Some pictures of Folkestone

Saturday, April 12th 2014

There have been settlements in and around what is now Folkestone since ancient times. The Romans knew it, though the name they gave it is uncertain. Anglo-Saxons lived here and when the Normans occupied the land, it became a barony under William d’Arcy. By this time, it was a humble fishing village but in the 13th century it was designated one of the Cinque Ports and this prestige led to its development as a trading port. The arrival of the railway in the middle of the 19th century boosted Folkestone’s fortunes, turning it into an important port and a seaside resort. In the twentieth century it was the second Continental ferry port after Dover, a position enhanced by the coming of the cross-Channel hovercraft. The ferry trade collapsed with the opening of the Channel Tunnel at Dover and as a result, Folkestone has had to reinvent itself. That process is still continuing.

The name ‘Folkestone’ was settled only in the 19th century though variants of the word had been used since Anglo-Saxon days. If you thought that the name had something to do with a stone or rock, you were right. Though the derivation of the name is not entirely clear, early records give it as ‘Folcanstan’ whose meaning in Anglo-Saxon would be ‘Folca’s Stone’. Who Folca was is not known, nor is the reason why his name was attached to a rock, though this is thought to have marked a meeting place for the community when important matters were to be dealt with.

HS1 Platforms
St Pancras Station

We hadn’t been to Folkestone for a while and so chose it as our destination today. The best way for us to go is to take the HS1 train for Dover which calls at Folkestone. ‘HS’ stands for ‘Highspeed’ and these trains live up to their name, cutting journey times to Kent by a worthwhile amount. Tickets are slightly more expensive than those on normal train services but, depending on your needs, the difference might be worth paying. We appreciate the saving in time as well as the exciting whoosh through the countryside!

Wall painting
Unknown artist

We had visited Folkestone in June 2011 (see Multi-cultural and artistic Folkestone) when we had found much to interest us and we hoped to enjoy today’s trip as much. In that we were, unfortunately, disappointed. The town did not inspire us as much as on that previous trip and we returned home relatively early. Why was that? I don’t really know. I don’t blame the town which was recognizably the same as on our first trip. Perhaps we somehow failed to approach it in the right spirit. We did, as usual, take photographs and I present a few of mine for your perusal.

The wall painting, on its own piece of board and therefore presumably painted elsewhere, is on a wooden gate in Cheriton Road near the railway bridge.

House with turret
Cheriton Gardens

For some reason, I am fascinated by houses with turrets. Perhaps this is a throwback to my childhood and stories of castles. This imposing house is dated 1891 and is today the offices of a recruitment agency. Was it once perhaps the family home of an affluent Victorian family? And who had the room at the top of the turret?

Another turretted building
Debenham’s department store

Another building with a corner turret, obviously commercial premises this time. I don’t know the history of this building or its date but it makes a pleasantly retro setting for a department store that itself has a retro feel to it.

Bronze female figure
Folkestone War Memorial

The War Memorial, unveiled in 1922 in commemoration of those who died in the First World War, stands at the top of the Road of Remembrance. The bronze female figure on top is by Ferdinand Victor Blundstone (1882-1951). Female figures atop war memorials tend to be allegorical representations of either Peace or Victory. I couldn’t decide which this was supposed to be and English Heritage, in its listing text, seems as uncertain, describing it simply as “a bronze female figure; robed from the waist down, holding a cross in her left hand and a laurel wreath in her right”. A Wikipedia article on the sculptor, however, says that it is ‘Motherhood’, which, I suppose is possible.

Crocheted poppies
Road of Remembrance

On the railings all around the memorial are crochet-work poppies. The photo shows just one small section. I believe the campaign started in 2011 with the idea of creating 160 poppies but gathered momentum and took on an international dimension. Newspaper reports say that recently no fewer than 3,000 poppies were taken to be cleaned and then put back in place. This unusual tribute adds colour and beauty to the setting.

Over the houses to the sea…
A view from the Road of Remembrance

Walking down the Road of Remembrance, one has this slightly unusual view of the beach and sea. While Folkestone rightly remembers those citizens of the town itself who served in the Great War, it also remembers the thousands who passed through the town and its port on their way to war and the many who did not make the return journey. The sea prompts such thoughts and sighting the war memorial here is entirely appropriate.

Church of St Mary and St Eanswythe
19th century with 13th century bits

The name Eanswythe may not be familiar outside Kent but it occurs in many place names within the county and especially Folkestone, not least as one of the patron saints of the parish church. Eanswythe (AD c614-40) was an Anglo-Saxon lady of royal blood who was secretly brought up as a Christian (her mother was Christan, her father a pagan) and decided to dedicate herself to the Christian God and serve as a nun. What better way to do this is there, if you are royal, than to found your own convent? Eanswythe’s father was finally persuaded to give the necessary funds and permission and the convent was completed in AD 630 (when Eanswythe would have been about 16). It is said to be the first monastery for women to be founded in England. Eanswythe resided here until her death in 640 at the tender age of 26 and was later canonized by the Catholic Church. She and her sainthood, along with the church, have been inherited by the Church of England. The church is largely the result of rebuilding in the 19th century though parts of it date back to the 13th century.

To the left of the picture you can see a monument with a pronounced lean to it. I was intrigued by the inscription that reads as follows:

Sacred
TO THE MEMORY OF
Henry Anderson
OF CLIFTON PARK BIRKENHEAD.
WHO DIED AT PARIS JULY 12th 1854.
AGED 54 YEARS.

Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord

The reason for my being intrigued is that the monument records no connection between Henry and Folkestone. If he lived locally up to his fatal trip the France, you would expect this to be stated. If he was not local, then who funded the memorial and why?

Churchyard Cross
Elect your Mayor here

In the churchyard stands a cross. It is not a monument to a dead person or an event but a reminder of the historical past. The three-tiered base on which the cross stands is Medieval and so would the cross have originally been. The present cross, however, is later, as partially explained by the inscription:

At this cross
in ages past according to an old Charter
of Edward III preserved among the
muniments of this town
the mayor was annually elected
on the feast of the Nativity of Our Lady
RESTORED SEPTEMBER 8th 1897

There still remains some uncertainty, however. The last line of the inscription is clearly different from the rest, being all in capitals and in a similar but not identical font. This, and its position, squeezed in at the bottom, must mean that it was added later. The rest is carved in a calligraphic font that is of fairly modern appearance. So when were these lines carved and to what extent was the cross “restored”? Some sources say that it is a Victorian cross, dating from 1897, but I don’t think that is correct. It looks older than that to me. I suspect that the “restoration” replaced an existing cross on the original Medieval foundation stones, though these have also been repositioned, but when that cross was made I do not know.

Boat moorings
A corner of Folkestone Harbour

We went down as far as the harbour where I took the above photo and watched some gulls drinking and bathing in a little stream of freshwater that empties into it, then we turned to make our way uphill again.

Minotaur Head
Thought to be by Sophie Dryver

Folkestone now boasts a Creative Quarter, which means that there is a lot of art about in the town. In the Tram Road car park is the above work, the Minotaur’s head. There was no plate identifying the artist but the consensus is that it is by local artist Sophie Dryver, perhaps better known for her sculptures of semi-humanoid hares. In Greek myth, the Minotaur was a monster with the body of a man and the head of a bull who ate the flesh of the several humans regularly sacrificed to him. This one, though, seems relatively benign.

Beano’s
Nice soup

Making our way up Tontine Street, we came upon Beano’s, a vegetarian cafe bar. We were not yet ready for a full meal but felt a little peckish nonetheless. We enquired after their soup of the day (served with crusty bread) and found it excellent. One to revisit when we next come to Folkestone.

