10.11.68 End of term, Wigmore and Coventry Cathedral

This post consists of a very long letter - it was originally sent on two aerograms. 

10.11.68

Dearest of all dear old souls I know, I received your parcel with the jersey and biscuits and fudge in it a couple of days ago, (and after I’d spent nearly an hour getting it open had a marvellous time!)  The jersey is perhaps a bit big, but I don’t know – it’s long, but this doesn’t matter, and there’s plenty of room in the sleeves, but otherwise it’s fine, and I intend wearing it all the this week and to run it in so to speak.  [I don’t remember this jersey, but plainly it wasn’t up to my mother’s usual standards of fitting properly!]

I’m writing this letter on Reg’s typewriter, in order to post it to you this arvo, but it’s resulting in a bit more mess than usual.  Since I last wrote I’ve been, as usual, rather flat out – even though I stayed home on both Monday and Tuesday nights.  Part of the trouble was that I’d got an idea to write some music, from Norman Thorn, [a Dunedin amateur conductor - not the one who's still conducting in the city, however] before I left home (whether it will actually come to anything finally I don’t know, but I’d like to try it) and this has taken up more time than I expected.  Also, one of the NZ students at the school happened to hear that I’d written some music – from me, of course; got to blow my own trumpet -  and it must be of some interest if Don Mackenzie [organiser of the Summer Music Schools held in Dunedin] wasn’t too rude about it, and he said he’d like me to write some songs for him some time, but though I’m very keen, it’s a matter of time, and also finding the right sort of words for this particular singer – he’s a bass, Kurt Gänzl is his name – he was Brian Gallins [actually ‘Gallas’] till he came here – he’s adopted his own family name again! – and to my way of thinking songs for basses aren’t necessarily the same type of thing as songs for soprano!  Norman Thorn had said on the way to Invercargill that time that it had surprised him that no one had ever written any music on the theme of the Stations of the Cross – so I wanted to see if I could and use a brass band into the bargain.  This of course necessitated some research into brass band orchestration.  [I don’t think anything came of any of this – when I did write some bass songs – to words by Thomas Hardy – a year or so later, I think I’d by that time lost touch with Kurt. As for there not being any music on the Stations of the Cross, a quick search on Google proves how wrong I was. I finally wrote music for brass band many years later, in the 21^st century, and that was after I’d had considerable experience playing for brass players.]

At the Centre we’re into work on the two end of term productions: Albert Herring, which I’m NOT concerned with (?) and Dido and Aeneas coupled with a curious modern French comic opera called Angelique which is all about a man whose wife is such a witch that he conspires with a friend to sell her, and the chaos that ensues – even the Devil won’t have her!  It’s mad, and horribly tricky, but generally I’ve been managing to play it.  [Angelique, which I don’t remember at all, was by Jacques Ibert. Kiri te Kanawa sang Dido, and was really very good in it. The question mark after Albert Herring may indicate that I was surprised not to have been involved with it, since I'd worked on it with the NZ Opera Co.]

On Wednesday night we went somewhere, oh, yes to the Wigmore Hall – where one of the second year students was giving a concert.  The Wigmore, as you no doubt know, is the place where most young musicians make their debut.  She was on with a clarinettist, whom I thought was very much under par, probably through nervousness, but whom the critics seemed to think was pretty good?  I’m definitely beginning to distrust the critics here. There seems to be some shifty work going on backstage somehow.  [I apparently spent my time disagreeing with the critics.] The girl who sang wasn’t bad, although some of her music I didn’t find all that interesting, but she sang a new song cycle by a London bloke, which though it was scarcely terribly original was quite pleasant – I’d played a few of them for her one day at a coaching session, and quite liked them. [Unhelpfully, I don’t tell my mother who the composer was.] The accompanist was very good but inclined to overshadow his accompanees, to coin a word, probably because he was so much more experienced. It was hearing these new songs however that prompted the conversation with between Kurt and myself. 

