England

There’s not much to say for the final day. I headed up to Piccadilly early to do some trinket shopping and to pick up some snacks for breakfast. We were a bit concerned about the situation we would find at Heathrow Terminal 5 in view of the British Airways strike due to begin the next day (the reason why our original flight had been canceled). Tension seemed to be running a bit high but, on the whole, things were operating efficiently and we had an uneventful return flight.

Thanks again to Gerry for providing Sasha the cat with her own vacation, and to Donna and Becky for keeping an eye on the homestead (even if Becky’s eyes were in fact on the beaches of Florida). I appreciated the updates and knowing all was well at home and with Sasha.

And thanks to our friends in England who volunteered travel advice and tour assistance. Jean, Chris, Terry — how wonderful to be able to spend some time with you. Jim, Andy — sorry I missed you, but thanks for the advice. If you’re ever near Pennsylvania — please let us know!

~ Judy

This was to be our last full day in England. To try to cram in two days’ worth of goals? Or to take it easy and enjoy a leisurely visit to a few “must-see” destinations? We opted for the second plan.

I’m glad we did. It was another gloriously sunny spring day. Going back to near the start of the trip, we had regretted not paying a visit to the Greenwich Observatory, so we made that our first stop. After all — a short planetarium feature narrated by Patrick Stewart was going to premiere!

Veterans that we now were of the transit system, we had no trouble getting from Trafalgar to Greenwich. There was still a bit of a hill to climb once we arrived. A co-ed sports team carrying weighted rods was being led in drills up and down the hill — punishing in the warm sun but impressive to see.

Almost to the top of the hill, I spotted this small plaque on a building. It’s quite readable if you zoom in:

February 1st, 1951 – Helena Pare Lydia Mott
The summer’s breath is spent upon the hills
Behold, remember and rejoice
She seems to say
I give you colour
That the dolour of your winter
May be eased
Until I come again.

I can’t quite put into words why, but I found it poignant and fitting at that moment in our trip.

(Note: Apparently I am not the first to be taken with this plaque. In trying to find some information, I didn’t find any — but I found another person seeking information. Short blog and another photo.)

The grounds and view are just lovely.

Views of the grounds

The Honest Sausage — breakfast source.

Cait and Mark at the Prime Meridian.

A vintage timepiece (before I realized that inside photos are not permitted).

There are some very nice displays at the museum, but the planetarium itself was underwhelming — though I had to admire all of that bronze — “one of the largest single uses of bronze in the world.” If nothing else, the presenter said, he didn’t have to caution people about cell phone use, as nothing was going to get through. In fairness, it was the show, “Violent Universe,” that found me dozing off a bit, much as I love Patrick Stewart. As Cait and Mark observed when we exited, they’ve each done quite a bit of reading on the subject just out of intellectual curiosity, and were hoping for some new information. It was a bit frustrating to them to hear a description of a phenomenon or galaxy they were already familiar with — and then not have the narration note its name. But for people hearing of these things for the first time, it would probably be fascinating.

During the course of our exploration, I had been thrilled to spot an old garden below the observatory grounds. It’s not directly accessible from the paths reached after admission, but after the planetarium show, a gate attendant kindly told us how to find the gate that would give us access. I had very much wanted to visit an English garden before we left, and I hadn’t expected to find one right there.

At the garden’s gateway.

We literally had the garden to ourselves.

We wrapped up the morning with a soft-swirl cone from the Honest Sausage (all vanilla, no chocolate? What’s up with that, England?) and headed back into the city for the afternoon.

Lots of time yet, so we decided to check out the British Museum.

Wow.

It is another museum we barely scratched the surface of. Again, I picked out a few galleries of particular interest. Babylonian, Sumerian, Greek, Roman, Egyptian. The Elgin Marbles having been in international news again recently, I wanted to be sure to find those.

Yes. that is the Rosetta Stone.

That was an even bigger rush than happening upon David Byrne’s “big suit” in a display in New York City.

And hurrah for long spring days. There was still plenty of daylight left so we decided to head into the gardens near the Palace. It reminded me very much of the grounds near America’s Capitol — full of families enjoying the lawns and flowers and water and sunshine (though not quite as many runners). I had done my Internet searching again for a restaurant and we had zeroed in on one on the other side of the area, which justified walks through the grounds to and from.

The Admiralty Arch (or, to TerryM, his father’s place of employment) / a distant view of the London Eye

A closer view

And so it was on to Bumbles. The dining experience was easily the best of our trip, and at a reasonable price — great food and excellent service. I even gambled on choosing a wine for the table that met with everyone’s satisfaction. I was glad my Internet intuition had led us there because it was a fitting and relaxing end to a wonderful first visit to England.