The Brewery Tap
A Victorian ex-pub

Just up the road is a neat little pub – or, rather, ex-pub – called the Brewery Tap. The pub opened no later than 1870 and was literally what the name suggests, the pub attached to a brewery. The Imperial Brewery was founded in about 1734 and a century or so later changed its name to the Atlas Brewery. Later, the current owners sold the brewery and the pub to Mackesons, who decorated the façade with their brand name. It ceased to be a pub around 2009 and is today part of UCA (University for the Creative Arts).

Grace Chapel
Founded 1895

At the top of the hill are two notable buildings. The higher is called Grace Chapel, an impressive if somewhat severe-looking structure. I don’t know much about it other than what the foundation stone records, that is, that the stone was laid by the Mayor of Folkestone on October 23rd 1895. As well as a chapel there is a school. I rather like the stylish wooden doors reached through a short porch. There are two figures in silhouette above the doors, one male, one female. Are they Adam and Eve? Their nakedness suggests that they might be. The male appears to be reading and the female writing, so perhaps they are indicative of education.

Folkestone Library & Museum
Founded 1887

Next to the chapel, slightly lower down the hill, is the Library and Museum. The date over the door is 1887, though the library was possibly founded on another site previously. This is certainly the case for the museum which started in 1868 and moved here later. We went in and although the interior has been remodelled, would have like to take photographs. As usual, we politely asked permission to do so. The library assistant did not know whether this was allowed or not and phoned the person in charge. This lady came to speak to us but said she did not know whether it was allowed either. She would have to ask the Press Office but the Press office is, of course, closed on Saturdays. So, no photos. We have met this situation before though it is, happily, relatively rare. The person in charge is usually sensible enough to allow photos on the understanding that we photograph the building and avoid photographing people.

By now we felt we had seen enough of Folkestone and made for the station once more. Reaching St Pancras, we saw what we had not noticed when we started out in the morning.

Chromolocomotion
David Batchelor

It is a new work of art in the St Pancras Station exhibition space called Terrace Wires. The name is reasonable enough since the location is the St Pancras Station terrace and the works are hung from wires! The work currently on view is called Chromolocomotion and is by David Batchelor. Below it on the right you can also spot part of Paul Day’s famous sculpture The Meeting Place. We wondered whether Chromolocomotion had been inspired by the game Tetris :)

If our day out had been a little lacklustre it at least ended on colourful note!

Copyright © 2014 SilverTiger, https://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.

Art in Wulfrun’s town

Saturday, April 11th 2014

We are heading for the thriving and lively city of Birmingham which has  plenty to offer the visitor, as we have discovered on previous trips (for example, see here, here and here) but today we are not staying in Birmingham but, we hope, going on from there by a special route.

Birmingham’s Moor Street Station
Delightfully “retro”

We took a number 205 bus to Marylebone Station where we caught the 10:45 Chiltern Railways  train terminating at Birmingham Snow Hill. Just before noon, we disembarked one stop before the end of the line at the delightfully “retro” Moor Street Station. (See here for background information on this Edwardian survivor.)

Along New Street
The Balloon Man and a sulky-looking Superman

As we usually do, we went from Moor Street Station, through the Bull Ring into New Street. Known to travellers mainly as the name of Birmingham’s main railway station, New Street is in fact a long pedestrian thoroughfare lined with shops, pubs, cafes and restaurants. We had had a picnic breakfast aboard the train but we soon stopped at a Costa for coffee and cake!

Splendid in red
A couple of Birmingham’s fine buildings

Birmingham has a lot of fine buildings, many of these dating from Victorian times and now protected by an English Heritage listing. We admired and photographed a number of these as we continued our walk. Above are just two examples.

Midlands Metro Tram
Linking Snow Hill to Wolverhampton

We reached our destination at Snow Hill Station where, in addition to the railway, there is also the Birmingham terminus of the Midlands Metro tram service. Were you to board the tram and pay £5, you would in exchange receive a return ticket to Wolverhampton and this is what we had planned to do. The route passes through Wednesbury and West Bromwich to arrive at a station called Wolverhampton St George’s. There are 23 stations along the route, including the two termini.

Wolverhampton terminus
An efficient service

The distance from end to end is just over 12½ miles and the journey takes about  30 minutes. There is plenty to see along the route, especially if this is your first trip. Thus we arrived at Wolverhampton and, of course, set out to explore!

Dudley Street
Wolverhampton’s pedestrian street

We found our way to a long thoroughfare called Dudley Street. This is a pedestrian-only street and some of the older shops are to be found here, as well as some spanking new ones. It seemed just as busy as Birmingham’s shopping centre but the pace was a little less frenetic perhaps. You felt you could stop and look around without people running into you.

Prince Albert
Inaugurated by Queen Victoria 1866

Not the least of Wolverhampton’s impeccable Victorian credentials is this equestrian statue of Prince Albert, consort to Queen Victoria. By Thomas Thorneycroft (1815-85), the sculpture bears a simple inscription, “Albert, Prince Consort, born 1819, died 1861”, and was inaugurated by the Prince’s widow on what is said to have been her first public engagement after his death. That fact, together with the noble solidity of the Prince’s bearing, somehow makes this a very touching memorial.

St Peter’s Church
Where Wolverhampton began

From there, we made out way to the great church of St Peter. Church managers like to boast that their church has existed from ancient times but in the case of St Peter’s the boast has substance for there was a church here by no later than the 10th century, though the current building has been altered and extended since then.

The Lady Wulfrun
Founder of the minster church and hence the town

In front of the church is a sculpture by Charles Wheeler (1892-1974), the eminent sculptor who grew up in Wolverhampton. No one can now know what Wulfrun actually looked like but this sculpture presents a plausible suggestion. Wulfrun is thought to have been the grand-daughter of King Aethelred I and was therefore a high-ranking citizen of Anglo-Saxon England. There is a curious story that in 943 she was abducted by Vikings when they captured the fort of Tamworth. This was presumably in order to extract a ransom as she appears again (assuming it is the same Wulfrun) in 985 when King Aethelred II grants her ten hides¹ of land at a place called Heantune, which in Anglo-Saxon means ‘high farm/enclosure’. In 994, Wulfrun donated various pieces of this land as an endowment to the minster church that she helped found. The settlement that grew up around it thus became known as Wulfrun Heantune, which mutated in due course into modern Wolverhampton.

Wolverhampton Art Gallery

We next went to visit the Wolverhampton Art Gallery and here we spent some time. Photography was allowed everywhere except in one gallery where I think there were copyright issues of some kind. What follows is a selection of items seen. The gallery has a strong hands-on orientation which, I suppose, is the current fashion, though I am uncertain as to how much good this does. It also takes away valuable space that could otherwise be used for exhibiting works of art.

Mahatma Gandhi
(Cecil) Atri Brown

We were met in the entrance by this slightly startling sculpture of Mahatma Gandhi who looks as though he is running to catch a beach ball. The sculptor is given as Atri Brown, an artist about whom there seems to be little information available. Cecil ‘Atri’ Brown was born in 1906 and was active in the earlier half of last century. I have seen a hint that he is/was a local lad but don’t know this for certain.

Likeness Guaranteed
David Mach (1995)

It took me a moment to realize that this spiky portrait bust is in fact made out of wire coathangers welded together. The subject is Richard Jobson, Scottish TV presenter and film producer, among other things. If you do not know him, you may (or may not) find illumination on his Web site. The sculptor, David Mach (born 1956) is also Scottish and apparently chose Jobson as his subject because of his “typically Scottish features”. Mach also has a Web site and seems to have a bit of a thing about coathangers but also does other forms of sculpture and installations.

Moses
Philip John Evett (1953)

This piece represents Moses clutching to his bosom the tablets inscribed with the Ten Commandments which he has presumably just acquired from God. I like its modern feel and the way the figure is pared down to essentials without losing expressiveness. It has a mythic quality, which is fair enough, I think, given the subject. Evett (born 1923) has a Web site here.