After this, I went for a short time to a party being held in the same street, by one of our stage managers (at her flat, it was, on the fifth floor!) but didn’t stay late, though it was a nice quiet party, which is what I enjoy.  The next day David Syrus had invited me to accompany him to dinner at a lady friend (of his)‘s place, and this was equally quiet and enjoyable.  There are four girls actually at this basement flat, but the one David knows, from his University days, Mary, is an archivist now and at present is working in Lambeth House, the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury.  She is cataloguing letters and such belonging to various previous archbishops from the 19^th century.  Another girl joined us for tea, Frances, who works in the Tate Gallery (an art gallery) as a secretary.  We spent so much of the meal talking, that the three courses took from about 7.45 till 10.15! (at least, Mary did most of the talking, not in a brash overbearing way, but just quietly and interestingly.  We other three probably said less together than she!)  They live in Pimlico, very near the Thames, in St George’s Square, where, presumably, most of the four or 5 storeyed houses have been converted into flats. 

On Friday at our lunch-time lecture we had Ronald Dowd, an Aussie tenor, whose been over here for some years now, and he was interesting in a waffly sort of way.  I don’t think I told you that we’d had Professor Thurston Dart the week before, lecturing on Dido and Aeneas, and bringing the whole tragedy to the level of ordinary people in a very funny way. At the lecture he seemed like a very friendly if rather cynical man – and yet, in the afternoon when he took those concerned through the music of Dido, he was frequently very rude to the singers without appearing to try and understand their reason for not having done a thing the way Purcell wanted it – this last was his most heard comment throughout the afternoon, and we were a bit taken aback by his rather surly tongue. 

On Friday night I came out to the Crowls, and listened to The Magic Flute on the radio with Reg, trying to explain what it was all about as we went along.  I’ll see if it’s possible to get some free seats for them for a performance, which will make up a little for all their generosity. I’d come out the day earlier so that we could leave early in the morning to go to Coventry to see the Cathedral that’s there. That’s the one built adjoining the ruins of the old, where The War Requiem was first performed.  It’s really unbelievable in a modern architectural way, and some of it is beyond description, I think.  Here goes. We went there via the M1 (just Reg and I; Mavis has been feeling a bit crook, and the other two had been fairly recently) and this road alone is worth comment.  We couldn’t see anything on the way, and not much more on the way back because the fog was too thick. In some places, unpleasantly so, and it’s a bit worrying to not be able to see far ahead of you on such a fast road. Reg is a good driver, I think, although sometimes he goes a little too fast for my liking. 70, for instance!  In spite of its six lanes, I dare say the M1 is very safe, but the traffic weaves in and out a lot (there are three speeds, so to speak, according to the three lanes) and though I didn’t see anything troublesome on the trip I didn’t always feel too happy. Coventry is not a very large city – I should think smaller than Dunedin, although I couldn’t always see it all for the fog, which did clear in the town at least,  - but it’s very new, particularly in the centre, and well-designed for a modern city.  The Cathedral isn’t the only decent piece of architecture.  The very centre of the town has a huge shopping mall (this part is called Broadgate) which the traffic goes around, or parks inside a large parking building, and it’s very busy as far as the pedestrians are concerned.  We didn’t stop to look at that – it was too cold to stop and look at anything...  [handwritten] to be continued.  Love Mike

Part II

because the weather for the last week has been very bitter indeed, and though I haven’t been wearing a coat yet, I have made considerable use of that scarf you gave me, and my gloves.  (And also, to digress even further, on Tuesday last, Mrs Marshall got us some coal – on our behalf – and we’ve been using that for the time since.  It’s cheaper than the electricity – and possibly more economical altogether, because the coal burns SO slowly that we hardly use any in a night). 

