| BURY ST. EDMUNDS
July 7, Saturday
It was a six-hour journey from Warwick to Bury St. Edmunds, over an hour of which was spent in Victoria Station in London. Bob and I have spent untold hours in Victoria Station over the years. It almost seems like home. Since we were last there, though, they have added a number of quick-food services with decent-looking baked goods and even Cornish Pasties. Home has become even homier.
We had bought good pasties in Stratford on Thursday just for this trip, so we had our own with us. We ate them in the sumptuous international dining room of rows of metal seats lined up before the glass doors to the bus stalls. You can get on a bus in London and ride to Paris or Prague. Women in Indian silks and men in turbans rub elbows with half-dressed London punks and American tourists dressed by L. L. Bean.
Traveling by bus is like taking a tour. The world goes by your window. I carry a book with me on long bus rides, but almost never read it. There's too much to see and learn out the window. Time on this trip went by quickly, and soon we were in Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk. Bob and my long-time friends, Syd and Marian Rutland, met us at the bus. For Bob and me, it was a joyful reunion with the Rutlands, as we had not seen each other for four years. The family was introduced, and we rolled our luggage behind us on a walk with Syd and Marian through Bury's town center to their historic Suffolk Pink house at 18 Bridewell Lane.
We dumped the luggage in the laundry room and breakfast room, then we repaired to the back garden. There's a patio just outside their kitchen door, with an umbrella-shaded table and chairs. The rest of what we would call a “yard” and the English call “garden” was raised beds of several levels filled with greenery and flowers. It's a beautiful, even elegant, and restful spot, fenced and very private.
The early evening was warm and sunny. We desported ourselves around on the chairs and the brick walls of the raised beds, relaxed, and enjoyed drinks and snacks. Small talk flowed, and Syd gave a bit of the provenance of the house to the family. To them, as it was to us when we first started coming to Britain, the idea of living in a hundreds-years-old house is mind-boggling. They hung on his every word about ancient walls, varied dwellers, and the old pub that once occupied those walls and floors.
After the group had rested and relaxed, we went into the house for a light supper. To get dusted up the fellows were sent to a small lavatory in the front hall, and the girls were sent upstairs to the “B&B room.” This quaint old room under the eaves is now Marian's study, but for a few years they rented it out as bed and breakfast. A tiny, but full bathroom is tucked in a corner. It's a room out of the old English novels to me, and I've always especially taken to it. Amy and Lisa found it so fascinating that they almost forgot why they had come up to it in the first place.
We gathered around Syd and Marian's long dining table. On one side of the table is a huge walk-in fireplace from olden days, and on the other side, a large rectangle of the wall has been left without plaster to display the much older rubble wall underneath. The family was fascinated with so much visual history in a private home. Marian was a most gracious, and very English hostess for the supper, which everyone truly enjoyed.
After supper we collected our baggage and Marian led us through a back way from their house to The Glen, our B&B in Bury. Syd was busy juggling cars for the next day. It was dark by then. We dragged our suitcases through a short lane and down the streets of Bury. Street lights illuminated the old rows of terraced houses like a Dickens novel.
We walked by St. Mary's Church, and Amy was so taken by the overflowing flower boxes on the church fence rails that she came back the next day to photograph them. Part of our way, after an alley, the Dickens streets, and a car park, was along a country footpath. There was a wide wooden gate at the end of the path. As we were walking, a fellow came up from the side lane, sprang up on the gate and sat there on the top rail, silhouetted in light from the lane beyond the gate. I thought that was rather cheeky and wondered why he would do that, as we had to go through that gate. When we got closer, the cheeky fellow turned out to be Syd. We met merrily, and he joined us for the rest of the walk.
The Glen, our B&B, was another big house with history. It obviously was originally several small cottages. Each room had its own staircase. Lisa, Gordy, and Josh's room had its own staircase and landing. The whole of the landing was theirs. No one else was up there. One other room opened onto our staircase landing besides ours, but since our bathroom was ensuite, attached to our room, we had complete privacy. So did Amy and Craig's, but they went up different staircase. That night, when I was pulling the curtains, I could see Craig doing the same in another wing of the house.
