Chapter Three: In Which We See Dead People, Visit Londinium, and Buy Underwear

Another day, another English breakfast. Wednesday’s plan: visit St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Museum of London. After a brief discussion about rain, we decided to walk. We passed through Red Lion Square and saw the house where Dante Gabriel Rossetti lived for a year, followed by William Morris for several. Around the corner, we came upon a pub with this sign:

Internet research indicates much speculation about the whereabouts and state of Cromwell’s remains, so who knows? Still, you don’t see signs like this in Toronto.

We went down High Holborn Street, Chancery Lane, and Fleet Street. On Fleet Street, we were impressed by the size of the Royal Courts of Justice.
This picture only shows about 3/4 of the building.

To the left of it, on a traffic island, is St. Clement Danes, designed by Christopher Wren in 1680. In front of it is the Temple Bar Memorial, which stands at the entrance to the City of London, where the monarch asks permission to enter the city on state occasions.


Across the street, Twinings tea shop:


Just east of that, the Law Courts branch of Lloyds Bank. Nice ATM lobby!


Here’s a vestige of Fleet Street’s past:


A little further, and St. Paul’s was in sight. Unfortunately, one is not allowed to take pictures inside St. Paul’s.


We were especially impressed with the ceiling mosaics, not to mention the sheer number of memorials and tombs of famous and not-so-famous dead people: Florence Nightingale, John Donne, John A. MacDonald (who knew?), Joshua Reynolds, Lord Nelson. Many were quite ornate, especially the Duke of Wellington’s, which was so huge that Sara didn’t notice it when she first walked past it. Christopher Wren’s memorial and tomb are exceedingly simple, but as his plaque says: Lector, si monumentum requires, circumspice: Reader, if you’re looking for a monument, look around! The crypt also housed a cafeteria; it was strange seeing marble monuments tucked into corners next to a cash register.

Outside, we came upon a statue of John Wesley, father of Methodism (we saw his portrait yesterday at the National Portrait Gallery). Sara, baptized Methodist, felt compelled to stand with her spiritual father.


Nearby was was a stone inscribed with words spoken by Winston Churchill during the Blitz: In war, resolution; in defeat, defiance; in victory, magnanimity; in peace, goodwill. We think this is a memorial to the Night Watch who helped save London during the Blitz.

It was quite moving to read about how the Cathedral's Watch saved a very old and flammable building from destruction. An interpretive panel inside spoke of training drills for men, "many of whom were not in the prime of life," so that they would be able to run up and down the hundreds of steeply pitched steps to the top of the dome, the second highest church dome in the world, after St. Peter's.

Further along is St. Paul’s Cross.


By this time we were getting a bit peckish so we stopped at a French café just outside Paternoster Square for a café au lait and some excellent hot chocolate, some of which Kelly ended up wearing due to an unfortunate move on Sara’s part. The portion she ingested, however, was worthy of the name “hot chocolate”; it was like drinking warm chocolate pudding. She will seek this out again before the trip is over, first making sure that Sara has been secured.

Also outside Paternoster Square, some bobbies on horseback. The crownpieces of the horses’ bridles matched the bands on the bobbies’ hats.


We cut through Paternoster Square on our way to the Museum of London and ran into these bronze sheep, who were being herded straight towards the Paternoster Chop House. Unfortunate placement.


On our way up St. Martin’s Le Grand, we passed Little Britain Street; talk about claustrophobic!


The Museum of London:


The bottom floor of the museum was closed for “refurbishing,” but we got to see some good stuff from pre-history all the way to the Great Fire in 1666. An ancient British skull with a hole in the top (which apparently showed 5 years’ healing from a battle wound) was guaranteed to make Sara weak in the knees. The parts on Roman London (Londinium) were especially interesting (did you know that Julius Caesar also arrived via Heathrow, and that wealthy Romans had radiant flooring?) A short film on the Black Death reinforced the queasiness. By the time we got to Cromwell the jackhammers below were really starting to rattle our skulls. We left the museum through a display on the Great Fire, in which we learned that Samuel Pepys was a man after Sara's own heart: deciding what to save as the fire made its way closer, Sam got a friend to help him dig a hole in which to bury his parmesan cheese. No details on whether the cheese survived.

By now it was 3:30, way past our lunchtime, so we hurried up the road to Charterhouse Street, the site of Smithfield Market. Across the street was Smiths of Smithfield, a happening place where we dined on steak, rocket and parmesan sandwich and Welsh rarebit with ham and pickled onion, with a side of chips and mayo. And the obligatory pints.


One last task before heading home: underwear. Weary from excessive walking, we used our Oysters for the first time since arriving in London. We caught the tube to Marble Arch (just about passed out – no AC in the tube!) and went to Marks and Spencer, land of sensible underwear. What’s a trip to M&S without going to the food hall? We stocked up on parsnip crisps and tea, and got some salad, olives and hummus for supper (100% bacon-free). Caught a double-decker bus back to the hotel where we have spent the evening blogging…

Heavy rain forecast for Friday so we might just hang out next door at the British Museum.