The sun was shining and the day was beautiful to look at in a sort of frostbitten way, but not the best to stand around in.  So we headed across this Broadgate – me leading Reg – he says he can never remember more than the first of a set of instructions on how to get to a place – we’d acquired these from a lady, who instantly knew we were strangers – not only because we were asking the way to the church, but because we said ‘where is St Michael’s Cathedral, and she only knew it as the Cathedral!  Anyway, as you go into the Cathedral two things hit you.  The massive window on your right made of about fifty or more stained-glass windows ranging from yellow and gold at the base to green and reds and blue and purples. This is all over the top of the baptismal font area.  The font is a huge rock from Bethlehem with just a niche carved into the top.  The other thing is the Graham Sutherland Tapestry, which frankly I find even less impressive in life than in the photos.  It has Christ in majesty seated with the four evangelists in their usual guises of lion, ass – or horse, perhaps – man, is it, and eagle, surrounding him.  But it’s all done in a sort of off-white and green, and to my way of thinking isn’t particularly attractive in any sense of the word.

St Mike and the Devil - photo taken by me in 2007

The building is of a pink-gray stone outside (with an immense statue of St Mike with a long spear, standing over the Devil in chains – both of them obviously attached to the wall but somehow appearing to not be attached) and the inside is a white stone with a great deal of wood panelling, carving, ceiling, planking, seating, you name it, etc.  On the left, inside, is the Chapel of Unity, with the Star of Bethlehem set in the floor in sort of a marble type of mosaic, but not as small as mosaic is.  In the prongs of the star are, again, representations of the evangelists, considerably modern in style, and designs representing the five continents. Further into the centre are typical Christian symbols.  The points of the star go into the walls which are not just flat, but (in an already circular room) are separated by both ordinary glass in extremely narrow windows, and also by stained glass in a variety of hues, which are always darker at the base than the top.

Outside in the main church, as one goes towards the altar, you realise that there are other windows besides the huge one over the font.   But these are all so designed that you can’t see them unless you look from the altar end.  Those on one side are connected with God or the spiritual side of man, and the others with his human side.  There are five windows on each side, perhaps three yards across, each, and they represent man’s journey through life, the green ones at the far end of the Church being his childhood, the red ones next showing his passion in youth, etc, the next are multi-coloured showing middle life, with all the trials and tribulations belonging – these aren’t shown in so many pictures, but are all sort of abstract! – the next with deep purples and blues and golds show wisdom, etc, and the next, which my guide book doesn’t mention, are curious.  On one side there is a very pale window, off whites and pale yellow, and on the other a different thing again.  Anyway, presumably it means you reached your goal! 

As you come down both sides of the church there are five panels (on each side) with Christian texts, sort of roughly carved in nearly foot high letters.  If one turns round and looks at the back of the church you can see the completely glass-covered back wall with figures of saints and angels set into them.  These are modern too, naturally, but interesting, and like so much else in the church, intricately designed.  There are sets of organ pipes on both sides of the principal altar (but I couldn’t see the organ).  There is a little archway beneath these pipes on each side leading round behind the main area to the altar beneath the Tapestry.  On the way on the left side is a little collection of the various opening ceremony implements, and yet another set of stained glass windows.  crossing over to the right we come to another chapel, Christ in Gethsemane, with a frame of the crown of thorns through which the, I think, bronze angel set with coloured glass holding the cup can be seen.  This is lit by three narrow unseen windows. 

There is yet another altar (like the Chapel, sort of outside the main structure of the church) the Chapel of Christ the Servant.  It is fairly simple in design and has windows looking over the surrounding town area.  Other features of the church are the Iron Bird ?? with the three nails taken from the old Cathedral embedded between its body and the pedestal, the canopy made up of dozens of three-pointed wooden things over the Bishop’s seat, and each of the accompanying seats has one too.  I see now that my description of the Baptismal window is inaccurate.  The centre is of yellow and gold, the surrounds vary from blue to green to red.  There is a new addition to the Church.  A crucifix, about ten foot high, hanging near the font.  It is a gift from Czechoslovakia.  The whole building is very angular, and yet doesn’t make it uncomfortable to be inside. 