Diana and Actaeon
John Paddison

I also liked this sculpture, entitled Diana and Actaeon. It is by local lad John Paddison (1929-2000). Similar to Moses, it has modern styling and a mythic feel to it but also a feeling of realism. In his portrayal of Diana, the artist has broken away from the conventional Greek beauty and made a rather ordinary-looking female figure whose movements nonetheless show the determination of her desire for revenge. In this representation, of furious goddess participates in the destruction of Actaeon, apparently shooting at him with a bow  while his own hounds tear him to pieces. (If you need reminding of the story of Diana and Actaeon, there is a succinct account here.)

The Young Aviator (Mother and Child)
Robert Jackson Emerson (1940)

This beautiful work by Robert Jackson Emerson (1878-1944) was created in 1940. At first sight a work on the theme of “mother and child”, the baby has been given wings on his ankles, hence the title. Though born in Leicestershire, Emerson taught for some thirty-odd years in the Wolverhampton Municipal School of Art which makes him a Wolverhampton artist if only by adoption. A short article on this sculpture will be found here.

Mother & Child
Charles Wheeler (1960s)
Click to see the slideshow

My last sculpture is by Charles Wheeler and it is entitled, reasonably enough, Mother & Child, and was probably sculpted in the 1960s. You might like to compare this with his sculpture of the Lady Wulfrun, shown earlier. This figure is notable for its elongation of the lower body, while the torso, arms, head and child have more natural proportions. Unlike paintings, which are flat, sculptures are meant to be viewed in the round. Positioning in galleries, however, does not always make this possible. Here we can access the sculpture on three sides and so I have taken several photos and combined them in a slide show. You can view it by clicking on the above image.

Eighteenth Century Gallery
General view

The art gallery’s collection includes several rooms of paintings. Above you see a general view of the Eighteenth Century Gallery, with the clothes rack in the foreground. These are garments for children to dress up in. I am not convinced that this either improves their understanding of art or helps encourage them to visit art galleries. I would prefer the space to be used to exhibit art as it should be seen and to allow more items to be accommodated.

The Family of Eldred Lancelot Lee
Joseph Highmore 1736

This gallery is dominated by a large portrait of an obviously affluent family. It is attributed to Joseph Highmore (1692-1780) and is carefully planned and posed though the result is conventional. There is something curious about it: although it is “the family of Eldred Lancelot Lee” and shows his wife and ten children, the pater familias himself is not present. That is odd because the wealthy enjoyed having their portraits painted to show their wealth and status. Why, then, is the principal person missing? The eye is drawn to the eldest son in the foreground, proudly posed with his hand on the hilt of his sword. His bright blue coat make him stand out against the paler colours of the women’s dresses. The artist has chosen to focus on him in place of the missing father. (Update: The “mystery of the missing father” has been solved – see comments below.)

‘Tea-Totalism’, ‘Temperance’ and ‘Intemperance’
Edward Bird (1795)

This trio of small paintings by Edward Bird (1772-1819) reflects the artist’s interest in unusual-looking people, grotesques and low-life. The pictures are perhaps meant to be humorous, mocking both tea drinkers themselves and (by exaggerating the supposed evils of tea) those who condemn it. They are caricatures or cartoons and compare tea drinkers, whether they indulge in order to follow fashion (1) or because they are addicted to tea (3), with the calm and contentment of the abstainer (2).

A Tiger
Charles Towne (1818)

I was, of course, not going to miss the portrait of the magnificent beast shown above! Charles Towne (1763-1840) painted landscapes, animals and hunting scenes. Painted at a time when wild animals such as tigers were seen as exotic and frightful, fit only for zoos and as targets for big game hunters, the painting nevertheless captures something of the animal’s beauty, even if the head is more like that of a domestic moggy than of a tiger!

The Highland Laddie’s Return
Philip Richard Morris (c1881)

In the Victorian section there was the usual range from the sentimental, exemplified by the above scene of the soldier’s return to his home village by Philip Richard Morris (1838-1902), to the taste for the extoic (see below). As far as paintings were concerned, there was nothing that particularly took my attention in this section.

Breton Brother and Sister
William-Adolphe Bouguereau (c1861)

The above painting was done either by William-Adolphe Bouguerau or by someone working “in the manner of” the artist. It corresponds to a period when there was great interest among artists and writers in the customs, costumes and habits of localised groups of people such as beggars, gypsies, peasants and even certain classes of people in towns. The approach was “picturesque” rather than realistic.

Majolica fountain

My interest was, however, caught by this extraordinary majolica fountain in the middle of the gallery. Unfortunately, I know nothing about it though I was told that it had originally been kept outside. The decorative elements include a strange mixture of Classical mythology (the horned head of the god Pan), Western motifs (the winged cherubs) and lifelike representations of fish. It appeared to be in remarkably good condition with hardly any damage – all the more surprising as the material of which it is made is known for its fragility.

The Old Post Office
No longer in use

Leaving the gallery, we had a little look around town before starting back. We were far from seeing all the town has to offer and may even have missed the best bits. Perhaps we will return another time and try again. We found this old Victorian (1895) post office. No longer used for its original purpose, it is huge. This is just the façade: round the corner in the next street we found more of it, including what I supposed to be the sorting office and the parcels office.

Carvings above the main door
The Old Post Office

In several places over the façade there appeared the “VR” monogram of Queen Victoria and, over the door, this elaborate piece of carving which includes the date 1895. This must have been an impressive institution in its day. It is no longer in use, however, and sports a property dealer’s board advertising it as a “restaurant opportunity”. The post office, as a business, is still in the same street (Lichfield Street), having moved twice already.

As for us, it was time to start the return journey, first taking the tram to back Birmingham, where we had a late lunch or early dinner in an Italian restaurant before regaining Moor Street Station and boarding our train to Marylebone.

Hotel canopy
Marylebone Station

Waiting for the 205 bus outside Marylebone Station, I could not resist photographing, as I always do, the iron and glass canopy stretching between the station and what was once the station hotel. It fascinates as much with its elegant design as with imaginings of the Victorian ladies and gentlemen it once sheltered from the elements as they moved between the hotel and the station, accompanied by flunkies carrying their voluminous luggage. Their day is long past and even more distant from us is the day of the Lady Wulfrun, benefactress of the minster church and perhaps unwitting founder of the town that took her name. And yet, both eras are still in some sense present, written as they are into the fabric of this strange little island nation.

________

¹A hide was a unit of land measurement, though it is difficult to say exactly how large it was as its value seems to vary from place to place. The word is cognate with hiwan, meaning ‘family’, and the hide was considered enough land to sustain a family. It was also used as a land measure for tax purposes.

Copyright © 2014 SilverTiger, https://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.

Readymoney in Regent’s Park

Saturday, April 5th 2014

Today’s outing was going to be leisurely, a gentle stroll with the odd bus ride in between. First was the question of breakfast and where to go for it. Tigger reminded me that we had not for a long time been to what used to be one of our favourite breakfast haunts and so we decided to renew our acquaintance with it. For this we took to 214  to Camden Town.

Camden High Street
Markets and trendy shops

The bus stops in Kentish Town Road, near the Camden Town tube station. We cut along Buck Street to arrive at Camden High Street.

Spot the humans

On Saturdays, this is a happening place with markets, shops selling trendy clothes and accessories, tattoo and body-piercing salons and all sorts of strange and odd boutiques. Just up the road is Camden Lock, a complete story in its own right.

Inverness Street
Street market and cafes

We were only passing through Camden High Street to reach Inverness Street. This street is cut into two parts by Arlington Road and, while the upper part is residential, the lower part, near Camden High Street, has been known for its street market since the early years of the 20th century. Originally, this was a fruit and vegetable market but over the last 30 years of so, the produce stalls have melted away and been replaced by those selling cheap clothes, shoes and gifts. Along one side is a row of cafes, bars and restaurants.

