Sights and sounds in a unique and treasurable city
I am in Penn Station, New York, buying a ticket for the Long Island Railroad. The screen tells me, “Authorising.” I’m like, “What the …?” Why am I seeing this British spelling in Penn Station?
• Some hours later, I am in Britain — London, and Heathrow Airport, in particular. A sign says “Baggage Reclaim.” Interesting, that wording. At home, I tend to see, and hear, “Baggage Claim.”
The thing that charges, or recharges, your phone — is it a “charger” or a “recharger”? Are you “charging” or “recharging”? Both, I suppose. I’m never quite sure which to say. But also — you can’t really lose.
• I have been coming to Heathrow Airport since 1982. And, for the first time, I don’t see a person. I mean, there are thousands of people here — travelers. But I don’t see a person as I go through immigration. Just a machine. Smile for the camera and, lickety-split, you’re in (if everything is in order).
Boy, is it fast. Boy, is it convenient. I would not want to go back to the old way. Still, I sort of miss talking to a person. “What is the purpose of your stay?” and all that.
I once got a lead, or “lede,” out of that — the opening of a magazine article. That was in 2014. I’ll quote:
An immigration officer at Heathrow Airport asks why I have come to the United Kingdom. I say I’ve come to do some work. He then asks about my job, and I answer. He further asks me what my particular assignment in London is. I’m going to interview a government minister, I say. “Which minister?” he asks. “Michael Gove,” I respond.
He scratches his head. “You work for an American magazine, and you’re going to interview our education minister? My guess is, most Americans don’t know who our prime minister is.”
Fair enough.
• At Paddington Station, there is a sign that advises the unwary, or potentially unwary: “Do not become the victim of crime.” I like the directness of this sign, and many others in Britain. I really do.
• I also like this pun:
• I also like Benny Hill, very much. He was seen as a low-brow comedian (understandably). But there was a touch of genius about him. Johnny Carson thought so, among many others. Benny was an interesting man, very intelligent, who lived an individualistic life.
A blue plaque marks the spot — the spot of the home that Benny lived in from 1960 to 1986:
• Kickoff is at 12:30 — 12:30 a.m. I am speaking of the National College Football Championship. I am able to watch the game, online, thanks to a VPN (a virtual private network). I think of the Russians — Russians who want news and other material from the outside. They use VPNs with abandon. The government has warned sternly against this.
(A year ago, I wrote a piece on the information war, generally. It includes the issue of VPNs. For that piece, go here.)
• The day after — the day after the game — I see a man in Kensington Gardens who’s wearing a Michigan cap. A cap showing the block M of the University of Michigan. “Go Blue,” I say. He returns this salutation.
We are national champions . . .
• The Albert Memorial — the memorial to Prince Albert — is impressive. Even dazzling. It is especially so with the sun on it, like a spotlight.
• A monument in honor of Speke — Captain John Hanning Speke (1827–67), who explored Africa, reaching Lake Victoria:
• This is not Bruce Jenner, or Caitlyn Jenner, or any other member of that family, but Edward Jenner, the great physician, who pioneered vaccines. He lived from 1749 to 1823. He created the smallpox vaccine. Among many, vaccines are in bad odor — but they have been lifesavers for many millions.
• Hang on, now: Don’t we know it’s a London street already?
• This one is not named for Peter Frampton, the rocker. It is named for Sir George James Frampton, a sculptor (1860–1928).
• I like a yellow church — don’t you? I think of St. John’s Church, in Washington, across from the White House. The one below has a similar name: St. John’s Wood Church.
• Ah, Lord’s — where they play cricket. (I have never seen a cricket match. I was born into a different game, a younger cousin of cricket.)
Why is it called “Lord’s Cricket Ground”? The name has nothing to do with the Bible or the upper chamber of Parliament. The venue is named after its founder, Thomas Lord (1755–1832).
• You know who lives in this ’hood? Two musicians: Paul McCartney and Murray Perahia. They live a couple of doors down from each other. (Perahia is a pianist, one of the greatest of our time.) (Unlike McCartney, he is an American — who has chosen to live most of his life here in London.)
• Who was another American who chose to live in London? You are right: T. S. Eliot, blue-plaqued:
• Have a shot of “Little Venice”:
No gondoliers in sight, but …
• One of my favorite place-names is “Maida Vale.” Isn’t that a beautiful phrase? It is the name of another neighborhood in this city. Maida is a place in Italy, where a battle was fought in 1806: the Brits (who were victorious) versus the French.
• I’m thinkin’: That is not a slogan that’d work back home (“Fancy a McDonald’s?”):
• I love the wording of this sign:
I like this one, too:
And this one:
Wonderful word to see on a sign: “unsuitable.”
Hey!
Words to live by: “no antisocial driving.” Hear, hear (as they say in these parts).
• This is clever, in front of an optometrist’s shop:
• I can’t help thinking of the 1990s, back home:
• Sometimes, the name of something just tells you what the something is, or aims to be:
• On the streets of London, I hear a lot of Russian spoken — perhaps even more than I do in New York. I understand the desire of Russians to live elsewhere.
• Woody Harrelson is in this one — this play. The name of the playwright, David Ireland, makes me think of John Ireland, the composer. (The composer lived from 1879 to 1962.) When I was a kid, I assumed John Ireland was Irish. He was English. The playwright, however, was born in Belfast (in 1976).
• Near the London Zoo, I hear the animals roaring (and making the other sounds they make). That is an extraordinary thing, to hear in a big city: the sounds of wild animals. So incongruous.
• Is there a better sound in all the world than that of children playing gaily? The London parks are full of it (like parks pretty much everywhere else).
• This fellow is a denizen of the Round Pond, in front of Kensington Palace. I think of a tenor of yore — and lore: Leo Slezak. Once, there was a mishap in Lohengrin. His ride (a swan) left without him. Slezak quipped, immortally, “What time’s the next swan?”
• I can’t give you a good shot of the Round Pond. My camera won’t allow it. Or maybe the owner of the camera can’t do it. In any event, here is a slice:
• I don’t need to be at the Round Pond to think of Paul Johnson, the late British historian and writer (and a friend of mine). I don’t even need to be in London. But I certainly think of him at this spot. In 2007, he began an article, “My favourite spot in London is the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens. I like to sit there, preferably early in the morning, and watch the waterfowl.”
(For my appreciation of Johnson, published a year ago, go here.)
• An earlier Johnson made a well-known statement — well, many, but I am thinking of one in particular: “He who is tired of London is tired of life.” I am, manifestly (a Bill Buckley word), not tired of life.
What a glorious city, capital of a glorious culture.
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