We went outside after and had a look at the shell of the old church, with the cross made from the wreckage, and the altar made from the stone.  The entire bell-tower is still standing and most of the walls.  Crazy, isn’t it.  We also had a look (after lunch in the Cathedral Refectory Restaurant) (!) at the church next door, which except for the loss of its original stained glass was scarcely touched (it now has a new and very detailed window facing the altar, with a very athletic Christ, and a host of well-known saints) – and it dates from 1200 or something. It’s much cosier than the other church, although its spire must be equally as big, and there are some very old things remaining in it.  The lectern dates from the origin of the church, but looks like new!, and there is a lovely carved fresco of Christ and the 12 apostles all standing about 8 inches high.  Over the altar is another carving, this one in stone (the other is wood) with the usual Christian scenes on it. Each of the pew-ends has a different type of leaf shown on it, although at first glance it appears there are only two patterns. 

That’s about it.  Last night Reg and I played firstly Scrabble with Mavis, and then played through a couple of chess games from a book by Gerald Abrahams.  The second game was that played by two computers!  I’m leaving here early today, to meet Kevin in town about five, since this is his only afternoon off!  He has Thursday off, all day off, but of course that’s no use to me.  I’ve got most of Monday off.  Might be able to catch up a little.  [handwritten] This term seems to have gone terribly quickly – finish on the 21^st Dec.  We start about 6^th Jan again. Thanks again for parcel. Mike

Another photo taken at Coventry in 2007

15.9.68 - St Alban's and a second cousin

15.9.68

This great photo appears on a blog by
Jeremiah Watt.  It gives some impression of
St Alban's beauty. 

Dear Mum, England is at present having the sort of floods we had earlier this year – great chaos, but not where either the Crowls or I live.  I rang Kiri tonight, but she’s a victim of the floods and is still down south somewhere according to Ann Gordon, who was at K’s place.  They’re going to let me know tomorrow. Well, I went out to Woodland Way yesterday, and started the stay off with dinner!  Then we went on our projected tour of St Albans – this time Nina, Mavis’ sister wasn’t with us, but was looking after someone sick.  We got to St A’s (by the way, the town of St A’s is very attractive, it hasn't been too spoilt with lots of new blocks but retains its nineteenth and earlier century charms) and went in and walked down to the West End of the church.  It’s the most remarkable building: part of it dates back to 1077 (!) then another wall dates from a century or two later, and is different in style, then another bit had been added again in a different style, and consequently the whole place could be a mess. As far as design goes it probably is: nothing quite lines up with anything else: the roof is at least four different heights, and has a 19^th century ceiling in one part, another bit is painted with squares of two or three different colours, the next bit is vaguely polka-dotted with a variety of colours, the next bit is beautiful, and so on!  There is a lady altar, which is very attractive, but fairly simple, then the main altar, but in the middle part of the church, which is the smaller part than the west end which is for a big congregation, has an altar depicting the Resurrection and must have over 50 statues, all about 2 or 3 feet high, and a number of smaller ones, all quite different and depicting various saints, and a larger crucifix in the middle.  Fantastic!!

St Alban’s tomb, if you walk into it, is interesting but decaying, but approach it from the lady altar, and the three arches in front of it take on a strange light, and there is a curious pink glow about it all, which seemed to have no particular source. The amount of carving, not only of the statues but of endlessly detailed and decorated archways, and pillars, is astonishing.  There are murals, now being cleaned, that date back to the beginning of this particular church, and there are stones in the tower, I think, that were used in the building of the Roman town of Verulamium, or somesuch, next door, which must date back to the first or 2^nd centuries!  There has been a church there since the 3^rd, of some sort.