July 8, Sunday
We came down our stairs in the morning to a breakfast room filled with brilliant sunshine. Windows and doors were thrown open onto a large back garden, and the light poured in. The breakfast room was a large room, furnished in traditional dark woods. The long clawfoot table for our group of seven was draped with a lovely cloth and beautifully set with butter, jams, marmalade, sugar, and pitchers of milk. Matching Chippendale-style chairs around the table added to the feeling of graceful dining.
Everyone ordered the full English breakfast. You could see people's eyes get big when the hot plate with fried egg, sausage, back bacon, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried bread was set in front of them. Then came the racks of toast and pots of hot black tea. Even though they knew what to expect in a Full English breakfast, this exceeded their expectations in Fullness , not to mention being absolutely hot and fresh. There wasn't a crumb or a bean left on those plates.
Breakfast done, teeth brushed, daypacks loaded, we were ready to take on the day by nine o-clock. We met Syd in front of the B&B to go to the Abbey Gardens for the first event of the day. He led us by the back lanes to the Gardens. The grassy greens of the garden lawns are dominated by ruins of the medieval abbey that once stood on that earth, soared to the sky, and ruled the lands about. Syd played tour guide, and we all followed him around the ruins. Bob and I have walked around the ruins many times and have visited the Abbey gift shop and looked at the diagrams and histories. We should just have packed Syd with us. He really knows the grounds and history, and the kids were fascinated. We were fascinated, and learned new facts.
From the historic ruins, we moved to the elegant award-winning formal Abbey Gardens and the famous Abbey Gate. This impressive stone entry gate still stands in its entirety. Dickens wrote about it in Pickwick Papers. I have run into mention of it in other older English novels, also. Near the gate is the world's first Internet Bench. It has been there for six years or so. It was donated by Bill Gates. You can sit there with the stunning formal flower garden spread before you, your computer on your lap, and plug into the world. The big mystery is how Bill Gates even knew about the small market town of Bury St. Edmunds in England.
It is not far from the Abbey to18 Bridewell Lane. When we got there, Marian was busy putting together a picnic for later on in the day. I helped her chop, slice, and wrap while Syd gave the family a tour of their historic home.
The topper of the tour was the visit to the basement where the kegs were stored when the house was a pub. Hector the Ghost lives down there. Syd told everyone about Hector. At first Josh was wide-eyed and hesitant about that part of the tour. He soon realized it was a game, and scampered down the stairs with the rest. Hector must have been sleeping, because he didn't bother them.
Syd drove a rental car, and Marian drove their car for the afternoon outing. With some careful packing, we got nine people, a picnic lunch, and piles of daypacks into the two cars. First stop in this part of the tour was Ickworth House, a manor now owned by the National Trust.
The National Trust is an organization whose purpose is to preserve properties of historic or ecological significance or of great natural beauty. The Trust owns castles, manors, tracts of land, shorelines, and even whole historic villages. National Trust values Ickworth not only because it is an historic manor. It is also an architecturally unique design. A domed central Georgian rotunda is the main living part of the manor. The rotunda is flanked by two curving wings, one of which was built for the sole purpose of balancing the design. Syd and Marian have volunteered at Ickworth, so they know the manor well.
Syd planned the visit carefully. We began in the extensive gardens and lawns that surround the manor, more wonderful landscape design by Capability Brown. There were elegant formal terraces, green-lined lanes, and flower beds bursting with color. The first full view of the manor was from the end of a long, wide, avenue lined with sculptured round shrubs accented by graceful, pointed, Italian cypress. We promenaded up the avenue with Marian and Syd every bit as if we were guests of the Lord of the Manor out for a stroll before tea.