On our stroll back —

Park / Statues of King George and Queen Elizabeth, youthful and vibrant

A somewhat irreverent note — when I saw this, I couldn’t help thinking of Monty Python’s “Scott of the Antarctic” bit.

Then it was time to pack …

I wanted to visit the Salisbury Cathedral before we left, so after another excellent breakfast, we checked out and stowed our bags with the staff, then took a short walk to the cathedral grounds. It’s an impressive building — the highest spire in all of England, we were told.

Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be able to spend enough time there to justify the suggested admission price, so we enjoyed exploring the exterior a bit, as well as the gift shop.

I’m sorry we didn’t have more time there. I’d like to go back someday. Still, it was a nice visit. It was perfect weather and the grounds to the front were dotted with families sunning, picnicking, and generally celebrating the springtime — a very soul-inspiring experience, though perhaps not in the way originally intended.

Then it was time to head back to London, for our flight-attendant-strike-shortened final leg of the trip. When I’d booked the travel, I had checked for trains to our destination. We realized that we didn’t need to complete the final leg by train — we were within the city limits and could get there sooner using our Oyster passes (and did). I don’t know how it would have impacted the train fare to have booked with that in foresight, but I’ll keep it in mind next time. (And we have already decided there WILL be a next time.)

Our final stay was to be at the expensive Hotel Trafalgar, right in the heart of the city, with Trafalgar Square and its many attractions on one side, and the grounds of Buckingham Palace on the other. The hotel was a disappointment in many respects. Those have already discussed with the management, so I’ll say no more of that here, other than, unless the location is all you really want, you can do better by staying elsewhere and taking the tube.

Still, the location itself was amazing. Though we were tired, Cait and I decided to venture across the square to check out the National Gallery. That, and many others, offer free admission; the catch is that they’re generally open during banker’s hours only. But we were in luck — the Gallery is open until 9 p.m. on Friday evenings, and it was a Friday.

We made our way past the human statues and some small rallies and a large audience watching a contortionist, and found the gallery itself. I was surprised to read that the Tate was created because serious museum folks didn’t think the gallery buildings did proper justice. I focused on on some galleries of particular interest to me (the Impressionists, Degas, Cezanne, Seurat, Gauguin, Van Gogh). I know there was so much more to see, but it had been a long day, and fatigue and hunger were setting in, so we took the short stroll back to our room.

Our restaurant choices had become the result of a quick Internet search to see what was in the area (i.e., walking distance) and well spoken of by other travelers. I settled on a choice not far away, described as hidden and quiet but with good food at reasonable prices. So we set off on foot, but after circling various blocks in Piccadilly a few times with no luck, settled for a Pizza Hut. It later turned out that the establishment we had sought had “ceased trading.” So beware those Google maps! Or at least call ahead.

There still being a bit of time, and Mark being rested from his nap, we encouraged him to get over to the Gallery while he could. That’s where the location really helps — he could pop right over and be back in minutes, on foot. I’m glad he at least had a chance to see what the Gallery has to offer.

And then it was time to turn in for the night.

Our full day in Salisbury was our open agenda day. We had to see Stonehenge, of course, and our friend Terry had kindly offered to show us around. It was, in fact, to be our first occasion of riding in an English car or taxi. It had all been mass transportation or walking until Terry arrived.

The day was mild but overcast. It was great to have Terry explaining the historic importance of the Salisbury Plains and the current military presence there during our trip. As he noted, Stonehenge being in the middle of nowhere has helped maintain it. People really want to have to be there to make the trip. Partly for that reason, efforts to build nearby hotels and tourist stations have been rebuffed — no one residing in the area wants that.

The visitors are kept well back from the site by a simple barricade, but everyone there that day was well-behaved. Alas, the only thing you can really do, apart from look, or meditate, is to take photos — and my charger had failed. I picked up a “Fun Camera” at the gift shop and soldiered on. It was a bit sad to think how long it had been since I had shot with film, but at least I remembered how.

Then we headed to the Badbury Rings, an interesting site new to me. And I could charge my camera via the mini notebook and Terry’s cigarette lighter.

Informational sign

After getting a mild scolding from Terry for reciting, “Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross … ” “It’s BADBURY!” we enjoyed the solitude and the view.