But we ran into troubles again – last time we couldn’t get in.  This time we got down to the West end, and Reg (which is what I’m to call him) wandered off into the middle while we other 3 were admiring some plaques that dated back to 1686, and next thing we found Evensong had begun and we couldn’t follow Reg through.  The same little man was stopping us at the door between the two parts.  So we went out the West door and back in the other end, and another man said would we sit down, so we did, sighting Reg trapped, somehow, on the other side of the door, which he’d managed to go out though we couldn’t come in it! The service went on and on, and though we tried to leave during on bit, we were asked very firmly to sit down again! And the choir, of boys and men, which though it was very good, sang the same sort of thing over and over again, seemed never to stop!  Trapped!  In due course it all came to an end, but we were a bit annoyed, really, because it had taken up so much of the short time we had.  Not to worry. 

After this we went and had tea and cakes – indispensable; I’m even beginning to think so myself – homemade, too, at a little place just up the street.  Home, and then we had tea proper!  After this we watched the last night of the Proms on TV – the last night of 52! – but it was the 2^nd half and all pretty rowdy – the audience is quite mad on the last night. [At this point the Last Night of the Proms wasn't something I knew much about.] Reg then went out to collect Nina, and he made a tape on his return of me playing some music, as well as all the chat that went on in between.  I’m afraid I wasn’t too happy with my playing, but it seemed to come out quite well on the tape.

This morning to Mass just down the road, and very crowded it was too.  It was a High sung Mass, but the music didn’t seem to be particularly interesting.  At least the hymns were familiar. 

This afternoon Reg and I had a game of chess which he won...!  I had him fooled for a while, though; he wondered what the new opening was that I made: completely Crowl! [In other words I was making it up as I went along; my usual amateur tactic – Reg could actually play well.] This afternoon, too, we went and visited Winnie Crowl, Reg’s cousin, my second, according to her, and she’s a lovely old lady, not that old, I suppose, about 60-something, but very bright.  A Cockney too.  She pronounces her name to rhyme with Crow, which is curious, because Reg pronounces it the way we do [rhyming with Owl].  She lives in a maisonette, which is the upper floor of a semi-detached – I think – near Arnos Grove.  Which is near where Anne and Pat live.  She’s invited me to come round any time I feel like letting off steam!  She says she’s a good listener, but she is very easy to talk to.  It’s marvellous how pleased these people are to see me – perhaps it’s my origin, i.e., from NZ, or perhaps the fact of whose son I am – though Reg reckons that anything I want to know about you Winnie can tell me! She and Reg are fairly close I think.  But she really did welcome me with open arms.  Great isn’t it? I’ve felt a bit embarrassed about the shower of gifts, almost, that the Crowls have presented: particularly in the way of hospitality, and also in gifts of fruit and eggs, and cake, and now an alarm clock (my wee clock’s fine, except for the alarm), so this time I gave Mavis a small box of chocs – I’d wanted to get some flowers which she loves but since it’s been so wet, the flower sellers weren't around.  And I’ve been invited out again next weekend!  They’re marvellous, aren’t they?  I thought the home relatives were a good lot, but these are wonderful too.  Reg reckons he’s learning more about London all the time – I’ve been to several places he hasn't!  Mad, isn’t it? 

At the moment on the radio there’s an interview with a woman who’s a divorcee, and a widow, discussing her problems of being on her own – it’s very emotional.  She keeps breathing very heavily.  It’s quite surprising what they’re discussing.  Mike

[In spite of Winnie’s warm welcome and encouragement, I don’t ever remember going there on my own. I may have gone once or twice more with Reg, but I don’t remember. As for her being a Cockney – well, she may have been born, like my father was supposed to have been, within the sound of Bow Bells – but there wasn’t a hint of Cockney in her speech, any more than there was in Reg and his family’s. My amazement at St Alban’s was no doubt due to its being one of the first ancient churches I visited. ]

4th and 5th Letter 10.9.68

The next letter was a double - so much to write about that it required two aerograms sent at the same time. 