Bob and I had been to Ickworth before, perhaps in the late nineties. I was surprised how much I remembered about it. The draperies in the public rooms are beyond elegant. Absolute rivers of heavy velvets and brocades flow down from huge elaborate valances. The National Trust is meticulous. When they set out of restore a room, such as in this manor, they analyze tattered remains and create the exact fabrics that would have been used historically, including executing them by hand weaving and dying.
We were again, as at Warwick Castle, pleasantly surprised at how much interest nine-year-old Joshua showed in the richly elegant rooms and elaborate furniture. He didn't get bored nearly as quickly as we thought he would. I had fun discovering things with him like claw foot table legs and lion heads in baroque carvings. He might remember those some day in an art history class.
The family was taken with the richness and elegance of the house, the sculptures, columns, and silver collection. Amy had said she wanted to see a manor while she was in England, and I think Ickworth House exceeded expectations. Having Syd and Marian there to explain things and answer questions made the tour very personalized and special.
From Ickworth we drove to Packenham Water Mill. Marian and Syd have volunteered there, too, as guides. In fact, that's where we met them in 1992. Bob and I were out biking around Suffolk looking for abandoned American WW II airfields. We saw a sign to an historic mill, so decided to take a look. Marian gave us a tour of the mill, Syd sold us a snack and we got to talking…and have been talking ever since. Marian and Syd visit us in Florida; we visit them in England. It all works out very well. Our only differences are the satisfaction quotient of red wine versus gin and tonic.
Back to Packenham Mill. Syd worked very hard this last winter with a group of volunteers to restore the old mill house and put a gift shop in it. The mill is owned by the Suffolk Building Preservation Trust, and depends on volunteers. There has been a mill of some sort on this site for nearly 1,000 years. The present mill is a working mill, grinding wholemeal flour with the power from a sixteen-foot iron waterwheel. Behind the mill is a lovely country pond, the millpond, filled by water flowing out of Packenham Fen.
Syd gave the family a step-by-step detailed tour of the mill while Marian, Bob, and I pulled and dragged picnic tables together beside the millpond. We had forgot tablecloths, but Marian knew where to hunt in the old millhouse kitchen, and found two cloths that worked just fine. We set out the chicken, quiche, pork pie, salad, and other goodies. Bob formally opened the wines. We were ready for whenever they were ready. Syd's white hat appeared out of a door across the millpond, followed by the family. They waved. We waved. They disappeared back into the mill.
After a while they appeared on our green, hungry. We had a lovely picnic by the mill pond in the lowering sun. I felt as if I were sitting in a Constable painting. Josh ran around the yard, chased ducks, and did other boy things. The rest of us sat and chatted after a leisurely meal. Too soon, it's always too soon, it was getting late and time to pack up. The family went back inside for a last look at the mill. They felt, after Syd's enthusiastic tour, a personal interest in its preservation and a sort of kinship to those volunteers working so hard to maintain and save it,
We bundled everyone and everything into the two cars and headed back into Bury St. Edmunds and The Glen B&B. It was time for bed, because tomorrow would be early to rise. We had to catch an early bus into London for a whirlwind tour of the city courtesy of Marian and Syd.
LONDON
First of all, I have to insert this email I received from Syd soon after I sent out Postcard 17 about the tour of Syd and Marian's historic home, including the basement and its resident ghost…
"I have just read PC (Postcards from Britain)17. My ghastly ghostly friend 'Orace is most upset to find himself referred to as Hector. 'Ector he might have accepted, but Hector never. Upper-class ghosts of his period regard it as rather common to sound one's aitches. As one of my schoolmasters would have said 'The haitch in 'Orace is haspirate.'
Should you lie awake tonight feeling deadly-cold fingers tapping your vertabrae, or hear a chain rattling (or at least being pulled), it will not on this occasion be Bob: it will be 'Orace seeking to make your blood run cold in revenge".
Syd
Oops! Sorry, 'Orace!