  
Views from the Badbury Rings

Then Terry decided to show us the coastline, nearer where he lives in Dorset. Just lovely country. The day was overcast; Terry said it can be truly breathtaking when you can see the horizon. I’ve read of how John Lennon purchased his Aunt Mimi a cottage there because he considered it one of the prettiest places he had ever seen. She must have agreed, as she remained there until her death.

We were now in the closing days of our trip, and this day was a perfect break in our routine of towns and cities.

Even Terry was surprised to find that new research has determined the area was populated and industrious as long as 12,500 years ago. Definitely worth a second look someday.

Then we repaired to Terry’s house to have a nice cup of tea and to indulge Mark’s request to see some of Terry’s guitars. (Thanks again, Terry.)

Afterward, our chauffeur for the day had to return us to Salisbury. I was hoping Terry could join us for supper, but it had been a long day for him as well, and he had work to take care of. So we said goodnight.

Upon getting back to our room, I logged into the Internet and found that Monday’s outbound flight had been canceled, thanks to the British Airways flight crew strike. The BA recommendation was to push the flight further away, but we found a flight leaving on Sunday. Much as I didn’t want to cut our vacation short, we all agreed that the probability of leaving on Sunday was better than the possibility of leaving on Tuesday or later.

We opted for Pizza Express for supper (nothing to write home about), and then Mark and I spent the evening down in the pub, listening to an Army man and rugby fan named Chris explain the nuances of the two versions of the sport. Chris was a solid Conservative with strong views about the latest election and it was interesting to hear his thoughts, but the night ran long and we eventually had to bow out and prepare for our return to London.

We awoke on our last day in Stratford unanimously resolved to avoid P and the group breakfast and P’s 10 a.m. checkout time by simply moving on. Easier said than done, as there was little way we could explain that while being polite — but we managed. That did involve P practically demanding that we leave our luggage (despite the thrice-explained rule that there was no room for storage of luggage), then P explaining that he didn’t want us to pay by credit card and would put a hefty surcharge on the bill if we did. So I forked over the rest of our pounds and crossed my fingers that we would be able to get by without cash on hand. We (and our luggage) trundled our way downtown to the Deli Cafe to have a better bite to eat there.

And we truly did. In fact, that little cafe went a long way to restoring positive feelings about our stay — good food and service, a pleasant rest for our feet and minds. And it was quite near the train station, so we had no need to rush.

Then onward to Salisbury — our only train trip involving two changes of trains, but not a particularly long journey, all told. This was to be our least structured leg of our journey — time to take it easy and let our friend Terry pick the sites to see.

Our lodging in the Cathedral Hotel was very nice — a large room with a decent shower and a good breakfast included, plus the hotel had its own large taproom. Apparently it can be quite the night spot on the weekends. We took an immediate liking to the town. It seemed to reflect the best aspects of our prior two stops — the easy-going, casual mood of Liverpool combined with the less-scouse upscale aspect of Stratford. It was the only town in which I found myself thinking, “I might like to do a bit of shopping.” We had a nice supper at the hotel and then Mark and I headed into the courtyard later for some relaxation and libations. As I told him, it was sort of the experience I was looking for — to be able to sit outside in an English garden with a cup of tea or a pint and just be there — no place to rush to, no business to take care of. Just to listen to the birds (and the accents) and to feel the breeze.

Our eighth day had the busiest agenda. We were to head to Warwick to visit Warwick Castle; try to catch up with a pen pal at the station there; and return to Stratford for “Romeo and Juliet” as performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company.

One nice aspect about the B&B was that there was a “garden” (what we would normally call a park — a green area with little or no landscaping) across the way. It provided a nice short cut and a welcome quiet space.

After a not particularly good breakfast we headed to the train station and made the short journey to Warwick Castle. I had been a bit concerned about having another castle on the agenda (we had already seen the Tower of London) but I was very pleasantly surprised. The grounds were beautiful, there were gardens, the halls were well-maintained, and the throngs of young school visitors were kept engaged and enthralled by the skilled staff.

We spent more time on the outside grounds than inside. We also had tickets to the dungeon. I was hoping for more of a historical overview, not a “haunted house,” and was dismayed to find the latter is what’s pitched. But it was great. Instead of a whole host of acting students jumping out at you, there were just four characters, each with a lengthy role requiring quick thinking depending on audience responses. In particular, I noted the work of the young woman playing the cook, who was quite insane and discussed how the doctor had succumbed to the bubonic plague. I thought she was great, and was a bit embarrassed when another tourist ahead of us turned to her companion and said, “I cain’t unnerstan a word she’s sayin! Kin you?” — right in front of her during the performance (!). But the actress just kept going.