10.9.68

Dear mum, I received a letter from you before I left the OVC, by the way, in case you thought I hadn't got anything.  Got a letter from wee Glenda Ferrall in Aussie today.  [ I think she worked on the NZ Opera Co’s Die Fledermaus as part of the backstage crew. Certainly there was a Glenda Ferrall listed as a stage manager in Australia ]  She says she did a war-dance around the school when she got the news that I’d come over here – but I don’t know whether to believe her or not...!  Well, to bring you up to date.  On Saturday, due to receiving a last minute message to see [Mike] at NZ House at 11.45, I scampered out to Plaistow at eight in the morning – making the people at OVC think I hadn't and wouldn't pay my bill – and then when I’d had breakfast at the flat, I scampered back to town and just arrived in time to be there before Mike.  He and Kathleen were off to Spain, hitch-hiking, and so I gave them my address and we chatted a bit, and then I said I must be off to see Reg. So I dashed onto another train, although at that stage I had a good half-hour up my sleeve, and arrived out at Wood Green station at midday.  Unfortunately that day was the day they introduced a new bus service, and the bus that I’d caught with ease on the Thursday night wasn’t running.  So after standing there cursing and muttering, I decided to walk to Reg’s place.  I knew it was a fair distance, but I thought I’d do it before 12.30, after which time I was supposed to have rung them to tell them that I might be late.  Well, I walked and walked (!) but still after going for half an hour hadn't got to the street that connects with Woodland Way [where Reg and Mavis lived].  And it was so hot.  (The weather has been superb since I arrived – you can’t see the sun, but the surrounding haze is very warm).  Anyway, I thought I’d ring him, and tell him I was having difficulties.  By the time I’d discovered that since I was so close to the place I was ringing and was ringing from a Post Office (on a Sat. – everything is open) [in New Zealand at this period, everything was closed on a Saturday] and had found I didn’t need the sixpence I’d just carefully changed for two 3ds, it was getting on.  [A slightly confusing sentence I can’t unravel.] However, as it turned out, I was only a street away from the connecting road.  Aagh.

Anyway, it didn’t matter – lunch was by no means ready, and Reg and I sat in the garden and talked.  Met Mavis’ sister, too – she’s not nearly the invalid I’d imagined, just looks pale and wan, but has a cheeky sense of humour – like so many of the British.  You really begin to understand what kept them going through all the war years when you’re living amongst them.  [I probably never told my mother this, but in my first week in London, I stopped at a stall that was selling stationery and asked for a rubber – as erasers were then known in New Zealand. He looked at me quizzically, and made one of the cheeky remarks that I claimed above that was typical of the British.  Probably thought I was a twat.  The Brits on the other hand didn’t always get our NZ humour, which has a slightly darker streak to it, I think.  I remember one of the other students at the Opera Centre telling me that people thought some of the things I said were rude; to me they’d merely been typical examples of NZ humour.]

St Albans Cathedral from the west, showing Grimthorpe's 19th century west front

After dinner – NZ lamb! – we went for a long ride, originally the intention being that we should go to St Albans Cathedral, last on the rather lengthy list of several places we went to.  Follow?  But we spent so much time wandering about Epping Forest, and Nazeing, where they all used to live (Mavis’ family next door to Reg and Mavis) and of course stopping off for the essential cup of tea and cakes (at a really old place – the walls were all ye olde wood, and it was held up by great logs that looked as though someone had taken a hack at) and collecting a dozen eggs because they are farm-fresh, that by the time we got to St A’s it was closing time.  so we got in the door and out again.  But what a fantastic place!  It seems to go on forever, length-wise, and is tall and wide to match.  And this is only one of the lesser churches.  (St Paul’s, which I’ve now been in twice, is always in the middle of a service, and one can’t go right round and see everything.)  With a bit of luck however we’ll call there this coming Saturday!  I’ve been invited out to stay the night this time – supposedly because it’s such a long trip from my place to theirs.  It’s more awkward than long. I have to change tubes about three times.  [It was typical of a trip in the Anglia that we never got where we wanted to go, quite, and that it took us forever to get home again, because everyone else would be out for a weekend ride as well, and traffic jams were common.]

