Number Seventy News

An exhibition of personal WW1 memorabilia at the Imperial War Museum (surrounded by traffic just south of the river, beyond Waterloo).  Very well laid out and displayed and absolutely fascinating. Just the right mix of text and artefacts, photos etc.  And proper recognition of women and ethnic minorities who served, and of those who stayed at home.  Some very poignant and moving stuff - the last letters of men to their wives and children, written in case they should die; the telegrams which announced a death; the accounts of the mothers, sisters, sweethearts who received them. 1 in 10 of men between 18 (I think) and 45 from the UK were killed or seriously wounded ( I must check that, may have misremembered) but a huge number. No wonder Edinburgh in the years after WW2 was full of elderly spinsters and widows.

Also a gallery of Holocaust paintings - quite appalling.

Which actually, I didn’t on this trip to London, preferring to use my free bus pass and enjoy the superior views.  But the special poster exhibition at the London Transport Museum (extremely well refurbished since I was there last) was a nostalgic joy.  The history of the use of imaginative posters to encourage travel by train, tube and bus was laid out, with useful discussion on technique. Some less successful were included - they weren’t all crowd pullers but their range and variety was quite astonishing, even to someone like me who had been used to seeing them on subway walls. Most of the artists had got the message to keep it simple - not a lot of text, but a simple few word text.  Eternally grateful to Frank Pick who commissioned all the early works especially for LT

It’s something of a confession to say I’d never been to the Courtauld gallery before. As I climbed the winding staircase in Somerset House (there’s a a parallel one for serrvants) I glanced into a room and there were the originals of a number of French Impressionist paintings I had long been familiar with from reproductions.  A quick scamper through the galleries inclines me to go back at more leisure.

The Turner watercolours were rather good.  I love the detail, even in his most atmospheric.  Interesting how young he started and how determined to become rich and famous.  There’s a wonderful painting of people chasing a hare, the famous one of the wet dog baying on a deserted beach, and some from his tours on the Continent.  It’s worth going, and free on Monday mornings. 

Stayed at the City of London Youth Hostel near St Paul’s.  This wasn’t a new delight isn’t going to be my top favourite YH - no reading lights for beds and a truly mediocre cooked breakfast - just enough, however, to make it unwise to head into the nearest greasy spoon for the real thing.

But Carter Lane is one of those narrow, not quite straight little ancient streets that wind through the City - this one parallel to the river.  The area was the classic mix of old and new, with some very tempting pubs.  Pity I was only there in the early morning.  I had two little finds on my amble from Carter Lane to Somerset House - one was Apothecaries Hall, set round a courtyard -a Georgian delight, the other, after a brief excursion through the temples of Mammon, was a “Roman” spring-fed bath, just on the river side of Fleet Street. It wasn’t open, but the National Trust had kindly supplied an external light switch with which one could light up the interior and peer through the window.  There was a bit of dodgy history about it, and no-one really knows if it’s Roman, but it does seem more than likely, given the Romans’ enthusiasm for such things.  

And from the Temples of Mammon to the real Temple, where the lawyers hang out, or some of them, in several acres of prime central London land with huge squares and gardens.  It’s quite delightful, and open to the public to walk through, at least in the hours of daylight.

There’s a pub called “The Spice of Life” on Cambridge Circus, in the basement bar of which there’s one of those small, formerly smoky venues, which is where you feel jazz always should happen, though 4.30 on a Sunday afternoon is perhaps a tad implausible.  The band was Drugstore Cowboy who are described as straightahead.  It was good, loud, forceful conventional stuff.  The trumpeter,Quentin Collins, could obviously play pure melodic notes if he wanted to, but was too inclined to go for screeching on the edge for my taste. But some good solos from Brandon Allen on the sax, and from the Hammond  organist and the drummer.

Time for a quick dash to Pret for a wrap (hoisin duck - v. good) before back to the basement for the Froy Aagre band.  Froy does her own numbers, very much in the Norwegian saxophone mould after Gabarek and Seim, but all delightfully tuneful and not overstrained. She had what can only be described as a modest demeanour.  For the second half Kenny Wheeler, who is famous and old, joined the band to play some of his numbers.  Good stuff, but more mainstream.  