Now, off to London on July 9, Monday
Everybody, nine of us, met at the Bury St. Edmunds bus station for a ride on National Express to our old home, London Victoria Coach Station. The nine were: Lisa, Gordy, Josh, Amy, Craig, Bob, Ruth, Syd, and Marian. As per guidebooks, we were armed to take on Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus with sturdy shoes, umbrellas, cameras, daypacks, fruit bars, and water bottles. The weather was to be sunny with a few cloudy moments, mostly dry, slight chance of a shower. We couldn't ask for more.
We arrived in London at 10:45 a.m. and assembled on the sidewalk outside the bus station. Marian herded us all together and told us to wait while she purchased all-day passes for the big red London buses. Now Syd and Marian spent their working years in London, and know the city from kerbstone to church steeple. We simply gawked, listened, and moved when commanded. The cue was to "follow the white hat," Syd's floppy-brimmed cotton cricket hat.
We clambered onto our first bus, number 11, and climbed to the top deck. We rode on the top deck of the bus so that Syd and Marian could point out sites of interest and tell about them as we traveled along. One of the immediate problems we had to deal with was that it was hard to see buildings and monuments with a camera in front of your eyes. Marian and Syd then told us that we would be walking back past most of the sights, so the camera anxiety subsided.
From Victoria the bus went down Victoria St, and passed Westminster Abbey. As it entered Parliament Square, we saw the statues of Lincoln and Churchill. Why Lincoln? The Lincoln monument was erected in London's Parliament Square during the '20s to commemorate 100 years of peace among English-speaking peoples. We rode through Parliament Square and past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben's clock tower.
Traveling through Whitehall, next, we came upon the two mounted horse guards in their red uniforms and fancy red-plumed brass helmets immobile in their little guard houses. There was a panic rush to one side of the bus to get photos. Luckily no one got hurt in the stampede.
From there we rode past Downing St, through Trafalgar Square, down The Strand to the Royal Courts of Justice, down Fleet Street, past St. Paul's Cathedral, had a quick glimpse of the Royal College of Arms, and finally to the Bank of England in the City of London.
Did you know that there is Greater London, and there is the City of London? Neither did I. However, I later looked at a London map and saw it clearly. Greater London is made up of thirty-two boroughs like The Strand, West End, Soho, (actually these are not themselves boroughs, just areas with somewhat nebulous boundaries within certain boroughs) and so on, that surround the ancient City of London.
The City of London has its own police force, separate and different than the Greater London Police Force. Bob Jones, who lives in London and is a member of the Queen's Horse Guard, stopped in at the Grooms' tonight. Bob said that at one time the City of London Police Force were the only police in London to wear white shirts. He didn't know if it was still true. But if this question ever comes up on quiz night, you'll know. Also, Syd and Marian told us that the City of London has no roads; streets, lanes, alleys, yes -ßbut no roads.
The Queen cannot enter the City of London, by tradition, without an invitation from the Lord Mayor of the City of London. Once a year the Lord Mayor of the City of London throws a big banquet and invites the Queen. The Queen leaves Buckingham Palace and processes to the Temple Bar, the site of an ancient gateway to the City of London. She is met by the Lord Mayor and entourage, and offered the Keys to the City of London. Then she can go to dinner and have her turtle soup. For hundreds of years turtle soup has been served at this event, usually during the first course. What the various kings and queens did who couldn't stomach turtle soup, history does not tell us.
For 800 years, Temple Bar on Fleet Street has been the gate for the City of London. It still is. But the 1670 carved gate for Temple Bar by Christopher Wren has moved to Paternoster Square near St. Paul's Cathedral. It is too low and narrow for modern vehicles. So Temple Bar has no gate, per se. There is just a griffin on a column in the middle of Fleet Street to mark the boundary between the cities of London and Westminster. (He's a very nice griffin. We were admiring the “dragon” until Josh pointed out that it was a griffin. We took numerous photos of him.)