After tea, Reg showed me (and the others) some slides.  Quite frankly, I could have done without them, but they were fairly interesting, and I could scarcely be rude when they were doing so much for me.  This troubles me a bit, or more than a bit, really – they’re doing so much for me, for my pleasure entirely almost, and I can’t do a thing in return.  However, this Sat, I’ll try and get some flowers to take out – that’s a start. 

On Sunday, I spent an hour almost looking for a Catholic Church.  The only trouble with the A to Z Guide is that it merely marks a church as existing, it doesn’t say what religion it is, so I went in an entire circle, or rather square, by the time I’d been and come back, and saw just how much suburbia there is here.  I’d rather imagined that Plaistow would sort of stop, there’d be a gap, and then I’d come to whatever the next place is; but no, the Coronation St type-streets go on and on and unbelievably on.  and many of them really do resemble C. St.  Anyway, I eventually went to Church in the next suburb completely – and found out that the local church is only marked Convent on my map, and is only two streets away!  Aaagh! But at least I saw a lot of the area.  It’s quite fantastic the way it never ends.  (The ride with Reg showed this too.)

In the afternoon I caught up on all the washing, but haven’t done any ironing yet.  Was to do it tonight, but I think it’ll be too late, now.  I’ve got an iron – did all the washing in the sink with a basin in it.  [I tried washing the sheets in the bath, and then was told by my landlady that she did those as part of the rent.]

Yesterday I decided it was time I did some piano work, and so after checking with the school went and used one or their practice rooms for about an hour.  [These were in the basement of the building.]  Met up with Ann Gordon again – had I told you?  I met her when I first went there last week and thought it was funny how distant she was, because during Albert Herring, I’d become practically her father-confessor!  [Who knows now what this means...]  Yesterday she explained that she hadn't quite been able to place me, though she knew my name all right.  This was quite a relief as I thought perhaps she was embarrassed or some such at my being there! 

After this I walked along the Commercial Road (incidentally it is now raining outside!) and then continued to walk until I came to the Tower Bridge and the Tower of London itself.  (You can actually walk into town from C. Rd, but I keep getting sidetracked, apart from its being a long walk.) [It is a long walk, but I used to walk a lot in those days; I remember walking from the Opera Centre to Oxford St, about four and half miles, very soon after I arrived.] So after a bite to eat, on the Embankment, I went and got a ticket to go to the Tower.  Just by chance I caught a Beefeater as he was starting his spiel, and so I joined with..

[handwritten] I’ll have to carry on in another letter, luv Mike.

********

Dear mum, carrying straight on: with his group, and it was very informative and interesting. And frequently wryly amusing.  Ugh, some of the things that have gone on there.  It’s quite horrible really.  After he disposed of his group in the Chapel Royal (I think)- (carefully standing at the door so that everyone had to tip him as they went out, and telling those left that they’d have to leave as well because the next group was just about to come in; still he was worth 6d) - I went on and looked at the armour museum.  (The crown jewels had such a crowd I left them for another day.)  The collection of armour and weaponry they have here is absolutely astonishing.  Some of it goes right back to Henry 8^th and earlier, and how they must have boiled in the suits.  Most of them cover all the front, except of course what I suppose is the equivalent of a man’s fly these days, and only the back of the torso at the back, but some of the suits cover everything, and I mean everything.  Ugh!  [This is possibly a reference to one of the suits having a metal codpiece: see photo]  There were horses’ suits and even an elephant’s.  Most of them are on models too, which makes it much more interesting.  On the second floor of the White Tower which is the one you can see in all the pictures, is a beautiful little chapel – all white and clean, and un-stained-glass.  Apparently, originally the three floors, and the basement of this tower had no windows! and it was C. Wren who was commissioned to put them in – through 15 feet of stone!  (Dear old Wren turns up all over the place – he built the Monument to the Great Fire, which was where I was headed yesterday, but didn’t get to till today, and it stands near the Thames, and involves a climb of 311 steps round and round.  But the view through the haze is tremendous.)  And his house is just opposite the Church on the other side of the Thames.  I spent quite a while at the Tower – so did some other people, about 15 to 20 years in some cases, in one or two rooms – and then I hopped on a boat which took me down to Westminster and which showed us some of the sights (which we could actually see from the land of course!)  [Plainly, in the light of my limited budget, it was cheaper to be a tourist in London in those days.]  There are lots of visitors here all the time. Americans, in droves, and all knowing nothing about where they are or what they’re looking at, as far as I can see, and also French (who take it all in with great interest, but making considerably less noise about it) and Germans and Italians.  So what with them speaking tongues I don’t understand and the great variety of dialects, I might as well have stayed in Rome! I have no intention of speaking beautiful English, incidentally – very few Londoners do, even the middle-class lot; in fact I’ll probably wind up speaking like an East-Ender, which is really harsh and grating.  [I had to learn to speak more clearly for the English in general; the normal quiet Kiwi voice just wasn’t understood by many Brits.  I came home eventually speaking a good deal more like a middle-class English person than a Cockney, incidentally.]

