Of Cabbages and Kings

When I was younger, I had a thing for the British monarchy. Still do, in a limited way: am historically obsessed with Queen Victoria (Emily Blunt has nothing to do with it); cannot help myself but get up at ungodly hours to watch expensive pagentry like the recent Wills-Kate wedding ("I love this shit," I explained to my goggle-eyed colleagues); and am quite fond of QE II. So imagine how I felt when we kept running into Henry VIII on our recent holiday to London.


This young fellow's slightly stunned expression, also upon seeing Henry for the first time, might give you some sense.


We were at Hampton Court Palace, one of the many royal palaces, both historic (like Kensington Palace and the Tower of London) and "working" (like Buckingham and Windsor Castles), held in trust for the nation by the Queen, and open for your touristic enjoyment (for a fee of course). Feel free to register skepticism ... but then take a trip to one or more of these palaces and you'll be amazed at the wealth of art and history therein. (And whatever you may think of Elizabeth Windsor and her family past and present, it's worth remembering that these sites and all the stuff in them belong to the people of the United Kingdom, should they ever rise up against the future Charles III and demand that he go plant some organic cabbages somewhere.)

Hampton Court Palace is really 2 palaces -- the 16th century court of Henry VIII, and abutting it a palace for King William and Queen Mary, built in the late 17th century by Christopher Wren. The palace began life in the 13th century as a barn for the Knights Hopsitallers, changing purpose over the years as a royal guesthouse, a courtier's home, and eventually the estate of Henry VIII's trusted cardinal, Thomas Wolsey. Trusted, that is, until he could not obtain a divorce for Henry. Fallen from favour, Wolsey lost Hampton Court to Henry.

The Tudor palace was by far my favorite of the two sections of Hampton Court. It seems that remodellers are the same in every century; Wren's plan had been to rip the whole thing down and build an entirely new palace. Luckily for history, he ran put of money before he could accomplish his goal, and much of the Tudor palace remained. It is full of beautiful architectural embellishments, such as its collection of chimneys:




And assorted gargoyles...



One of them bears more than a passing resemblance to the little orange guy:


For me, though, the absolute best part was that the Tudor kitchens were open and working the day that we went. We walked past Henry's butchery:

Much plastic was harmed in the creation of this historical vignette.

And a prep room full of (plaster) pies, looking for all the world as if they were ready to go into an oven.


And into the kitchens where the cooks were preparing to roast a joint. Or several. Real ones.


Onto the spit:


Onto the fire:


Eventually to come off looking summat like this:


Alas, our enjoyment was only to be visual. Health and Safety dictates that only those that done the cooking can do the eating. Though we later found some pretty decent Cumberland sausages in the restaurant.


I don't want to do any injustice to the 17th century palace of William and Mary, and later Queen Anne, who made splendid gardens.





But the fact is, between the smell of beef and lamb roasting over a wood fire and an honest-to-goodness king who kept appearing out of nowhere, those Orange-Stuarts never really stood a chance of engaging my interest as much as Mr. Tudor himself. Having already met him once in an outdoor courtyard, we were surprised to turn a corner and find him again, with the Queen (#6 -- Kateryn Parr) seated and waiting for an audience. I really don't know what people mean when they say that the royal family is "inaccessible." I mean, really -- you can see the delight in his face as he contemplates a chit-chat with the regular folks.


Shortly after this we had a chat with one of the warders about the Victorian (love her!) restoration of Henry's Great Room, particularly the stained glass windows. Victoria was the one to see the amazing potential of the palaces if they were opened up to the ordinary paying public. The benefit of this is that much of the original Tudor architecture and design, which had been garishly covered up in the intervening centuries, was once again revealed. It is extraordinary; people flock here to step foot where royalty once did, or in the case of a working palace, still do. Would it be so powerful a draw if there weren't still a monarchy? I'm not sure.


Contemplating large questions such as this, we left the Great Room, turned the corner and --you guessed it-- nearly walked into Henry. "Oh my God, its the bloody King AGAIN," I believe I uttered. It was impossible to get rid of this guy!


Would the sudden --and repeated-- appearance of William and Mary be quite so riveting? I doubt it. This place is all really about Henry; they even lend out little velvet robes so that you can be dressed in keeping with the court. No such mass costuming for WM -- would you parade around all day in a powdered wig? I didn't think so.


There's little dignity in a powdered wig.