Absolutely brilliant. One of my favorite shows so far.
"Are you one of those very clever people who understands what no one else understands, but then doesn't understand what everyone else understands?" ~ Duffield, from South Downs
"I don't like me either. But it's the character I've been given, and I can't do anything about it." ~ Blakemore, from South Downs
"Duffield: You know, Blakemore, it occurs to most of us quite early that we're going to have to slug through life in the company of someone we don't particularly like. Meaning, ourselves.
Blakemore: But, Duffield, you must like yourself. Everyone else does.
Duffield: Do they? Do they really? Duffield smiles, knowing better.
And in the circumstances the only thing we can do is get on with it. Finish the book, finish the cake and move on."
from South Downs
"Andrew: My hysteria over that book just now was no more than a sort of reflex action of the spirit. The muscular twitchings of a corpse. It can never happen again.
Frank: A corpse can be revived.
Andrew: I don't believe in miracles.
Frank: Don't you? Funnily enough, as a scientist, I do.
Andrew: Your faith would be touching, if I were capable of being touched by it.
With my dear friend's Oxford notes and annotated map in hand, I set out for my day trip at 5:45 am. Though the morning was gray, windy, and wet (not a good sign, to be sure), my enthusiasm remained intact. I rode the tube to Victoria Station; from there, I caught the 7:00 am coach to Oxford.
Up front on the double decker coach
Why so early? I was asking myself the same question. But my timing couldn't have been more perfect. In her notes, my friend had encouraged me to go on a tour of the Bodleian Library. Since there are only a certain number of tickets, I needed to get to the library by 9:00 am. Being particularly fond of libraries, especially old libraries, I made the Bodleian a priority.
I arrived around half past eight. Oxford was still waking up. I wandered the quiet streets, taking in my first glimpses of the city I had so often heard about, read about, and seen in film and television. And it was delightful.
When I reached the Bodleian, the ticket office informed me of the extended tour at 9:15. Like I said, perfect timing. I visited not only the Divinity School, the 17th century Convocation House and Chancellor's Court, and the late medieval Duke Humfrey's Library (as restored by Sir Thomas Bodley), but also the Radcliffe Camera (the first rotunda library in Britain) and the Gladstone Link (previously the Underground Bookstore). The tour group of four was led by a lovely older woman; she told us all about the history of the building/library and how the library worked then and now.
Radcliffe Camera
Old Bodleian Library entrance
I think we all can see what the highlight of the day was. It is now my secret desire to work at this library.
After the library tour I rambled down Broad Street: passing the Sheldonian Theatre, spending far too much time in Blackwell's Bookshop, and making my way to the Covered Markets.
Sheldonian Theatre next to
the Museum of the History of Science
Following a brief lunch in the market, I took rather windy walk around Christ Church Meadow and the surrounding area, going past Christ Church College (home to Lewis Carroll, and John and Charles Wesley) and Merton College (J.R.R. Tolkien and T.S. Eliot).
Christ Church College entrance
War Memorial Garden at Christ Church
Because Madgalen college didn't open until 1:00 pm for visitors, I spent a good hour in the Oxford Botanic Gardens (oldest Botanic Garden in Great Britain) before visiting the old and rather wonderful college.
A bit of the Botanic Gardens
St. John's Quadrangle
Cloister
Looking at the college from Addison's Walk -
a favorite walk of C.S. Lewis
New Building (new as in 17th century new...)
Great Tower
At this point, I was starting to feel a bit chilled and tired after walking around in the weather all morning and afternoon. I had originally planned to stay until 6:00 pm in order to attend Evensong at Christ Church Cathedral, but I wasn't feeling up for it. (Now I have a good reason to visit again!) I decided to end my day with a visit to The Eagle and Child, or The Bird and Babe, as the Inklings referred to it.
And in case my day wasn't wonderful enough, I came across this while waiting for my coach:
Part One: In which Lois is too tired to write a proper blog post
Though a bit wet and windy, my day trip to Oxford was absolutely wonderful. But I've had a very long day (left the house at 05:45 this morning) and I'm absolutely knackered. Please accept this short teaser post about my day in Oxford; tomorrow promises a substantial write-up with pictures.
This is a clip from one of my favorite television shows, Inspector Lewis (a spinoff of Inspector Morse, based on the Morse detective novels). DI Lewis and his assistant, DS Hathaway (a Cambridge graduate), work together to solve rather tricky and academically based crimes in Oxford. I've always loved what Hathaway says about the bells of Oxford in the episode "Life Born of Fire." (Only watch the first 45 seconds of the video. Unless you want to watch a random ten minute chunk of a television show, of course.)