We tumbled off the big red bus at the Bank of England and set off on our London Walk. We got a better look at The Mansion House, the home of the Lord Mayor of the City of London, as we walked past it.
Our first stop was the church of St. Stephen Walbrook, a very early church by Christopher Wren. St. Stephen's has a dome, possibly the first dome done by Wren. But we didn't get to see it. Even though it was Sunday, the church was locked. That's because the services there are on Thursday lunch hour to accommodate the city workers who are its "congregation." Syd said that there literally was a brook running under the church wall at one time, thus the name. The brook still runs through a culvert near the church.
St. Paul's Cathedral dominates the London skyline as seen from the Thames. It is Christopher Wren's masterpiece of the over thirty churches in London that he designed. St. Paul's is surrounded by a mostly paved, park-like Churchyard.
The sunny Churchyard was filled with working folk sitting on steps or benches having sandwiches or apples or cold pork pie for their lunches as we strolled though it. At one time people filled the Churchyard to hear preaching. There was a monument, now gone, named St. Paul's Cross, Syd told us. It was a preaching point for the multitudes, and attracted large crowds in the 1500s.
Just around behind the Churchyard spreads Paternoster Square. We strolled around the square and took photos of Wren's Temple Bar carved gateway arch that once spanned Fleet Street. It boggles my mind that they can just pick up multi tons of fragile stone carvings and set it down somewhere else.
Then we turned back and passed St. Paul's Churchyard again. This time we marched off straight towards the Thames. We again passed the Royal College of Arms, where all the heraldic devices; crests, shields, emblems, and such, are designed, approved, and archived. If you want your family insignia documented and registered as authentic, these are the boys to see.
At the Thames we strolled out on the Millennium Bridge. This futuristic suspended pedestrian bridge over the Thames was built to mark the 2000 millennium. The view up and down the Thames from the bridge was wonderful. Cameras to the eye again. Marian and Syd pointed out the College of Arms as seen from the bridge, the magnificent Tower Bridge to the east and, across the bridge, the famous Tate Modern museum of art. The building that houses the Tate Modern used to be a power station. Large sculptures are displayed in former turbine hall, a vast space.
Marian explained to Josh how the river was the only road for London in the past because the narrow streets of the city were too congested and filthy if you were in a hurry or fastidious about the refuse and smell. On this day barges, pleasure boats, tour boats, historic ships filled the river, all busy going somewhere.
Not only the river to see, but when we turned around, there was St. Paul's in all its glory rising from the top of the street leading to the bridge. More picture-taking. Marian had said we would walk just to the center of the bridge, then return and go on to other sights. When the group stopped to take photos, Josh pointed out that we were not to the center of the bridge yet. Marian had said the center of the bridge. We needed to go farther. So we did. We all walked to the center of the bridge - and took more pictures.
Josh got a job right away when everyone got to England and began walking around. His job was to push the button at street crossings and let us know when it was safe to cross. Ok, I'll admit it. We were not always patient enough to wait and crossed empty streets before the little green man came up on the light. Not a good idea where cars come from unexpected directions in a left-hand-driving country. Marian gave him an additional job, that of holding out his hand to signal the red buses to stop for us. He did that quite well, and we caught the bus for Fleet Street and lunch.
Lunch was in a London pub. We had been promised lunch in a London Pub, and we did it. We hopped off the big red bus, walked a couple of blocks, and swung into 99 Fleet Street. Above the door a sign in gold raised script surrounded with twisting vines in gold announced The Punch (as in Punch and Judy) Tavern. Decorative paneling of dark woods interspersed with intricate plasterwork panels covered the walls of a short entrance hall. We devoured good plain tavern food at a long wood table at the back of the room; tasty provender like meat pies, chips, and jacket potatoes slopped down with English beer -except myself. I had Irish Guinness stout; I nearly always have Guinness stout.