Cafe Solo
Quiet at breakfast time

One of these is the establishment we were heading for, known variously as Bar Solo and Cafe Solo. I think this indicates that earlier in the day it is fairly quiet, serving coffee and meals, but becomes more lively in the evenings. There is also something called Under Solo, which I guess is a night club. We have watched this place go through several metamorphoses and today it was again different from our last visit. We shall no doubt return at some point and see whether it has changed yet again.

Painted van
Mobile art

After breakfast we continued our stroll. In the upper part of Inverness Street we spotted this painted van. The first hand-painted van I ever noticed was in Paris (see Paris 2007 and this picture) but since then the habit of painting vans seems to have spread like wildfire and these days we see painted vans everywhere we go, both in the UK and abroad. Perhaps this indicates increasing use of vans as personal, non-commercial, vehicles.

Gloucester Crescent
Part of Camden’s leafy suburb

Though Camden Town is known for its popular and youth-dominated markets and culture, the Borough of Camden of which it is part is more varied than this. As well as the trendy shops and clubs of Camden Town there are the affluent residential areas of Regent’s Park and Hampstead.

Regent’s Park Terrace
Complete with private road

For example, here is Regent’s Park Terrace, consisting of a row of up-market town houses with its own private road.

Regent’s Canal
Near the Cumberland Basin

We walked along Prince Albert Road which leads to the Regent’s Canal. Here the canal makes a right-angled turn and in the “elbow” is the Cumberland Basin.

The Cumberland Basin today
Home to the Feng Shang floating restaurant

Today, the Cumberland Basin is a quiet backwater providing moorings for a few canal barges a home for the Feng Shang floating Chinese restaurant. The basin is also known as the Cumberland Market Basin and this gives a clue to the reason for its existence. Between here and the Euston Road, there existed from the early 1800s until the 1920s an important market, Cumberland Market, and the Basin was built to serve it. The market is long gone and the basin now serves other purposes.

Cormorant
Drying his wings in typical pose

I was surprised to catch sight of a cormorant standing drying his wings on a convenient perch next to the Feng Shang. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised because cormorants are quite numerous on the Thames these days and I suppose this one may have come here to this quieter place to avoid the competition. The fact that he was drying his wings showed that he had been fishing though whether or not he had been successful, we cannot know.

St Mark’s Church
The “Zoo Church”?

Across the road stands this Victorian Gothic church. St Mark’s Regents Park was consecrated in 1853 and its Web site claims that it has become known as the “Zoo Church” because in the 1930s tea parties were organized on Summer Bank Holidays and these attracted the attention of the press which then applied the epithet because of the church’s proximity to Regent’s Park Zoo.

Looking along the canal…
…towards Regent’s Park Zoo

The closeness of the zoo can be gauged from the above photo looking along the canal. Just above the bridge you can see the pyramid shapes of the Snowdon Aviary. This was built in 1964 and was designed by Anthony Armstrong-Jones, aka the 1st Earl of Snowdon, sometime husband of Princess Margaret.

Readymoney Fountain
A gift of Sir Cowasgee Jehangir

The bridge mentioned above leads into Regent’s Park. This large and rather fine park is open to the public and provides facilities for sports and games. It is not owned by either of the boroughs on which it impinges (Westminster and Camden) but is Crown property. The borough councils therefore have little or no say in what is done to and within the park. Originally part of the Manor of Tyburn, owned by the Abbess of Barking, the land was appropriated (or should that be “misappropriated”?) by Henry VIII upon the Dissolution of the Monasteries. The land began to take on its present form as a park under architect John Nash and hence became closely associated with the Prince Regent whose name it took.

A feature of the park is this rather splendid drinking fountain. It was erected by the Metropolitan Drinking Fountain and Cattle Trough Association but was paid for by Sir Cowasgee Jehangir and inaugurated by HRH Princess Mary, Duchess of Teck, in 1869¹.

Donor bust and clock

The dedicatory plaque tells us that Sir Cowasgee Jehangir (Companion of the Star of India) made a gift of this fountain

AS A TOKEN OF GRATITUDE TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND
FOR THE PROTECTION ENJOYED BY HIM AND HIS PARSEE
FELLOW COUNTRYMEN UNDER THE BRITISH RULE IN INDIA

The dedication describes Sir Cowasgee as “A WEALTHY PARSEE GENTLEMAN OF BOMBAY”. The family was indeed rich, having made a fortune in the opium trade. Two uncles had become known by the nickname “Readymoney” and had eventually taken this as their surname. Sir Cowasgee was therefore also known as Sir Cowasgee Jenhangir Readymoney, hence the fact that this fountain is more commonly known as the Readymoney Fountain, even though the donor chose not to include his soubriquet in the inscription on the monument.

A carved portrait head of Sir Cowasgee appears on the fountain but is by now badly eroded. Unusually, the fountain includes a clock (I have so far not seen another public fountain with a clock on it). The present clock looks to me to be fairly modern, so perhaps it is a later model replacing an original that had been broken.

Regent’s Park is big
And provides distant views

Regent’s Park is quite big and provides some interesting views of the surrounding city. Much of it is dedicated to sport and team games. Today, everywhere you looked, you could see people in football kit, kicking balls about. In a few cases, actual matches seemed to be taking place but most of the pitches were being used for practice sessions. (I suppose playing football is as good a way of wasting time as any other.)

The Hub
Regent’s Park’s sports facility

In the middle stands what looks like a drum-shaped cafe on a hillock. The visible part may indeed be a cafe (we didn’t investigate) but I think the hillock is in fact artificial and hides more extensive facilities for sporting activities.

One of the avenues
Pleasant for strolling or sitting

There are also walkways or avenues through cultivated areas and it is pleasant to stroll here or sit on a bench and let the world go by for a while. There are birds and squirrels to watch while you do so.

Abundant blossom
Asserts that spring has arrived

Many of the trees and bushes were laden with blossom as though to convince us that spring has come at last. Indeed, there are moments when you might almost think this was so but then comes the relapse and the weather turns cold a wet once more.

Gothick Villa
A modern development

Under Nash’s plan, 56 villas were to be built in the park. In the event, only eight were actually built, though some more have been added in modern times. I am not sure how many currently exist or what purposes they serve. Some are certainly still used as private residences, for example Winfield House which is the residence of the American Ambassador. The villa shown is called Gothick Villa. Its barley-twist chimneys notwithstanding, it is not old but is one of a batch built between 1988 and 2004, each with the name of the architectural tradition it reflects.

Central London Mosque
Designed by Sir Frederick Gibberd (1978)

On the edge of the park stands a large building with a landmark golden dome. This is the Central London Mosque, also known, for obvious reasons, as the Regent’s Park Mosque. It is very big and forms part of the Islamic Cultural Centre. It was designed by English architect Sir Frederick Gibberd and built in 1978.

Hanover Gate Lodge
Hanover Gate, Regent’s Park

We also took a look at this sweet little property at one of the entrances to the park. It is the gatehouse or lodge at the park’s Hanover Gate. It is a two-storey round structure with two statues in niches, one of which is pictured above. The lodge was built in 1822-3 to the design of John Nash and is now listed Grade II. I don’t know whether anyone lives there or whether it is used for storage or office space. I think it would make a dwelling of character though the vehicles continually passing by on both sides might be a nuisance.

The cafe
Camden Arts Centre

We fancied taking a look at some art and so caught a bus up Finchley Road to the Camden Arts Centre. We spent some time looking around the bookshop before discovering that the galleries were currently closed in preparation for the next round of exhibitions. Boo! We consoled ourselves as best we could with tea and cake in the gallery cafe.

Hampstead Telephone Exchange

We went to the nearby bus stop to catch a bus home and while waiting I took this picture of the telephone exchange nearly opposite. It is called the Hampstead Telephone Exchange and I have tried but failed to find out its age. I have seen photos of the interior supposedly dated to 1904 but I am sure this building is much later. On the façade appears the cipher of George V, which dates it to between 1910 and 1936 and I would guess a date towards the upper end of that time span.