And here's the trailer for series five. Hopefully there'll be another series this fall on Masterpiece Mystery.
In the past few years, I've discovered Scratch that, I've always known this.
In sixth grade, we had to write an essay about our personality; I wrote about how I could be rather shy and serious but also passionate and animated. I called it my "Merry" personality, after the hobbit in Lord of the Rings: silly and spirited, yet serious and thoughtful. (Yes, I really wrote about being like a hobbit for a school essay. Sometimes I wonder how I had any friends in middle school.)
I have a contradictory personality. Quiet, loud. Silly, serious. English, math. City, country. Right brain, left brain. Crowds, solitude. Music has always been my comforting force of reconciliation, fusing art and math, passion and calculation, loud and soft, ensemble and solo. But I digress...
As I made my way back from Yorkshire to London yesterday, the pull between city and country was considerably prevalent. I adore Haworth. I love the warmth and geniality of the people. The beautifully wild and rugged landscape. The openness. The quiet. The slow pace. The air.
But as soon as my train pulled into King's Cross St. Pancras, I felt a shiver of anticipation for the bustle and anonymity of the city. Deftly zig-zagging through the multitude of fellow travelers on my way to the Piccadilly line, I felt a rush of sheer joy. I had loved every minute in Yorkshire, but I was so happy to be back in London. I love the hurry and the rush. The glass and the brick and the stone and asphalt. The cigarette smoke and car emissions. The busses and taxis and motorcycles and bikes. The old and the new. The noise. The crowd. Even the don't-make-eye-contact-don't-even-smile rule on the tube.
These thoughts brought to mind two separate book/film scenes. The first, a passage from Jane Eyre:
"'Pass, Janet,' said he, making room for me to cross the stile: 'go up home, and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold.'
All I had now to do was to obey him in silence: no need for me to colloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and meant to leave him calmy. An impulse held me fast -- a force turned me round. I said -- or something in me said for me, and in spite of me -
'Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home -- my only home.'"
While I don't necessarily have a "to you," the phrase "I am strangely glad to get back again" was turning round my head all afternoon. Perhaps my "to you" was London. Or just cities in general. When I return to Seattle after spending time in Marysville, I feel similarly.
The second thought was my favorite scene from the film adaptation of The Hours.
Though I love and connect with this scene for many different reasons, for our purposes, the important line is: "...the violent jolt of the Capitol, that is my choice." For me, the country isn't a "suffocating anesthetic" but there is something completely wonderful about "the violent jolt" of city life.
Just some reflection. Hopefully a peek at my interiority hasn't bored you too much.
"ˈwhither, v.". OED Online. March 2012. Oxford University Press. 25 April 2012
"Wuthering" is the perfect adjective for this bit of Yorkshire countryside. Blustering rain and heavy winds all morning and afternoon. And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Would have been a bit disappointing to visit Brontë country without experiencing some stereotypically Brontë-ish weather. It was all rather wonderful and romantic. (Although I'm very glad I went moor walking yesterday, when the weather was remarkably fine.)
Started the day with the Brontë Parsonage Museum.
One of the best parts of this study abroad trip has been making connections with my favorite authors and novels. Making them real. Today, I saw Charlotte Brontë's clothing. The sisters' individual writing desks. Their tiny tiny tiny juvenilia (and I thought my handwriting was small). I walked where they walked. Where they wrote their stories. It's difficult to communicate just how wonderful the feeling of connection is.
After visiting the museum, I quickly scurried over to the Haworth Parish Church in order to avoid the onslaught of rain. The church of Patrick Brontë and his successor, Arthur Bell Nicholls (Charlotte's husband), is no longer standing, but the new church has a chapel over the Brontë vault dedicated to the family.
Haworth Parish Church
Brontë Chapel
Church and cemetery
Later in the day, I had a rainy wander through the cemetery. Fun fact: It's thought that Emily and Anne's fatal illnesses were caused or intensified by water contaminated with run-off from the unsanitary and over-populated cemetery.
Because normal people go on graveyard walks in the pouring rain, didn't you know?
Another lovely Brontë-filled day in Haworth. Concluding my evening with the BBC's 2006 adaptation of Jane Eyre and hot chocolate. Seemed appropriate.
