham Palace remains substantially intact from the original design by Thomas Nash, starting in 1825. During the summer months the terrace is converted by the addition of tents and awnings to accommodate the tourists, including a terrace cafe to the left.

There are a dozen vases on the terrace balustrade, the bell-shaped ones designed by Thomas Grimsley in 1829 and the urns by Blashfield in the 1830s. I love the "naughtiness" of so much of the Royal art; two of the Rubens paintings in the Queen's Gallery are even described as "sensuously erotic" and they were purchased by Queen Victoria.

The lawn at the West Front is used for the numerous garden parties hosted by the Queen, each for around 8,000 guests.

A view above the terrace shows one of the reliefs designed by John Flaxman and carved by Sir Richard Westmacott from Malta stone in 1831. They depict scenes from the life of Alfred the Great.

We exit the Tour by walking down one side of the 40-acre Garden, described as a habitat for hundreds of plant and animal species. I chance upon a heron on the lake, which a warden tells me has plenty of fish to feed waterfowl; he tells me that Canada Geese frequently stop here in this oasis in the heart of London.

On the East Front of the Palace, about which I wrote in an earlier blog after attending the Changing of the Guard, I focus mostly on details.

Note this little cherub "guarding" a key hole on the end gate towards the north end of the Palace. The tumbling cherub is modelled on William Gilbert's infant daughter. Today, it seems, opening and closing the gates is entirely electronic, and security barriers rise as soon as a vehicle enters or leaves. I watch an armed policeman "go ballistic" when a woman foolishly wanders through the open gate as the security mechanism rises; she quickly retreats, now aware that these guards with their assault guns are not here to amuse the tourists. Was it Victoria who famously said, "We are not amused"?

Above, the main gate, designed and built by the Bromsgrove Guild, in 1905. Founded by William Gilbert in 1897, the Bromsgrove Guild was formed to provide employment for those craftsmen previously working in defunct industries in Bromgrove.

The sculptured Royal Arms were designed by Louis Weingartner, an exceptionally gifted sculptor. I wander to the south of the Palace into Green Park.

Canada Gate (insert beaver with maple leave in teeth) on the south side of Green Park. Curiously, I find almost no information about the history of the gate.

Canada Memorial sculpted by the French-Canadian artist Pierre Granche (1948-1997). It pays tribute to the Canadians who participated in the two World Wars. The monument is made of bronze and polished red granite, with inset bronze maple leaves that resemble leaves floating downstream. At the top of walkway is a compass with this inscription in English and French: In two world wars one million Canadians came to Britain and joined the fight for freedom. From danger shared, our friendship prospers. The walkway is in the direction of Halifax-to-London, as most of the Canadians departed from Halifax to London to join the war efforts.

Children and adults walk all over the monument despite a sign clearly asking people not to do so out of respect for those it commemorates. But it is designed in such a way that it seems to invite people to walk on it, to allow the tumbling water sliding across its surface to wet ones toes!

I try to capture the effect of the inch of water gliding over the inset bronze maple leaves. Earlier, I was told that Britons actually like Canadians (and I never saw evidence suggesting otherwise) and the name Canada features prominently in divers places: Trafalgar Square, Canary Wharf, here in Green Park. I spoke to the youth members of a Canadian Rifle Team (including one Bluenoser) who were lounging around Canada Gate, dressed in bright red, maple-leaf emblazoned jackets.

I abandon Royalty and the Parks around Buckingham Palace and go, once more, in search of Henry John Burton Marriott, this time starting in Notting Hill. Jack used to tell me that he once lived in Bayswater but on today's maps it seems more like Notting Hill, just off Portobello Road, the famous area lined with hundreds of small shops or stalls, many selling antiques, retro clothes, and the like. My own guidebook tells me that "in the 1950s and 1960s, Notting Hill became a centre for the Caribbean Community and today is a vibrant cosmopolitan part of London." Apparently, some British actor made a movie named Notting Hill.

As I wander along Portobello Street, I find one of the orginal shops, new at about the time Henry Marriott moved here.

Looking north along one section of Portobello Street.

Multi-coloured shop fronts on a section of Portobello, which today is not very crowded. On the August Bank Holiday Week-end this area is home to Europe's largest street carnival, but I shall miss it. Below, various scenes from Notting Hill.

The Marriotts moved to this upscale neighbourhood in the 1890s, having originated in Lewisham on the south side of the Thames (and they returned to their roots in about 1904) and were here for the 1901 London Census. Jack Marriott revisted his home in 1937 and took photographs of the surroundings, especially No. 4 Colville Gardens, below.

Jack noted that already by 1937 the facade had changed, and it has obviously changed since, but not so much as to be unrecognizable.

Jack wrote that it was on this corner of Colville Square that his father waited for the bus to take him to the London Stock Exchange, where he was a stockbroker. Above, as recorded in 1937; below, 70 years later. (I note that the doorways have mostly, but one, been shifted to the other side of these houses.)

When Jack was a schoolboy, he attended Beauclerc School, over the doorway of which was written, "For the sons of gentlemen." In his 1937 photo, the school, No. 11, was the porch on which a woman stands.

Today it is unclear to me which apartment once housed his school.

The day has passed quickly and my useless knee has started to swell, so I walk back to Notting Hill Gate Station, catch the Underground to Baker Street, and walk over to Marylebone Station to catch a train for home. (I am becoming clever in London: I now know that even I can walk faster from Baker Street Station to Marylebone Station than it takes me on the Underground.)

I will return to London once more, on Saturday, for a matinee performance at the Theatre Royal Haymarket of Waiting for Godot, featuring Sir Ian McKellan and Patrick Stewart.