We saw a number of interesting things on this ramble but if I had to choose a favourite it would be the cormorant drying his wings in the Cumberland Basin.

________

¹Princess Mary (1833-97), also known as Princess Mary Adelaide of Cambridge, was a granddaughter of George III and the mother of Queen Mary, the consort of George V, and therefore the great-grandmother of the present Queen. Born in Hanover, Princess Mary spent most of her life in England and married Prince Francis of Teck (Württemberg). More information here.

Copyright © 2014 SilverTiger, https://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.

Water and music at Kew Bridge

Saturday, March 29th 2014

Today’s jaunt took in a couple of museums, one we had previously visited and one that had been closed when we had tried. Today we saw both of them. To get to them, we travelled by bus from Islington, first crossing the Thames by Waterloo Bridge and then trundling more or less westwards along the south side of the river to our first stop at Richmond.

Today, Richmond gives the impression of being an affluent and even genteel sort of place but its origins are relatively humble. It started out as a cluster of fishermen’s cottages around the manor of Sheen or Shene. It acquired its present name only in the late 15th or early 16th century when Henry VII, having rebuilt the manor after its destruction by fire in 1497, called the place Rychemond after his earldom in Yorkshire.

Old Fire Station (1870)

Like any modern urban centre, Richmond has its share of modern buildings but a few pleasant reminders of past ages remain to be admired, such as the Victorian  “Fire Brigade Station”, bearing a date of 1870, though today its ground floor is home to a couple of retailers. Ladies’ shoes, boots and handbags are displayed where once the horses would have galloped out in answer to a fire alarm.

The Old Post Office
Uniting Victoria and Edward

In George Street stands the old Post Office, also now diverted from its original purpose into retail. The noble, if slightly pompous, bearing of this structure suggests it is Victorian but I do not know its date. We did notice something curious about it: the two doors make reference to two monarchs. The left door bears the initials ‘V’ and ‘R’ (for Victoria Regina), while the right door bears ‘E’ and ‘R’ (for Edward Rex), suggesting that building work commenced while the Queen was alive but was completed only after her death, in the reign of her son. (This remains to be verified.)

A view from Richmond Bridge
Looking downriver

One of the elements – perhaps the the most important one – making Richmond so attractive is its position beside the Thames. The river here is not the Thames of the City and the docks, the Thames of Tower Bridge and tall ships, a Thames that is almost the sea. Here it is an inland waterway, a river of pleasure boats, green banks and herons fishing from the shallows. For all that, it is a muscular river, dreaming of the mighty thing it becomes a few twists and bends downstream.

Ducks preen and herons fish
The Thames of Richmond

Here the water is shallow near the edge and provides good dabbling for ducks, moorhens and coots. In the picture you can see a heron who has just arrived. Herons are surprisingly abundant along the upper Thames, perhaps because the terrain is suitable for their fishing techniques and because they have lost their fear of people who are generally welcoming of these strange creatures.

Corporation Island
Trees and herons but no people

Islands are always fascinating and whenever I see one I find myself wondering what it would be like to live on it. This island, a little beyond Richmond Bridge, is called Corporation Island. It is small and thick with trees. No people live on it, which is no doubt a blessing for the local waterfowl as it offers them a sanctuary. The trees provide a suitable environment for herons to build nests. Perhaps the heron in the previous photo is one that has a des res on Corporation Island.

The standpipe tower
London Museum of Water and Steam

We took a bus to Kew Bridge at Brentford where this rather fine tower is a noticeable landmark. It is variously known as the Standpipe Tower and the Pump-House Tower. It was built in 1867 as part of the Metropolitan Water Board’s pump-house building. As water was distributed over a large area surrounding the pumping station, water was raised up the tower to produce the necessary pressure in the system.

Machines with spinning wheels…

When the facility was no longer needed as part of London’s water supply, it was reopened as a museum first with the name of Kew Bridge Steam Museum and latterly as the London Museum of Water and Steam. The building, with the several generations of machines in place – many of them in running order – has been adapted to tell the story of London’s need for water and the supply of this precious commodity.

Water wheel
From inside and outside

I won’t pretend that I understand what all these machines actually did when they were on active service or that I was sufficiently interested to find out. I was content to walk among the huge machines with their spinning fly-wheels and pumping noises, taking photos, though this was not always easy in the low-light conditions.

Inside the pump-house tower

We could enter the pump-house tower but only in the ground-level section. Even so, it was lofty with an iron staircase hinting at mysterious upper regions.

Hello…? Hello…?
Once all telephones were like this

To me, more interesting than the big machines, impressive and historically important as they are, were the smaller items that recalled a past that has gone for ever, such as this old telephone with a separate microphone and earpiece. On the dial are instructions for use: “LIFT HAND-MICRO & LISTEN FOR DIAL TONE” and “PULL DIAL ROUND TO STOP & LET GO”. This telephone’s own number is written by hand on the dial, as was always the case, and is 254. Compare that with today’s eleven-digit numbers!

Clock
Strangely ornate and top quality

Nor could I, with my horological interests, fail to notice this clock, almost hidden away on a shelf behind a huge piece of machinery spinning its great fly-wheel. It struck me that the clock was strangely ornate for the surroundings, unlike a larger, more functional-looking timepiece nearby. Closer scrutiny revealed that the dial bears the name of the maker and the date when the clock was made – 1874. The presence of this information shows that this is no ordinary clock and I hope the museum keeps it safe.

The maker was Charles Frodsham (1810-71) of 84 Strand, whose company, which started in 1843 by taking over a previous company at that address, received the Royal Warrant as suppliers of clocks to Queen Victoria. Charles Frodsham was twice Master of the Clockmakers’ Company and the firm he created still exists, though at a different address. This clock is therefore something of an heirloom of theirs and of historical interest. It is the one item here that I would have taken home with me, had it been on offer!

General view
Kew Bridge Pumping Station

There are several buildings, each containing machinery of interest, though we spent most time in the main hall, pictured above. One can see why industrial establishments such as this are often compared with cathedrals. There is the huge size, the soaring perspectives and the sense of serious purpose. Thankfully, though, there was no awed hush and people roamed freely, exploring whatever took their interest.

Thomas Wicksteed
The museum’s steam locomotive

In the pumping-station grounds we also found things to explore. Attracting many visitors, especially the younger ones, is a short railway. This was offering rides in carriages drawn by a steam locomotive called Thomas Wicksteed. Now, establishments such as pumping stations often did have their own railways but this one is, I think, rather an “add-on”, responding more to people’s love of fairground rides than to any historical relevance. The locomotive is in fact modern, built in 2009. (To be fair, the museum does state this.)

“Sculpture”
Unidentified piece of iron work

On an upper level is a garden. This is being actively maintained, I suspect, by volunteers. If so, they are doing a good job. I photographed this piece of ironwork posed on blocks like a work of sculpture. If there was an information plate, I didn’t spot it.

Garden pond
With tadpoles

In the garden was a small pond. Looking closely, I was surprised to see tadpoles! That took me right back to my childhood when we used to collect tadpoles every spring and try to have them turn into frogs – usually unsuccessfully. I don’t know how many of these will survive but there were enough to cause a local population explosion of frogs!

“Crazy Maisie”
Bird scarer

We also here met Crazy Maisie, or, at least, that’s what I called her, because she made me think of the heroine of some lurid Victorian novel, driven insane by a disastrous love affair. I don’t doubt that her job is to deter birds from attacking the seed beds but how successful she is in that enterprise, I have no idea. I for one found her scary but, then, I’m not a bird…

Pianola, players pianos, etc
The Musical Museum

Leaving the pumping station, aka the London Museum of Water and Steam, we walked along the road to our next destination. This was the Musical Museum. We had already visited this fascinating and, I would say unique, establishment (see The Musical Museum). Large as the building is, it is positively crammed with exhibits. Most of these are described with information boards but it is useful to go on one of the guided tours. The guides are volunteers and amateurs but none the worse for that. They know their stuff and evince a genuine interest in, and love for, the items they describe. From them, visitor’s learn details that may otherwise escape them.