Brontë Waterfalls - it's said that Emily Brontë used
to come here to think and find inspiration
More moors - getting close to Top Withins
Top Withins Ruin
"Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. 'Wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather." ~ Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
"I Found Peace"
From the 2009 television adaptation
of Wuthering Heights
Possible inspiration for Emily's fictional Wuthering Heights
Self-portrait #3: "Among the Ruins,
or Learning-to-use-the-timer-on-my-camera"
Self-portrait #4: "Looking for Heathcliff,
or Getting-better-with-the-timer"
Self Portrait #5: "Wandering"
"I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeply furrowing the brown moorside; I waded knee-deep in its dark growth; I turned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in a hidden angle, I sat down under it. High banks of moor were about me; the crag protected my head: the sky was over that. " ~ Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
And it's pronounced Haw-worth not Hayworth, as my bus driver so kindly informed me.
Well, after a long day of travelling by tube, train, bus, and foot, I have finally arrived in Haworth. Brontë country. And incidentally, the world's very first Fair Trade village. Feeling quite settled in my adorable little b&b, the Rosebud Cottage.
The building itself dates back to 1750 and was once a public house in the late 19th century. I currently reside in the Railway Room: a lovely single room with an old-fashioned railway theme.
My room
And the bathroom
Photograph two in my Series of Unfortunate UK
self-portraits, entitled: "B&B, or Learning-how-to-take- photos-of-oneself-while-travelling-alone"
Tomorrow begins my Brontë adventure... keeping my eyes peeled for the ghosts of Cathy and Heathcliff.
Tomorrow is St. George's Day: death date of the patron saint of England and the observed birth and death day of William Shakespeare. To celebrate the occasion, I attended the St. George's Day Gala at the Royal Albert Hall. The program included:
"Crown Imperial" - Walton
"The Holy City" - Adams
"The Lark Ascending" - Vaughan Williams: This was an unexpected delight... one of my favorite pieces (though I didn't know the title). The violin soloist (Thomas Gould) was extraordinary.
Enigma Variations "Nimrod" - Elgar: Another absolute favorite.
"St. Paul's Suite Finale" - Holst
"Zadok the Priest" - Handel: I have a great appreciation for this piece after seeing The Madness of George III.
Messiah "Hallelujah Chorus" - Handel
JudasMaccabaeus"See the conquering hero comes" - Handel
"The Dam Busters March" - Coates
"A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square"
"The White Cliffs of Dover"
"Rule, Britannia!"
"Land of Hope and Glory" Pomp and Circumstance No. 1 - Elgar
And, some readings from Shakespeare's Henry V and the poetry of Wordsworth and Betjeman.
There was a lot of flag waving and singing along; the entire concert was rather light-hearted (audience participation, silliness between the conductor, the presenter and the orchestra, a bit too much talking...), but very full of spirit. I loved being a part of this very British occasion. Plus, the Royal Albert Hall is stunning--inside and out.
Making my approach toward the hall
Up in the nosebleeds
They have a very impressive organ; I would
love to hear it at full capacity sometime.
Here's the grand finale with orchestra, choir, and audience. Immediately after this, a large quantity of red and white balloons fell from the ceiling. Apparently popping balloons is the thing to do; everyone on the ground floor--even the conductor and a couple of cello players--was stomping and stabbing each and every balloon. Was quite the bombastic ending.
Yes, yes I know. I haven't posted for the past two days. Tomorrow is the day for updating the blog, running errands, and going to a concert at the Royal Albert Hall. Until then, please enjoy these three "Horrible Histories Movie Pitch" sketches, featuring The League of Gentlemen (Steve Pemberton, Mark Gatiss, and Reece Shearsmith) and Mark Gatiss's American accent. I'm slightly addicted to Horrible Histories, even though it's technically a children's television show.
The Dick Whittington Project
"How do you feel about Keira Knightley playing you?"
The King Canute Project
"It's a franchise..."
The Leif Ericsson Project
"Hey wait up, if you're a viking how come
your helmet doesn't have horns?"
"Because viking helmets don't have horns!"
"Okay, no problem. Aside This is a massive problem."
Christopher Wren church crawl today. Started the morning with a tour of his masterpiece, St. Paul's Cathedral (one of my favorite buildings in London).
The most terrifyingly marvelous event of the day was getting to climb the 528 steps up to the Golden Gallery at the top of the first dome.
Wide spiral staircases led up to the Whispering Gallery, which offered a wonderful view of Thornhill's painted ceiling and of the cathedral's interior. Another set of narrower stone spiral stairs led to the very blustery Stone Gallery. And finally, a series of small, metal, really really scary I thought I might fall to my death spiral staircases led up to the Golden Gallery. Though cloudy, the view was incredible and completely worth the climb.
The metal spiral staircase of death
My cloudy London
My "It's-Really-Windy-I'm-Trying-To-Not -Drop-My-Camera-I'm-Going-To-Fall- Off-This-Dome" self portrait