Mark was pressed into a trebuchet loading commitment even before we began the dungeon tour. Essentially, teams of able-bodied runners imitate hamsters in wheels to coil and uncoil the trebuchet ropes. Most of the eager volunteers are too young or too irresponsible, so the trebuchet master has scouts roaming the grounds with release forms, looking for proper candidates.

  
The Victorian Rose Garden

  
Views from inside the walls

  
Down by the mill

  
More views near the mill

A giant crossbow

  
Main hall from trebuchet island / Trebuchet

  
Trebuchet master arming trebuchet / Trebuchet crew #2

It’s quite a bit of work.

(Mark is on the far side)

After a successful launch (and an attempt to recruit crew #2 for a later performance) we headed into the interior for a bit.

    
Castle interiors

It’s quite a beautiful interior, well-kept and comfortable, with many portraits and other artwork. I’d like to visit again sometime. But we had to be on our way.

The view to the valley and garden

We had a friend to meet. Chris from Nuneaton, whose acquaintance I had made at the BeatGear Cavern, had suggested the Warwick visit to us, and I wanted to thank him. We had a train to catch and Chris didn’t have much time, either, but it was very nice of him to take time out of his day to drive to the station just to say hello. A pleasure meeting you, Chris!

Correspondents meet

And back to Stratford for “Romeo and Juliet.” We didn’t want to eat until after the play, but most places close early, so we settled on reservations at “The Dirty Duck,” also known as “The Black Swan.”

The play itself was well worth the trip. There were some modern elements introduced that accented certain aspects of the characters, but for the most part it was a traditional presentation with excellent performances — and music, which I hadn’t thought of playing as a big role in Shakespeare, but it did on this night. I won’t think of “Romeo and Juliet” the same way again. It’s there through August, if you can catch it.

“The Dirty Duck” wasn’t very crowded after all. No actor sightings, but that wasn’t important. We had a light supper and headed back to the B&B.

It was to be another day in travel status. Cait and I wanted to see the Liverpool Philharmonic Building (and, specifically, to locate a plaque dedicated to the memory of the musicians of the Titanic). So we ventured out early, to the Philharmonic Hall just a couple of blocks away. Sightings:

The ‘Fly in the Loaf.’ I wish we’d had time to stop in. Maybe next time.

  
The Philharmonic Hall exterior, and the plaque from the lobby

Mission accomplished, we headed back to the Roscoe, passing this along the way:

It’s not all Beatles.

After a change between trains, we arrived in Stratford-Upon-Avon at about 3:30 p.m. It’s a lovely little town, a bit too pretentious and geared toward the tourists to suit me, but a pleasant place on the whole. Unfortunately, our first order of business after checking in was to find a laundrette.

Our host at the bed and breakfast (I’ll refer to him as “P”) was unavailable but his partner directed us to the nearest laundrette. After paying a fee to exchange paper for coins at a nearby pub, we were ready to do some much-needed laundry. These places really are efficient — if you buy washing-up powder, it doesn’t come in a box or bottle; it’s dispensed directly into space, and you’d best have a plastic cup or something else underneath to catch it all.

Once the laundry was underway, we walked to a Shell station and bought some pre-made sandwiches and drinks. It was probably the most “American” portion of the entire trip.

On returning to the laundrette, I picked up a discarded newspaper and read a story about an incident in Warwick. One fellow thought another had broken his car’s windows, so he went after him with a friend. He didn’t find him, at first, but along the way the pursuit involved machetes, a Samurai sword, a cricket bat, nunchucks, and planks of wood. And, in the end, no one was hurt. That story would have had a different ending in Pennsylvania.

We gathered up our clean laundry and returned to the bed and breakfast and our cramped room (it was impossible to walk across as one person, never mind trying to pass two other adults). I’d read about the host (P) on line. I should have read between the lines … some folks may be at ease with extreme unctuousness and chattering along as though all silence must be avoided, but we’re not. I suppose we truly are dour Americans who wish to be left alone — and P was not the man to do it. He’d repeat the rules three times, then later invite us to break them, and be miffed when we wouldn’t take him up on it. But I digress …

The chemist’s shop – a typical street

After a bit of a nap, we decided to head over to The Vintner for a true supper. A 400-year-old building (the site claims, “It is more than likely that William Shakespeare purchased his wine from here!”) was a bit upscale compared to our other dining, but very nice, and a pleasant way to end our first night in Stratford. Then back to the B&B for much-needed sleep.

