Michael’s Travel Diary

March

March 16

I arrived in the UK. The flight was good, uneventful. British Air food is pretty good, as airline food goes, and I was able to get some sleep. We touched down just before seven-thirty after an overnight flight. Things went exceptionally well at the terminal. Passport control was not crowded, my baggage was in baggage claim when I arrived, and the paperwork for the rental car only required my signature. I reached my hotel by nine o’clock, was able to check in, and I was on my way to Windsor Castle half-an-hour later. Traffic was relatively light, since it was Sunday morning.

I’m not sure that anyone knows why the British drive on the left, while most of the world drives on the right. You hear explanations. For example, in the middle ages, knights rode on the left since they held their lances in their right hands. Therefore, the British drive on the left.

Of course, French knights, Spanish knights, and German knights would have ridden on the left, too, but the French, the Germans, and the Spanish drive on the right. It is said that Americans drive n the right because wagons drivers held their whips in their right hands, and they did not want to hit a passing driver. Of course, this would have been true in England, too. Who knows?

Driving on the left is bad enough, but most cars have manual gear shifts, and shifting with the left hand is awkward. I drove in the UK two years ago, though, and it did come back to me. Back then, I was so timid that other cars tried to run me over, but this time, well, I was more assertive! At least, I didn’t hit anything!

I reached Windsor Castle just after opening time. As one approaches the entrance, there are seats, lines of seats, for people awaiting their turns to enter. Two years ago, we sat for an hour, waiting out turn. Today, the seats were empty, and I walked right in. The weather is very cool, still, in March, and few tourists are around. In fact, I heard very few American voices around the Castle; most of the visitors today seemed to be English.

I spent most of the day photographing and sketching the Castle. The Round Tower is what one generally thinks of when thinking of Windsor, and I was able to record it at different times of day, in different light. At one point in the afternoon, dark clouds gathered, and I just had time for a quick sketch of a shaft of light, breaking through the clouds, shining directly on the Round Tower. I would never have been able to imagine that image!

 I had supper at a pub. We found, when we were here a couple of years ago, that pub food is quite good, and relatively inexpensive. Bangers and mash were delicious. I thought about Allison as I sat at supper. Well. I thought about her much of the day, as I drew. We had such a good time when we were here; planned to come back, actually, this year. Never thought things would turn out as they have, that I would be back, but be back, alone.

March 18

St Paul’s Cathedral is so large that it seems smaller than it truly is. I always find it strange that most English cathedrals are empty; there are no permanent places to sit in the nave. So unlike American churches, even American cathedrals, with rows of pews. I understand that, historically, there were no pews or chairs, that the congregation stood and talked, perhaps transacted business, during the service, but I still feel surprised when I walk into an empty nave. Often, there is no need for seats in the nave. Attendance is so small that worshippers can be accommodated in the choir. Those cathedrals with active parishes are different, I know. I recall one, northeast of London, which not only had pews filling the nave, it had monitors so those in the back could see what was taking place at the altar.

I climbed into the great dome of the Cathedral and looked down at the high altar. A different perspective, to be sure!

March 21

It’s after midnight. I just returned from the Tower of London, where I witnessed the Ceremony of the Keys. The ceremony is the official closing of the Tower for the night, when the gates are locked and those inside the walls can safely go to sleep. There were about twenty of us there, tonight, for the Ceremony. One of the Beefeaters explained the purpose, told us that it had occurred continuously since the eleventh century. As we waited, a guard slouched at his post by the entrance to the castle. Suddenly, he heard the sound of men walking toward him from the outside gate. He sprang to attention, his rifle ready. “Who goes there?” he cried. “The keys!” was the response. “Whose keys?” “Queen Elizabeth’s keys.” “Queen Elizabeth’s keys may enter!”

The British feel that ceremonies are important, even those like the Ceremony of the Keys that are mostly symbolic. I mean, the outside gates were not locked for the night at that point in time. The visitors, at least, were allowed to leave! On the surface, Americans appear to have lost their need for such things. I say, on the surface, because underneath, we all crave order and tradition. Ceremonies help us satisfy those cravings.

As I reached my hotel, I wanted to tell Allusion what I had seen. I realized, quickly, of course, that had she been with me, she would have seen the ceremony, herself. I made some tea and checked my email. You know, Allison doesn’t even know where I am, tonight or what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be thinking about her, but it’s early in Charleston, just after seven, and I wonder where she is, what she is doing.

March 22

I went back to the Tower this afternoon. I took the tour. The crown jewels are magnificent! The oldest part of the Tower is almost a thousand years old, built by William the Conqueror. It was used as a prison into this century. Some of the cells had been “decorated” as they might have appeared during medieval times. Not very inviting. A scaffold stands in the courtyard near where, it is believed, one stood during the sixteenth century, where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, Henry’s wives lost their heads. As angry as I am at Allison, I think that’s a bit extreme as a punishment for adultery. Of course, adultery against the King was considered to be treason, so I suppose it was different! Allison has never spoken to me about what happened. Never said she’s sorry. Maybe she isn’t. I wonder if Henry’s wives behaved like Allison.

Most of the afternoon was spent sketching the tower. I drew it from a number of perspectives. I even drew the ravens that live there. The story is that, if the ravens ever leave the Tower, then England will fall. We were told that a prudent administrator had the staff clip the birds’ wings so that they could not fly away! That’s cheating!

I was leaving at dusk, and I photographed the Tower as the walls were illumined for the night and lights began to appear in the windows of the buildings where the beefeaters and their families live. Night scenes are some of my favorites.

March 25

When Americans speak of “the changing of the guard,” they typically refer to the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, complete with a military parade and a marching band. Just as interesting, although smaller in scale, is the changing of the guard at the Horse Guards Barracks. I was there at eleven this morning. The ceremony was impressive, but my attention was drawn to the guards who sat, mounted, in front of the gates. They sit, immobile, looking neither to the left nor the right, ignoring the throngs that pass in front of them. As I watched, a teen-aged girl, an America, judging by her accent, approached the guards shortly before the ceremony began. She wanted to know if, in fact, the ceremony was to be held this morning. She walked up to one of them, a young man who might have been three years older than she, and she posed the question, “Will you have the changing of the guard this morning?” Looking closely, I noted no change in the guard’s expression. He did not turn toward her; he did not smile or frown; there was no movement of his eyes, just the slightest tip of his head. “At eleven o’clock?” He gave the same sign.

March 27

Buckingham Palace is a fairly new building, by English standards. Queen Victoria was its first occupant, in the 1800’s. It is, though, the official residence of the Queen. It is a massive structure; the White House is a log cabin by comparison. The Queen’s flag was visible above the Palace, indicating that she was in residence, today.

The Palace is surrounded by an iron fence and, in front, a parade ground. It is not an ornate building, just a massive, stone structure. As I stood by the fence, I noticed a small guard house, in front of the Palace. There was a soldier, red coat, black pants, and a tall bear skin hat, pacing back and forth, a rifle over his left shoulder. The soldier’s red coat stood out as the sole bit of color in a monochromatic scene. As I watched, I was struck by the discrepancy between the lone guard and the massive building. How could something so small protect something so large?

The British seem to pay less attention to security than do Americans. Tourists standing outside of the Palace, as I did, see only a handful of soldiers. While you know that there must be more guards than you see, the comparison with the White House is dramatic! At St James Palace, pedestrians walk within a few feet of the building, and I saw a lone sentry standing guard. I recall that Allison was amazed at the apparent lack of security. Do the British feel less need of security, or do they feel less need to show that it exists?