Encounters on The City streets. . .

We went off to London for the day: Ellie to research a painting in the Library of the National Portrait Gallery, and me to chance encounters on London streets.
With a little time to kill, we came up in the crowds in Trafalgar Square, and wandered around a bit, dropping into the foyer of the London Coliseum – currently home to the English National Opera, where we met these ladies of the early 20th century.

Walking back through some lanes to Trafalgar Square, this large cat that guards Lord Nelson’s column seemed upset; I went to find why, and on the lawn of the National Gallery found the gentleman below. He was faintly familiar, having caused a ruckus with the Brits a few years back. The original life-sized marble George Washington (1785) is in the Virginia Statehouse rotunda; we had been amazed at its detail when we visited last year. The London bronze copy is a gift made some 125 years later.
















Strolling through the Victoria Embankment Gardens along the River Thames I was introduced me to many men of history: William Tyndale published The Bible in English in 1526, and was burned for his troubles ten years later. In societies older than ours, religion was the root of war and martyrdom: In England alone, more than 1,000 people were burned between 1400 and 1557 for the sake of the Gospel.




More recently Churchill said of the Battle of Britain (1940) “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.” A few thousand mostly teenage men jumped in flimsy airplanes to keep the German air force at bay. A vivid bronze monument to “The Few” reminds us that over a third lost their lives in that battle, and not half survived the War.










Nearby a tall gentleman named Ben has watched this city since 1859.











In a quiet corner of the Gardens elderly ladies stop to wonder what this old fellow has done to deserve the eternal attention of a sorrowful and underclothed maiden. Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842-1990) is remembered here, and given the first stanza of Gilbert’s words from Fairfax’s lament in Yeomen of the Guard (1883).





Is life a boon?
If so, it must befall
That Death, whene'er he call,
Must call too soon.
Though fourscore years he give,
Yet one would pray to live
Another moon!
What kind of plaint have I,
Who perish in July?
I might have had to die,
Perchance, in June!

Is life a thorn?
Then count it not a whit!
Man is well done with it;
Soon as he's born
He should all means essay
To put the plague away;
And I, war-worn,
Poor captured fugitive,
My life most gladly give -
I might have had to live,
Another morn!

Best known for the operettas sometimes produced in cow barns by spirited amateurs, Sullivan was his day’s premier composer of serious works, as well as many chestnuts of the Anglican book of hymns. Not familiar with his melody for St. Gertrude? (If you turn your speakers on, your blood will be stirred with an anthem of the Christian imperialism of Sullivan's day.)


Wandering with a map but not much direction, I happened through Covent Garden, but was unable to find an appealing flower girl among the hip hop artists. Maybe I should ask my wife what street she lives on.

















Upon conclusion of Ellie’s research labors, we made our way through St. John’s Gate (1504) on the way to Stuart R. Stevenson, by appointment to Her Majesty the Queen Suppliers of Artist and Gilding Materials, in Clerkenwell.

Surrounded by pens, inks, papers, brushes, and strange tools of all sorts, Mr. Stevenson was a font of knowledge about gilding and with the monastic order of Knights Hospitaller (having much to do with the aforementioned gate). Ellie purchased strange tools that will make her gilder's life simpler, and we came out into the London night, hoping to return again shortly.