For once, we were waking to a modest breakfast. I had made eggs on toast, and we had juice, coffee, tea, and milk. We ate, cleaned up, and headed out into the town of Liverpool. We didn’t have any real destinations in mind, beyond the Maritime Museum and Beatles-related sites. We just wanted to, basically, see Liverpool as much as we could on foot.

St. Luke’s Church, just down the block

We were very near “the bombed-out church,” St. Luke’s. I’m glad to say that it’s been cleaned up and nicely landscaped; Jean told us they have teas there and the space sees quite a bit of use. What a strange but satisfying way to turn destruction into beauty.

The Jacaranda Club

The town was a bit quieter that Sunday morning. We passed the Jacaranda Club on our way to the waterfront, but it wasn’t yet open. After some wandering, we found our way to the Merseyside Maritime Museum. That was another excellent collection of artifacts, artwork and history, with a strong focus on Liverpool’s role as a port and its fate in World War II.

Design model of the Titanic, also used in “A Night to Remember”

“The Beatles Story,” an interactive exhibit. It looked promising … but, once again, just after we began the tour, a fire alarm sounded and we were evacuated. Shades of the “British Music Experience” on Thursday — but, this time, we didn’t plan to walk away.

I’m glad we didn’t. It’s a nicely presented exhibit with some information new to me and lots of context missing from your usual account. A topper was when Mark, who was listening to the audio commentary, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Jean’s on 11.” And so she was, though the ever-modest Jean hadn’t mentioned it. She is on at least one other track as well.

  
  Museum sights

  
Two views of the “Imagine” room replica

  
The Hard Day’s Night Hotel

  
The Cavern Pub and the Cavern Club
(Apparently, if it’s “Cavern,” it sells)

  
The actual location of the original Cavern Club entrance

  
The Grapes, from which John Lennon was barred for non-payment of his tab, and the White Star, to which he switched his business, per Jean.

The White Star held particular interest for us on another account, as White Star was the company behind the Titanic. That was a must-see.

  
Wall in back room of the White Star

We enjoyed a pint of Guinness in the back room there, accompanied by a couple of elderly regulars and a young man performing acoustic tunes. It was a nice place to be.

  
The Old Post Office

The lack of a giant English breakfast catching up with us, we decided to dine at the Old Post Office. It was another old and casual venue with good food at reasonable prices, and (as always, in Liverpool) lots of ales from which to select.

On our return trip, we popped into the now-open Jacaranda. It was an interesting scene — more of a youthful bohemian atmosphere than a place of nostalgia. We’d had enough ale for the day but we took a look around a bit.

  
View from the Jac stairwell

We then headed back to the Roscoe to pack for the next destination — Stratford-Upon-Avon — and to get some rest.

We’d debated heading to the Greenwich Observatory before we left for Liverpool. It having been a late night at the Ceremony of the Keys, though, we opted for sleeping in, having a leisurely breakfast, and packing. It proved to be a good plan.

If you expand the photo and look closely, you’ll see Cait and Mark on our balcony (the lowest).

So it was back to Canada Water one last time, then to Euston Station for the train to Liverpool – Lime Street. We passed by many well-kept farms and a few small industrial areas that had seen better days, arriving in Liverpool at about 4 p.m. Then a short hike to our destination — Roscoe House. Our friend Jean Catharell had spent a good bit of time reviewing lodging options with us, and I had settled on that site as ideal both in atmosphere and in location.

View from the back window

There was a bit of a mix-up with the room that doesn’t bear repeating here, as everything was eventually sorted out satisfactorily, and I was able to place a call to Jean. Jean was one of those friends I knew only by voice and writing; we had never met, and I was excited to have the chance at last. In fact, I was so excited, it never occurred to me to snap a photo or two with her.

Jean met us downstairs and we headed out on foot for Mathew Street and other areas of note. The restaurant we stopped out turned out to have had a major overhaul in management and theme, with a hostess who looked as though she’d stepped out of “The Jetsons,” but we were able to chat and the food was tasty. Jean outlined various sites that might fit our interests and we took a leisurely walk back — just enough to help us keep our bearings when we set out on our own the next day. (Thank you, Jean!)

Liverpool is quite insane on a Saturday night. We saw partiers dressed as the Mario Brothers, Wizard of Oz characters, and lots of boas and tinsel. Jean explained that it’s a big town for hen and stag parties, and that everyone is just there to have a good time. Considering the scanty dresses on the young women in the 40 degrees Fahrenheit temperatures, I suppose they had to keep warm somehow! Jean also noted the heavy police presence, and explained that they’re not there to intimidate the partiers — they’re there to make sure no one causes trouble for them. That did seem to be the case, and put things in a happier perspective. It reminded me of if Mardi Gras were every weekend, but everyone there seems to take it in stride.