Piano Violinola
A trio in a box

In the 19th and early 20th centuries, machines were produced that made music by playing actual musical instruments. Usually programmed by rolls of punched paper, the machines were at first operated manually, by turning a handle or pedals, or mechanically, by water pressure or falling weights. The coming of electricity revolutionized this branch of engineering as it did every other. Shown above is a Piano Violonola manufactured by the Mills Novelty Company of Chicago in 1915. This is an arcade machine, operated by inserting a penny in the slot. (The mug on top of the case contains spare pennies for use by the demonstrator!) It features three musical instruments, a cut-down piano and two violins. The sophisticated mechanism even applies rosin to the violin strings before starting to play.

The Orchestrion
Imhof & Mukie, 1899

The above machine, called an Orchestrion, was designed for the larger and more affluent domestic interior, though this one was kept on display in the manufacturer’s London showroom. Imhof and Mukie presented a similar machine in the Great Exhibition in 1851. Driven by electricity, the Orchestrion comprises several instruments (organ, flute, trumpet, oboe, diapason, drums, cymbals, tambourine and triangle) and is programmed by perforated cardboard rolls whose holes are sensed by metal “fingers”.

Piano Orchestrion
Ludwig Hupfeld AG, 1920

The Piano Orchestrion shown above consists of a “player piano” (a piano that plays automatically, usually from a perforated paper roll) with a bandbox attached that emulates a small jazz band. It can be left to play on its own or a pianist can play the piano and be accompanied by the other instruments. It can also be coin operated. Although manufactured by Ludwig Hupfeld, the piano bears the name of Keith Prowse, then the retailer. This is because at the time these instruments were on the market, German products were still unpopular as a result of the Great War and a little discreet “rebadging” made them easier to sell.

The above are just a few of the items on display which include all sorts of musical boxes and other mechanical devices for producing music, some simple, others extremely complex. The advent of sound recording and ever better sound reproduction systems finally killed off the music machine business though music boxes of various sizes and formats continue to be made and sold in large numbers.

The Wurlitzer Organ
An entire orchestra played by one person

The climax of the guided tour is a demonstration of the the Musical Museum’s Wurlitzer organ. Manufactured in 1929, it was made for a private customer who never collected it because, so it is believed, he lost his money in the Wall Street Crash. Wurlitzers came into their own in the era of the silent film when the organist improvised music to fit the actions on the screen. What is visible here is just the console which can be made to rise into view, as here, for organ recitals, or to sink below floor level during films so as not to obstruct the audience’s view of the screen.

The console
The organ’s “control centre”

The console, though flashily impressive, is merely the control centre. The “works” are hidden around the stage and take up far more space, especially the huge pipes required for the lowest notes. In addition to the traditional organ sound, the instrument can imitate all other instruments in the orchestra and also possesses a battery of sound effects. Accompanying this particular organ is the last surviving control box that allows the organ to be “played” automatically in the manner of the player pianos and orchestrions already described. An organist would play a piece and all of his actions would be recorded, to be reproduced later electromechanically in an exact imitation of his performance.

The Pump-House Tower
Seen from near the Musical Museum

After partaking of refreshments in the museum cafe, we made for home. Walking along Kew Bridge Road gave us a good view of the Pump House Tower, its remarkable Italianate design delineated in bright evening sunlight. For the return journey, we decided to take a train back to town.

A view from the footbridge
Kew Bridge Station

One of the good things about London is the possibility of travelling to the same destination by a variety of means, by bus, tube, railway and tram. In this case, the railway would carry us back to town much faster than the combination of buses that was the alternative. I stopped to take a photo from the station footbridge but as I was doing so, realized I had to hurry as our train was approaching! We caught the train and made our way back, firstly to Waterloo then to the Angel.

We had successfully visited two museums and enjoyed what I hope turns out to be the onset of spring. We have waited long enough for the sun!

Copyright © 2014 SilverTiger, https://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.

Speaking on the right side of the road

Thursday, March 26th 2014

Time was when I went back and forth between France and the UK at least once and often several times a year. I used to have a car then and so I would drive there and back and, of course, drive around in France while there. I think I have probably driven as many – or more – miles in France as everywhere else put together. I even learned to drive in France.

The UK is one of the few remaining countries in the world where we drive on the left. Anyone commuting between Europe and the UK has to cope with driving on the right or the left according to where they are at the time. There is always the possibility of making a mistake and driving on the wrong side. As far as I recall, I made this mistake only once. During a trip to France, I had driven the car off the road for some reason I now forget, and afterwards set off once more, chatting merrily with my passengers until their cries of alarm alerted me to the fact that I was driving on the left! I quickly swerved back onto the right side of the road (“right” in both senses of the word) and we suffered no consequences from my mistake. The incident shook me, however, and I never made the same mistake again.

In any case, to the experienced driver, the road in France looks completely different from the road in the UK. The difference is enough, I believe, to trigger the necessary reflex that causes said experienced driver to choose the correct side of the road without having to make a conscious decision to do so. The main danger is from people making their first trip outside the UK.

Similarly with language. When I was going to France frequently, I never thought about language. I spoke English in the UK and French in France and that was that. I didn’t have to think about it. I just did it. Funnily enough, the only times I have got it wrong have been in the UK when I have occasionally broken into French without realising I am doing so. It can be embarrassing, like that day in Sainsbury’s when I couldn’t understand why the assistant, instead of answering my questions,  just stared at me…

In those days, I could speak to my family in French or English (and sometimes both!). As with driving, there was no conscious decision needed to speak the language of whichever country we were in. We just spoke whichever was needed. In France, they called my son “le petit Anglais” but you wouldn’t have understood why when you heard him playing and arguing with his cousins…

The years pass and time’s travelator carries us ever onward. The world changes and our lives change too, sometimes completely. These days, my life is led almost exclusively in English, though I always have a book in French on the go. Tigger and I have made a number of trips to France and francophone Belgium but I don’t go as often as I used to. While in Lille recently, when about to cross the road, I found myself standing on the kerb consciously working out which way the traffic was coming, something I never used to do before.

So what about the language? Well, it’s a strange thing. I have developed a sort of linguistic neurosis. The longer it is between trips to France or Wallonia, the more convinced I become that I am losing my French. I begin to think I can no longer understand people speaking it and that, in my turn, I will speak a sort of cartoon franco-gobbledygook. A visit to France is therefore both exciting and worrying. Will I cope? Can I still hack it linguistically? Then having arrived, I spend the first couple of days in a state of euphoria. I am chatting; I am understanding; I am being understood. I am even joking and making people laugh. Fear has vanished and neurosis is dead. At least, until next time…

The French have a reputation for being curt and unhelpful to strangers. Personally, I have never found this, and instead have received much help and great kindness in France. One reason why this reputation has clung to the French might be language. It seems that the British and the French are among the world’s lowest achievers when it comes to learning and using foreign languages (see, for example, this article). While the British temperament is suited to muddling along trying to understand someone with poor linguistic competence, doing so seems to irritate and embarrass the French whose chauvinistic outlook is always lying in wait just under an amiable exterior. They would rather walk away with a gesture of dismissal than endure the embarrassment. On the other hand, the situation is not helped by those British and American visitors who think that the French ought to understand English, especially when it is spoken slowly, loudly and repetitively. These folk may be in a minority but they cause a disproportionate amount of resentment and scorn.