And so to Monday night at the QEH, which is not an intimate venue. Iro Haarla is a Finnish harp and piano player whose CD “Northbound” I really like.  Unfortunately the music didn’t really come across in this concert.  The first number, which has Trygve Seim and Mathias Eick blaring together, was ill-chosen, I thought, and prejudiced a lot of the audience against what was to follow.  The numbers ended up all sounding pretty much the same, beautiful and atmospheric though they were.  Pity, I like Seim and Eick.

Iro Haarla was actually part of a double bill with the Manu Katche band, which was what most of the audience had come to hear.  Although again there were some nice moments and accomplished playing, having the drummer lead the band in this instance led to much to prominent drumming.  A bit of an ego-trip maybe ?

No, not my account of everyday life at number 70, but a reminder that there is a fascinating exibitionat the Queen’s House, next to the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich.  The exhibition is called “Turmoil and Tranquillity: the sea trhough the eyes of Dutch and Flemish masters, 1550-1700.”  It’s the most wonderful collection of marine paintings from that period, covering everything from shipwrecks real and imagined, illustrating life’s uncertainty and brevity, and usually with some icon to encourage viewers to turn to salvation, to scenes of shipsbecalmed, fishing, or fighting.  There are some interesting themes drawn out about trade and exploration too.  It’s on until January 11th 2009.

And it’s always fun to go to Greenwich, though this time I didn’t have spare time to enjoy the foreshore, the park, or the town itself.  But South Eastern Trains got me there and back expeditiously.  It’s strange to see commuter trains in Yorkshire of 2 or three carriages when the standard in so much of the London commuter network is 12, or 8.  And then there’s Virgin Cross Country (of blessed memory) who thought it was a good idea to replace 8 coach HSTs with 4 or 5 coach Voyagers. Don’t get me started.

To London - turned left out of King’s Cross up York Way - no longer the haunt of drug pushers and whores and small dubious-looking shops you’d want your granny to go in with you for protection. Mostly a building site - the haunt of men in hi-vis jackets.  King’s Place, on the edge of the Regent’s Canal is new, is going to house the Grauniad, and has two concert halls in the basement (well below the level of the canal incidentally). Lovely location. All very nice inside but a bit new and characterless as yet.  Beware the gap between about 11 and 12 when the food outlets have finished breakfast and haven’t started lunch yet - especially if you had breakfast early.  So hungry, off round the other side of the basin to the London Canal museum (which likes you to have the right money).  One of those small, underfunded, endearingly amateurish museums which nonetheless shed lots of light on their specialist subject - and it was pretty interesting.  The building itself used to be an ice-warehouse.  Natural ice imported from Norway, transhipped to canal barge at Limehouse docks and then brought up the Regents canal to Battlebridge basin where the ice was unloaded into two huge pits beneath the building - as well below the level of the canal as the new concert halls opposite.  On what is now the ground level and the first floor the ice was loaded onto horse-drawn drays for delivery all round London - and the horses went up a ramp to the first floor overnight.

By bus to Trafalgar Square - top deck all the way - not as fast as the tube but much more fun. though the final crawl down the Strand got a bit tedious.  National Gallery for the Medieval Face exhibition (CORRECTION THE RENAISSANCE PORTRAIT EXHIBITION - a few hundred years out, there) - well displayed and quite fascinating - the development and purpose of portraiture.  Some quite touching pictures - kids smiling (no-one else does at this period) - old folks without teeth - grandfather and child.

To the Origins craft fair in the courtyard of Somerset House where our friend Uschi from Nuremberg was exhibiting her bead jewellery.  Lots of other small beautiful items there at the fair too - with prices like a bankers bonus. A good place to see people dressed exotically - some to display their craft wares, of course. There was also an installation which showed a continuous loop film of a teapot falling to the floor and smashing and then being reconstituted - all at 3000 frames per minute. Reminded me of a film in the Art Barn in Seljord, Norway, where a very cross young woman smashed bottles unendingly at her feet.

Dinner in an Indian restaurant near Covent garden - food good but waiters London-pushy.  There’s something about capital cities which allows waiters to give themselves airs.