The Roscoe House is not a bed and breakfast, but our room was a studio apartment with kitchenette, which suited us well. After supper we bought some small supplies for the kitchen and headed back to plan our next day. Cait was ready to turn in, but Mark and I wanted to sample at least a bit of the night life. One Guinness later at a raucous pub playing all-American 50s and 60s music later, though, we were ready to call it a night.

It was odd to wake up and think that we were beginning our last full day at the Hilton Docklands. So much to see yet … but we consoled ourselves with the thought that we’d be back in London in a week, and — as Mark noted — it was beginning to feel like it was time to move on.

The first order of business, we decided, would be the National Theatre backstage tour. We put our names on the waiting list and strolled the river front a bit until our tour time. We considered the London Eye, but the lines were prohibitively long, so we just strolled and observed … the human statues, the well-behaved children, and a woman pushing a large enclosed pram with every bin full of cats.

  
  A statue / a workman

  
The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben / The London Eye

The National Theatre backstage tour was magnificent. We toured each of the three venues as the guide discussed the features of each that defined the space. The first and largest, the Olivier, is an open stage with more lights than seats, she said. The second is a large traditional proscenium stage with the capability to move entire sets off to the left wing or backstage — or up or down. It was awe-inspiring to think that, as you’re watching what seems to be a fixed set, by all appearances permanent, entire other sets — even from other plays — are poised beneath, or overhead, or to the side or behind. And the third area was a smaller “black box” flexible space mostly used for experimental works.

We also toured the construction, design and props areas. I’d have liked to have seen costuming, which is also done on site (the guide said costuming took up the fourth floor) but that wasn’t part of the tour. Even with some gaps in what we could visit, it was great. I would highly recommend the tour to anyone interested in how plays are presented. I didn’t take photos, but here’s a video (a commercial, really) that will give you an idea of what it’s like:

Afterward, we headed to the HMS Belfast. We’d seen only the exterior the day before. That was another thoroughly satisfying tour, apart from the fact that the engine rooms were closed for maintenance. Here are a few photos:

  
Scenes on the HMS Belfast

More photos … Page 1 / Page 2 / Page 3 / Page 4

We still had a bit of time left during the business day (most attractions close at 5 or 6 p.m.) so we decided to have a look at the Tower of London. We had tickets to the Ceremony of the Keys at 10 p.m. that night, and I wanted to see the Tower during the regular visiting time, first.

It’s a grand site, but I was a bit disappointed. That’s probably our own fault; we were tired, we didn’t have points of reference, and I was not in the mood to deal with the crowds, which were massive. There was no time or place for contemplation. I’d very much like to visit again under calmer circumstances.

  
The Tower of London

Needing rest and repast, we headed back to the Docklands. For supper, we decided to visit the small establishment at the end of the block down the street — The Clipper. It was a good choice; an old neighborhood place with casual, friendly service and filling food. By the array of “Hilton Docklands” postcards gathering dust in a nearby card display, I suspect The Clipper proprietors had been hoping for more of a boost from the tourist trade than they were getting (I’m sure most folks take the free shuttle right past their location), but I’m glad it is what it is, and I owe the staff thanks for a friendly welcome.

We even had time for a nap at the hotel before venturing back into the city for the Ceremony of the Keys. Alas, we couldn’t cross through the grounds by the time we arrived, as the East Gate had already closed, but a brisk walk got us to the assembly point on time. (I couldn’t help wondering if there is a superstition about dashing around the Tower grounds counter-clockwise in the moonlight.)

A nice gentleman identifying himself as “Shady” outlined the procedures. His delivery perfectly combined a cheerful self-mockery with a stern insistence that protocol be followed. No cameras, no filming, no disruptions. The crowd (rather large, I thought) of ticket-holders was joined by another group of guests, and the short ceremony proceeded. You’d have to be there. Write well in advance for tickets. It’s not that the ceremony itself is grand (it’s quite modest); it’s all that it carries with it. (Thanks to MikeB for letting us know about it.)

Then back to the Docklands for one more night. We’d found that the hotel shuttle became increasingly crowded as the nights wore on, so, as we had Oyster passes, we found ourselves opting for municipal buses more and more. Getting around London was becoming second nature.