After lunch we slung on our daypacks, made sure the cameras were at the ready, and set out again. In just a few blocks we came to The House of Twinings. Twinings, the tea drunk 'round the world, lives in an unpretentious shop on Fleet Street. The front of the shop is not eight feet wide, even. Above the door is a white pediment with a Chinaman on either side of it. Below that is a dignified restrained sign, "Twinings." The date 1760 is etched in the glass transom above the entry doors. Twinings tea goes back over two hundred and fifty years and they have been in these premises all that time. Inside, a long hall of teas and teas stretches to infinity. We went in and walked down the hall. The aroma was intoxicating. Above the banks of boxes and bags of tea rows of ancestors and others associated with Twinings look down from golden frames at their empire.
Right by Twinings are the Royal Courts of Justice and the Inner Temple. We did a brief camera tour of these majestic historic buildings. Then Josh stopped another big red bus and we climbed upstairs as usual for a ride back up The Strand. The law courts are in the City of Westminster, but as close to the City of London as the king could get them. The Lord Mayor of London was, and still is, the chief magistrate of the City of London, and he would not allow the King's justices to have their premises in his patch.
The tall column in Trafalgar Square with Admiral Lord Nelson standing on top is one of the most recognizable monuments in Europe. Nelson defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, but died on his ship as the battle was won. (note: Benjamin West painted the popular "Death of Nelson" in 1806. Some of the men who had been in the battle posed for him. You've probably seen the painting in history books.)
The National Gallery of Art fills one side of Trafalgar Square. St. Martin-in-the-Fields church stands on the east side. The Mall, the long straight procession street, essentially begins at St. Martin's and ends at Buckingham Palace. St. Martin's is the Queen's parish church, and Buckingham Palace is the Queen's home. Syd's son-in-law, Michael, put the sound system in St. Martin's church a few years ago. After enjoying a good look at the square, we walked down The Mall.
I love walking down The Mall. I act as if I do it all the time. This was only the second time I've ever walked it, but I'd do it as often as I got the chance. Bob and Syd dropped out at the wide steps to the Duke of York monument. They talked politics and people watched as the rest of us traipsed on. As a treat, a half dozen of the horse guard, again resplendent in their red coats, trotted their mounts down the mall with a police escort. Marian said they were probably off to meet a visiting dignitary of some sort. It must have been a minor dignitary. For the big powers, they line the mall with flags and ranks of horse guards lead the parade.
The Mall is lined with plane (sycamore) trees. St. James Park is on the left as you walk towards the palace. Closer to the palace, Marian pointed out Clarence House on the right. It was the home of the Queen Mother until she died in 2002 at the age of 101. Now the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall live there, better known as Charles and Camilla. From The Mall, Clarence House isn't too imposing. But when I saw it on a pictorial map, it's a whopping big place, quite fit for the heir-apparent to the throne.
We walked as far as the Victoria Monument in front of Buckingham Palace, close enough to get photos of both the monument and the palace, then turned back. Bob and Syd met us at the steps of the Duke of York, and we all climbed the steps, passed the Duke's column, and promenaded down Regent St. towards Piccadilly Circus. Along the way Marian pointed out the heart the West End, Leicester Square, and also Soho and the theater district.
Piccadilly Circus is a circular area where five streets intersect. People tend to gather there. Sidewalks sellers and musicians flourish. We inspected their wares and enjoyed the music as we walked around the busy circle. From Piccadilly Circus we strolled along Piccadilly and soon left the rag-tag street sellers for the upscale and prestigious.
As we walk all these streets and lanes of London, we are seeing the life of the city. I'm only describing some places of particular interest. Every step was an experience; the buildings historic and wildly modern, the taxis and buses, peoples of all types and nationalities, street musicians, sellers, street markets. You can hardly take it all in.
Our first stop along Piccadilly was the forecourt of the Royal Academy, a massive eclectic stone palace. The Academy has been a power through history in the world of the arts, and the maker and breaker of a thousand aspiring artists. Only eighty artists can belong to the Academy at a time. It is a high honor. These eighty run the Academy, which exhibits art from around the world.
