Dispatches from Home – Good evening from London!
Yesterday was a tiring, amazing day. Our day began by hailing a cab to take us to our new digs, the Tavistock Hotel. It’s a lovely hotel, vestiges of its Art Deco past everywhere from its front entrance to its lobby and staircase. Across from the hotel is a verdant-green park, resplendent with towering oaks sporting fall leaves; worn park benches beckon. Today I sat on one of them, enjoying the sunshine peeking through dark clouds, a portent of the day’s promised rain. Around me were people, whose delightful accents were a fascination, as well as their conversations about the dear Queen’s passing.
Due to her passing, yesterday’s guided tour of St. Paul’s was canceled, as was our attendance to the Proms. The Proms is a night of singing and entertainment and is about as “English” as it gets. Alas, I was a bit disappointed by the cancelations, but what we did next somewhat made up for them. A bobby on the street informed us that arm bands were still available to the Queen’s Remembrance Service at St. Paul’s. We hailed a cab, arriving at the visitor center just in time to receive two of the last 20 remaining arm bands to the service. Standing in front of the cathedral, I was in awe of its immense, towering Corinthian columns, marble statues, and, of course, its dome. My dear father first showed me vintage, WWII snaps of the cathedral engulfed in smoke and surrounded by acres of burning buildings. Here I was, 50 years after seeing those snaps, running my old fingers over gashes in the stone of which the cathedral is built; those gashes are jagged reminders of the agony dear old London and its citizens endured over 75 years ago.
Mounting the marble stairs leading up to the cathedral, we entered the building through tree-top tall oak doors. An elongated row of arches and columns stood like sentries leading the way to the nave, seemingly a mile away. The cathedral’s Georgian architecture was a respite from the heavy Gothic architecture of Westminster Abbey. The cathedral’s soring, marble walls were covered in carved plaques, remembrances of the dead. Brass and crystal chandeliers hung in long rows, lighting the colored mosaics depicting the life of Christ. Soaring overhead was the dome, painted with more scenes of Christ and his earthly ministry. Hovering above it all were the gentle echoes of the assembled mourners and those of us who came to pay our respects to the Queen.
The beginning of the service consisted of prayers for the new King, the country, and the commonwealth. The choir’s choral music was uplifting, as was the powerful music coming from the massive pipe organ. However, all this pomp and circumstance was eclipsed by two things.
Near the beginning of the service, His Majesty King Charles III addressed the audience for the first time as King. The slow, methodical delivery of his speech, coupled with his flawless English accent, were powerful. His touching remembrances of his dear mother were heartfelt, his promise to continue the monarchy uplifting. When the service ended, the crowd stood, as instructed by the program held in their hands. Then, for the first time in 70 years, over twenty-three hundred people sang God Save The King. Those standing around me were in tears…as was I.
This, my friends, is this evening’s dispatch from London.
Big Hug
(Originally posted on Facebook September 10, 2022.)