…in London. Starting from Euston station I just ambled wherever the whim took me, Euston Street leading to a wrought iron archway proclaiming “Tolmer’s Square” - just a small space between flats (50s?) with bushes, and trees, winding paths and a pub. Just the opposite of the windy wastes and dead stone of the Euston Centre just down the road. Then a winding course dwon Bolsover St. , Great Titchfield Street, Langham Street to Cavendish Square - loads of people sitting on the grass and on benches enjoying the afternonn sunshine - and across Oxford Street to Hanover Square. Brook Street looked interesting but I was quickly diverted to Avery Row and Brooks Mews - lanes and alleys lined with restaurants and interesting small shops. Via Davies Street to Berkeley Square - off which is the delightful Bruton Mews - interesting-looking pub half way along- back to Hay Hill, Dover Street, Grafton Street and so to New and then Old Bond Street where there’s a bench where you can sit between Churchill and (?) Truman, and then the street is lined with large cars parked on yellow lines with the chauffeur lounging on the bonnet or the boot while the nobs or the wags do their shopping. Steel dinosaurs in the Royal Academy courtyard, craft and tat market across the road in St. James churchyard. Peaceful interior, Wren, gallery on 3 sides, magnificent organ at west end, man sleeping beside Grinling Gibbons font. Swallow Street and under the arch to Regent Street gridlock. Walked between the traffic rather than over it to the other side and into Brewer Street. A very welcome cafe stop - I forget its name, but it’s a hundred yards up on the left, on a corner. Pressing firmly onward into the porn belt now - Soho as crowded and excitingly tacky as ever - Old Compton Street and across Shaftesbury Avenue. There’s a stret beside Blackwells which leads to another of those odd small squares - this one a wild garden - Phoenix Garden I think. Weeds and cottage garden flowers - and anyway what’s the difference? Back onto Shaftesbury Ave, Princes Circus, and the familiar environs of Museum Street. Over the years, I’ve worn a track from here to and from Kings Cross, but today brought a new version by crossing Southampton Row and taking one of those broad pedestrian accesses, Cosmo Place, again lined with cafes and pubs that just reminds you how perfect life would be without motor vehicles. This revealed Queen Square, yet another green space for the soul, and so to Judd Street with the towers of St. Pancras at the far end, and Euston Road and Kings Cross. Three hours in London could hardly be spent more enjoyably, and at only the cost of the shoe leather and refreshment on the way.

To London - only 45 minutes late due to a) a late start from the carriage sidings in Edinburgh and b) a broken down freight train in the Northallerton area. (Paras. 14 and 26 in the GNER excuse-book). Slightly ameliorated by a cappucino in the coffee shop on the footbridge at York, from which there is a fine view of any trains that happen to be running.

London Tip: when you spot the massive queues for tickets at all the guichets and machines at the main Underground concourse at Kings Cross, follow the signs to the Metropolitan and Circle Lines - lots of machines and no queues (at least until Eurostar gets here). You can easily double back to the deep tube lines.

So, Spitalfields Market - half rebuilt, the other half in flagante with building works but somehow struggling on round the scaffolding and tarpaulin - it’s going to be great when it’s finished.

The Geffrye Museum - suite of period rooms, the middle classes in London from c. 1500, really well done, and well explained, leading to a wonderful imaginative 1998 extension containing further rooms, cafe, shop, and special exhibitions. Current exhibition is of paintings of 20th century London homes and gardensto 1960 - interesting how the sort of 1930s suburbs I was brought up in, and which many of us decry as sterile now, were rich with artistic possibilities when they were relatively newly built.

Hoxton Square - looks local - reminded me of a square in Berlin - open air tables outside pubs and cafes.

London Review of Books Bookshop near the British Museum - wonderful selection of good literature - not exclusively focussed on best sellers - and a wonderfully comprehensive poetry section in the basement.

John White in America exhibition in the British Museum - £7 and worth every penny. This man drew and painted the flora, fauna, and human inhabitants of the West Indies and, particularly, “Virginia” (now North Carolina) in the 1580s. It was the pictorial representations of Algonquin villages which I found most interesting - it was White’s view that these were civilised, settled and cultivated people - pity his countrymen preferred to shoot them and steal their land rather than share it. But then, if they had done that we wouldn’t have had George Bush ! It’s a beautifully presented exhibition.

And while I think of it, if you missed the British Library exhibition, London, A Life in Maps, you missed another treat. Understanding the city as an organism.