Let’s face it, when I am in France, my fedora and other accoutrements clearly mark me out as a foreigner, probably one of those awful shouty Anglais. However, when I speak to people in French, it amuses me to see how they immediately relax, smile and become helpful. It is as though the bogeyman has turned out to be their favourite uncle in a party mask. The Lillois, in particular, are the most helpful I have encountered so far. Ask them for directions or information and you virtually have to tear yourself away because they seem reluctant to let go of you before they have told you everything they know. I sometimes think that much of the history of fraught relations between Britain and France has been caused by mutual linguistic incompetence and that we would be happier partners politically, commercially and socially, if we had known one another’s languages better.

Over lunch in a cafe in St Omer, I had a long chat with an elderly inhabitant of the town. He told me about the delights of St Omer, laced with anecdotes about his personal medical history. A question that intrigued him to the point of a pressing need for an answer was how was it that I spoke French so well? If that seems a reasonable enough question to you, think about it a bit more. Why would it be odd that inhabitants of two neighbouring countries should be able to communicate in one another’s languages? In some other parts of the world, this would be quite unremarkable.¹ Our respective governments have been ducking this question for far too long and still show no signs of taking it seriously.

Anyway, the gentle palliative applied by our latest trip to France has allayed my neurosis for now, thanks in no small part to the kindly and talkative Lillois and Audomarois (inhabitants of St Omer). All being well, we shall plan another restorative expedition to francophone regions, whether to the Hexagon itself or to Wallonia, before the beast has a chance to settle its claws in me once more.

________

¹We xenoglossophobic Brits may not realize it but Europe is a seething mass of languages. We myopically see only the politically important ones such as French, German, Dutch, Italian, Spanish and the Scandinavian family. Besides these, however, there is an interweaving of minority languages whose only fault is that they were not the dialect chosen to be made the official state language by the ruling elite. In the Pas-de-Calais region alone we can count on Flemish and Ch’ti or Picard, existing alongside French. Interestingly, across the border in Belgium, these minority languages are recognized and given official status, while in France, they are ignored by the state and all efforts by their partisans to have them recognized have been unsuccessful. Compare this with the treatment of Cornish, Manx, Irish, Scottish Gaelic and Welsh in the history of the UK and you cannot fail to see the parallel. Xenophobia and linguistic incompetence go hand in hand and reinforce one another.

Copyright © 2014 SilverTiger, https://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.

Back in London

Wednesday, March 26th 2014

The title is a pun, though admittedly a weak one. We returned home from France yesterday and today’s first task, as usual, was to fetch Freya back from Chingford. Throughout our stay in France, my back was playing up, making life difficult. It is still hurting and I was worried that I might not be able to carry a heavy cat in a basket. I took the carrying strap off my travel bag and rolled it up in my handbag. I thought that if the cage proved too heavy to hold in my hands, I could attach the strap and loop it over my shoulder. Perhaps that would distribute the weight.

In the event, I needn’t have worried: I found I was able to carry the cage after all. Before setting out, I had taken some painkillers and these took the edge off the pain. Even so, once we were on foot at Liverpool Street, making our way to the bus stop in the City Road, progress was slow as I had to walk circumspectly to avoid jolting my back. Once on the bus, I could relax.

Both on the train and during the bus ride, Freya was calm. She miaowed at me occasionally and that was all. I think she now knows the drill and understands that when I fetch her from the cattery we are on our way home. She becomes more and more excited as we approach the house. I suppose the sounds and smells of the street are familiar  to her.

The cattery people told me that Freya had had her breakfast and had in fact emptied her plate. I knew that wouldn’t make any difference and that she would expect to be fed as soon as we reached home. I was right!

The sun was shining into the bedroom, so I opened the curtains and said to Freya “Sunshine!” I have been trying to teach her this word and think she now understands it. If I say “Sunshine!” she trots off into the bedroom and stretches out luxuriantly in a patch of sunlight.

Later I lay on the bed for a while with her. She snuggled up to me making loud purring noises. I think we can take it that she’s pleased to be home!

Tigger had to go back to work today, unfortunately. This evening I will go down to the Borough and meet her at her workplace, as I usually do. With every minute it is becoming harder to remember that we were having breakfast in France only yesterday…

Copyright © 2014 SilverTiger, https://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.

Lille 2014 – Day 2

Sunday, March 23rd 2014

Today is our first full day in France and we are looking forward to making the most of it. Unfortunately, I have a cold in the head and didn’t sleep very well but it is a promisingly sunny day so let’s be optimistic!

Coffee bar
Starting the day with breakfast

Near the hotel are a number of bars, cafes and restaurants. Among these is a cafe called Coffeeshop Company and we came here for breakfast. This coffee bar is very similar to those you find in the UK – Costa, for example – with an extensive menu of coffees and teas and a selection of food to be eaten cold or heated up. They also offer “Viennoiseries”, something that is very popular in Lille. Another popular fast food item here is “le welch” (plural “welchs” or “welches”, depending on the establishment!). We didn’t sample any welch(e)s, but I gather they are a sort of toasted cheese sandwich, an imitation of Welsh Rarebit and an alternative to the native Croque-Monsieur.

Old Town Hall
And War Memorial

Our next call was to the tourist information office which had been closed when we visited it yesterday evening. This time we were too early as they do not open until 10am. We settled down to wait and took a few photos to help fill in the time!

Old Town Hall
Now the home of the tourist information office

While we were doing this, a coach arrived and disgorged its cargo of tourists right in front of the Tourist information office door. We thought we had better quickly assert our position as first arrivals lest we find ourselves at the back of a long queue. In the event we needn’t have worried because the tourists suddenly all moved off on a walking tour just before the door opened!

Lille’s City Pass
Good value

We asked about travel deals and ended up with something called “Lille’s City Pass” (see details in French or English). This comes in a plastic folder and contains information about museums, art galleries and all the places a visitor might want to see. The booklet contains tickets for 32 such “attractions” but its best features are the included tickets for trains and city public transport. For the duration of the Pass (we bought the 3-day version at €45 each), you have unlimited rail travel throughout the whole of the Pas-de-Calais and 24 hours unlimited travel on public transport within the city of Lille. Yesterday we enquired about train tickets to Dunkerque and found that the cost of a return trip would have exceeded the cost of the City Pass. It is worth having just for the rail travel alone.

Platform Zero
Lille Flandres Station

Tigger fancied a trip to Dunkerque and we set off happily to the station, excitedly clutching  our City Passes. It turned out that on Sundays, getting from Lille to Dunkerque is a little complicated as there are no direct trains. (I don’t know whether this is usual or just a temporary glitch owing to rail works.) We would have to change trains at Hazebrouck.

Boulogne Station
We settled for a day here instead

In the event, we didn’t make it to Dunkerque. We caught the first train from Platform 0 (the only other station I know with a Platform 0 is King’s Cross) and were soon on our way. However, once we had changed at Hazebrouck, we realized that the train we thought was going to Dunkerque was not going there and we would have to change again. We decided to give up on it at that point and allow ourselves to be transported to Boulogne instead. Should we berate ourselves for lack of determination or praise ourselves for adaptability? The latter, of course… :)

Arriving in Boulogne, we set out on a ramble without any fixed purpose. What follows is not an attempt to describe the town but just an account of a few things that caught my attention as we walked around. Though classed as a small town, Boulogne is large enough to need more than the few hours we had at our disposal to see and account for it all.

Henri Planchon and Marilyn Monroe
Advertising Boulogne’s role in founding the cinema

We quickly noticed that Boulogne is not backward at coming forward. In other words, it does not hesitate to claim for itself important roles in world history. How justified this is in each case must be judged by the individual observer, but two examples will appear in this account. The first came to light with our discovery of these sculptures on a corner of Rue Nationale and Rue des Pipots in front of an apartment block called L’Espace Lumière. They were sculpted by Silvie Koechlin and one is obviously Marilyn Monroe in the famous blown-up-skirt scene from the Seven Year Itch, but who is the man? If you are not a Boulonnais, you might be forgiven for not recognizing Victor Planchon. Who? Well you might ask, because it is difficult to find out much about this man and even his dates have proved elusive. My Petit Larousse Illustré doesn’t even mention him, an eloquent testimony to his obscurity.