Onward, then, from the intellectual to the land of the rich and richer. The Burlington Arcade breathed elegance. A liveried watchman, or beadle, stood near the entrance. We greeted him and climbed the steps into the arcade. Glossy black woods and black marble set off with white and gold surrounded the shop windows. Pendant black wrought iron lamps hung from the white supports of an arched glassed roof. This arcade was built in 1819 as a place for upmarket ladies to shop. It is still definitely upmarket. Selected jewelry sparkled and gleamed against purple velvet. Fashionable men's dress shoes from Italy were tastefully arranged for display. Ladies' shimmering gowns, men's flawless dress shirts, and an antique silver candlewick trimmer graced various shop windows.
Today, everyone shops Burlington Arcade, including American tourists in walking sandals and rucksacks. I loved seeing the beautiful architecture and well-designed shop displays. But I will say that I felt a bit out of place there in my tourist garb, like getting into First Class by accident when you are actually Economy.
From Burlington Arcade we walked on to Fortnum and Mason's department store, founded in 1707, and recipient of three Royal Warrants. Fortnum and Mason's are suppliers of goods to the Royalty, to the Queen. They are the "genteel core of Piccadilly shopping" according to a website on Britain. Their specialty is food. This is not your neighborhood deli. Foodstuffs from Fortnum and Mason's are above gourmet.
We walked into Fortnum and Mason's right into one of their famed Food Halls. Display tables and showcases were arranged on red carpet and lit by large glass chandeliers hanging from a white coved ceiling. The sales associates were dressed in black trousers and white dress shirts - with tie.
Marzipan, fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate, Napoleons, caviar, foie gras and patés, prestigious foods are offered in the Food Hall. Piles of aristocratic biscuits, tea bags, cakes, cheeses, pies and puddings fill the tables. The kids hunted through the largesse, and found some affordable biscuits and tea for gifts. Marian discovered a display of Christmas puddings on sale, also affordable. She was so excited! She ran up to me to show off her Fortnum and Mason's pudding. Now she'll have a special pudding to serve this Christmas! She should put the box beside the plate when she serves it, so everyone will know it came from Fortnum and Mason's.
"But will it stay fresh that long?" you say.
Holiday pudding, like holiday fruitcake, is pretty indestructible. I had a Cross and Blackwell pudding in my frig for two years. I kept forgetting about it. When we had it last Christmas, it was as moist and tasty as the day it had been steamed. A Fortnum and Mason's high-class pudding should be good forever.
When we had spent our time and money at Fortnum and Mason's, Josh stuck out his hand and stopped bus 22. We rode this time to Knightsbridge and got off at Sloane Square. We strolled down Sloane Street and window-shopped in the elegant upmarket shops. These shops are not so aristocratic. They're more fashion-conscious, more Continental rather than conservative.
From Sloane Street we made our way through what Syd called "domestic back streets" toward Victoria Coach Station. A solitary black cloud that had hovered to the north nearly all day spread over the sun and drizzled a light drizzle on us.
A Starbucks (they're everywhere, they're everywhere) spread a green awning over their outside café tables. Shelter! It was past teatime, anyway. We rested our weary feet and restored our fluids with coffee, lattés, and hot chocolate. The drizzle stopped. The skies lightened. I looked at the bottom of my hot chocolate cup. It was empty. Others were standing up and pushing their chairs back. It was time to walk the last couple of blocks to the Victoria Coach Station.
I'd like to say that we popped onto the coach, rode the hour and a half back to Bury, walked to The Glen Bed and Breakfast, poured out a glass of wine, put up our feet and congratulated ourselves on a day well spent. What actually happened was that the coach was over an hour late getting into Victoria. We dragged onto it, rode to Bury in various states of consciousness, plodded to The Glen, and passed out to dream sweet dreams of Olde London Towne.
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