Anyway, I’d gone up to the West End (which doesn’t necessarily entail going to the Theatre, as I’d always imagined!) to see if I could get a standing room seat for a play that Richard Briars is in, (actually the box-office lady said that I’d really have to stand though Mike said this isn’t so), but all the other seats in the house hadn't been sold, so, I went down and got a Gallery seat for The Importance of Being Earnest, for 4/-. [This production apparently ran for nine months, continually sold out.] This meant leaning forward and seeing the whole thing under the rail separating us from the Upper Circle, but it was worth it.  And the hard high seats. A very beautiful production, with a lot of excellent acting and details, and with a marvellous cast: Daniel Massey (guess whose son?) and John Standing (whom I’d seen in three films and who was the best in this cast) as the two young men, Isabel Jeans as Lady Bracknell, Flora Robson as Miss Prism, amongst others.  But there was an American girl behind me, with an Arabian girl, I think, and all the American got out of it was the fact that it was all terribly artificial, which was precisely the cast’s intentions, and some very obscure points that neither Wilde nor the Producer can have been greatly bothered with.  Two French girls who sat through the first act must have felt very lost, and left after that. 

Today I went back to the Opera Centre – I’ve discovered just how quickly I can get there – by cutting out two stations entirely and walking for about ten minutes through some not-too-back streets.  It’s 6d cheaper too.  I then went to the Monument, and then just wandered.  Got church-mania – and kept on finding another in a most unexpected spot.  There are dozens around London and not just small ones either – all have at least pretensions at greatness. In two I found someone doing some organ practice, the first was actually having a lesson and was playing something very bright, and in the second the lady was preparing for a recital tomorrow, I think, and played two fairly lengthy things both based around a simple tune, but filled up and around and below and behind with all sorts of interesting ornamentations and effects.  I’ve never heard anything like some of the sounds that evolved: curious wind-like whistlings, great lugubrious rumblings, etc, and not just plain old harmony either – both had some very weird and wonderful chords in them, unless the lady wasn’t as good as I thought.

Had my first large tea here tonight.  Pork chops (more meat on them than lamb, I think) with potatoes and cauli.  Nothing was really thoroughly cooked, however: the meat seemed to me to be catching fire all the time, and probably didn’t have a chance with me anxiously looking at it all the time, and the potatoes and c. didn’t have enough time, because I though that the meat was being overcooked – it wasn’t!  But I thoroughly enjoyed the lot – had to put it on a bigger cold plate, too, after keeping a plate in the warming part all the time!  Still the oven has a good booklet accompanying it, so I’m sure I’ll have some success yet.  May even be able to invite Uncle R and Aunt M out for tea!!?  (I’ve decided I’d better call them that – it seems that they prefer it, by the way Uncle Reg refers to Aunt Mavis all the time).  Thank God for their radio, incidentally.  It’s been invaluable already – particularly when all the electricity goes off – as it did in the middle of cooking the meal tonight!! Lots of love, Mike.