To the good citizens of Boulogne, however, he is no less than the crucial agent in the foundation of the cinema! According to the information panel near the figures, Planchon set up a factory in the now vanished Quartier Capécure and there invented and patented the first flexible film stock and went on to create the film used by the Lumière Brothers. Planchon, it says, has been unjustly marginalized and overshadowed by the Lumières, as indeed has Boulogne-sur-Mer, which describes itself as “Ville pionnière du Cinéma” (the pioneer town of the cinema). Now, I must admit to having little interest in, and less knowledge of, the cinema and its history, and therefore to being unable to judge these claims for myself. Boulogne, though, has no doubts as to Planchon’s and Boulogne’s importance in that history and to commemorate this, the sculptures were installed with due ceremony just before Christmas 2012.

Église Saint-Nicolas de Boulogne-sur-Mer
Founded 13th century but much altered

This church in Place Dalton was an impressive sight in the sunshine. It is the Church of St Nicolas and its adherents, as usual, claim great age for it. It is said to have been established in the early 1200s in this quarter that was once that inhabited by seafarers and fishermen and their families. There is little doubt that it has been altered and enlarged since those early times with major works recorded in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries.

Théâtre Monsigny
Symbol of the town’s growing prosperity

Another important  establishment in Boulogne is its theatre, the Théâtre Monsigny, which started up in 1860. The town, quite small until then, began to grow rapidly in the 19th century and with increased population came increased prosperity, and the acquisition on cultural facilities such as a theatre and art galleries.

Résidence Cour Napoléon
A more elaborate style of architecture (1853)

It also brought about a more elaborate and decorative style of architecture in contrast to the plainness hitherto typical of Boulogne’s buildings. The one in the picture is known as the Résidence Cour Napoléon, built 1853, and is seen as a prime exemplar of that new style of decor.

Attirer-Repousser
A sculpture by Patrick Bécuwe

It’s good to see that Boulogne is comfortable enough with art to have sculptures sited in the streets and squares. This one is by Patrick Bécuwe and is entitled Attirer-Repousser (“Attract-Repel”) and represents a couple who may be either confronting one another or embracing, an ambiguity that the observer may seek to resolve or to leave unresolved.

Aux Frères Coquelin
Fountain memorial to actor brothers

Nor does Boulogne lack monuments of a more traditional nature such as this fountain with bronze sculptures of the Coquelin Brothers. Need I mention that the pair were born in Boulogne? Benoît Constant (1841-1909) and Ernest Alexandre Honoré (1848-1909) Coquelin, referred to as the Elder and the Younger, respectively, were famous actors, both in serious roles, such as the plays of Molière, and in more popular performances. The monument accords both the accolade of having performed at Comédie Française. Curiously, despite the difference in their ages, both men died in the same year and only a few days apart.

Fisherman and Family
Modern relief, historic theme

This handsome relief above the entrance of a branch of the HSBC bank is modern but it reflects the history of Boulogne, a town whose life depended on the sea. The relief shows a couple, the man with a fisherman’s sou’wester and the woman wearing the traditional headdress of Boulogne. In the picture are other items denoting the fishing industry, including boats and fish. To me, there is something doubly symbolic in the picture: while it does represent Boulogne’s past and to a certain extent its present, it obviously also symbolizes the way in which its maritime history is gradually turning into memories of the past and picturesque attractions for tourists.

Traditional Boulonnais
Greeting tourists at the harbour

Another example of that is found near the harbour where these two figures stand. They are meant to represent a man and woman of Boulogne in traditional garb but I am not sure that they strike quite the right note.

The Harbour
Built along the River Liane

Boulogne was familiar to generations making their cross-channel holiday trips, or even day-trips, to France. The big car ferries used to lumber into port here, followed later by the hovercraft. The Channel Tunnel deflated the fortunes of Boulogne as it did those of Folkstone. The ferries no longer call here and the roar of the hovercraft has also fallen silent. The river passing through Boulogne is the Liane, and where it runs into the sea could be conveniently turned into a harbour. I don’t know what trade passes through here now but it seems but a shadow of what it once was.

Brasserie Hamiot
A pause for lunch

We spent some time looking for food – the usual problem faced by vegetarians in France. After reading a series of menus containing nothing but meat and fish, we reached Brasserie Hamiot where we managed to find something suitable. It only afterwards occurred to me that this restaurant was one that I knew from previous visits but the whole area had so changed from the days of the ferries that I had difficulty recognizing it.

Frédéric Sauvage
What did he invent…?

Near the brasserie, we found this monument and stopped to take photos. This is where we met a second example of Boulogne’s trompe l’œil approach to history. According to the plate on the monument, Frédéric Sauvage (1785-1857) from Boulogne is “universellement connu pour avoir appliqué le principe de l’hélice à la navigation maritime” (“universally known for applying the principle of the propellor to maritime navigation, i.e. to ship propulsion”) and another monument nearby seeks to support this contention.

Not this…
…the marine screw propeller

The second monument displays what is clearly a modern four-bladed ship’s propeller and, underneath it, a plate telling us that in January 1832, Frédéric Sauvage of Boulogne “expérimente sur la Liane les premiers essais d’application de l’hélice à la navigation, révolutionnant le Transport Maritime” (“carried out on the River Liane the first attempts to apply the propeller to ships, revolutionizing Maritime Transport”).

This puzzled me because, as far as I knew, the inventors Francis Smith and John Ericsson are credited with independently patenting the screw propeller within weeks of one another in 1835. It’s true, of course, that the screw propeller was an idea whose time had come and that around that time several people were working on their own versions. For example, consider the strange tale of Robert Wilson of Dunbar. Few of these people managed to make their mark, however, whereas Ericsson went off to America and proved his design by building propeller-driven ships for the US Navy.

So could we have we overlooked the true original inventor of the screw propeller, Frédéric Sauvage? In a word, no. Contrary to the implications of the two monuments, Sauvage did not invent the screw propeller. What he invented was the spiral screw, a piece of machinery similar to the Archimedes screw used for raising water. There is a picture of it in this article. Sauvage patented this design and licensed it to engineer Augustin Normand and, despite the latter going on to adopt a more efficient design, refused to accept that it was more efficient than his own design. The truth, then, is that Sauvage’s invention, far from “revolutionizing Maritime Transport”, was a dead end that history has wisely left behind. The authorities of Boulogne need to revise their exaggerated claims for Frédéric Sauvage.

Pretty house
One of many in Boulogne

Even though it was not very late, we started to think about returning to Lille. The reason for this was that the journey to get here had been extremely long as the train had stopped at every small station and halt. The thought of enduring another such on our return was somewhat off-putting. However, we had been told that with our City Pass, we could pay a small supplement and travel on the high-speed TGV (“Train à Grande Vitesse”). We paid the difference and boarded the sleek speedster.

It was now getting dark and the train was packed. Normally, there is an indicator on trains in France, as in the UK, telling you what is the next station. On our TGV this was not working and I was concerned that we might miss our stop and end up in Paris. I needn’t have worried. With a whoosh, the TGV carried us straight to Lille, its first stop before hurrying on to Paris.

Boulogne-sur-Mer
As she appears on the Post Office wall

Despite the slowness of the morning train, our City Passes had proved their worth and we had spent an enjoyable day out. It was interesting to renew my acquaintance with Boulogne-sur-Mer, a town I have often passed through but never paused at. If the once bustling port is now quiet, Boulogne nonetheless has the qualities of a pleasant seaside town where you can agreeably spend time on a sunny day like today.

Waiting for the TGV
Our last view of Boulogne

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