London Calling
“(London calling) to the imitation zone
Forget it, brother, you can go it alone
London calling to the zombies of death
Quit holdin’ out and draw another breath”
“Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun
If the sun don’t come, you get a tan
From standing in the English rain”
I returned to London for a nine-day stay in May. I had last been there 15 years ago. When I sorted my photographs upon returning, I realize the fallacy when people say, “I need a vacation. I just have to get away from things.” All the things that interest me and occupy my time in the United States hold the same fascination when I travel. Different art museums, but I still find myself in museums. The buildings may be different, but I continue to be fascinated by architectural details and geometrics, as well as shadow and light patterns produced by buildings. Different parks, streets and interior space, but the people who occupy those spaces are still intriguing subjects.
I attended three excellent plays (Shakespeare Twelfth Night, Nikolai Gogos’ The Government Inspector, and People, Places, and Things, which will eventually find its way to Broadway, probably winning lots of Tony Awards), ate Lebanese and Iranian food, and spent hours exploring London. Photographically, the trip was somewhat of a bust. With the exception of two days, the skies were largely flat grey, which means no shadows. I encountered only one street musician—an opera singer in the Tube. And there was only one demonstration—a very low-key pro-Palestinian demonstration attended by 75 people.
Nevertheless, I persevered. Here is what I captured.
The Journey From Heathrow. Before crossing the pond, I checked with my travel agent about the cost of a cab from Heathrow to central London. I use public transportation whenever possible, but I was curious. £300. Naturally, I opted for the subway. Tap-In; Tap-Out; arriving at the Green Park Tube Station, one block from my hotel, Flemings Mayfair. Easy Peasy.
From a moving subway car. “See It. Say It. Sorted.” is the British way of saying “If you see something, say something.” These signs are everywhere, with constant announcements. “Sorted,” how British can you get?
The Hop-On, Hop-Off Driver hopping on to get to work.
An American Might Think This is A MAGA Hideout, But It Is A Male Grooming Shop
Highgate Cemetery. The day after I arrived, I headed to Highgate Cemetery because cemeteries are always fascinating places, particularly when you see familiar people now “planted in the ground.” Fortunately, I had good light that day. What was particularly notable about Highgate was how the groundskeepers allowed the grass and foliage to run wild.
The English folk singer’s grave had pride of place in the western section of Highgate Cemetery It is one of the graves that is visible when entering the cemetery’s west section. Unlike many of the tombstones, I was able to read the lettering. Bert Jansch? Think Pentangle and Sally Go Round the Roses.
I am not sure whether this was an editorial comment, or an attempt to efficiently answer the two most frequently asked questions
A stone memorial to Karl Marx; His original burial site is in a remote location of Highgate Cemetery, and is very nondescript
Someone got their Ten Dollars worth when they left the bill at the foot of Karl Marx’s memorial stone. At least I laughed, but I chose not to contribute more to the pot. As a capitalist, maybe I should have taken the money.
Karl Marx up close. Note the barely legible lettering.
Karl Marx’s burial site in Highgate Cemetery.
This is the eastern section of Highgate Cemetery, which is the more formal of the two parts. The pathway was meant to encourage exploration.
A passageway leading to death.
Everybody’s luck eventually runs out.
‘Still Ugo.’ I loved the reference to Bill Withers. This tombstone is a perfect of example of just how difficult it is to read the lettering on tombstones in Highgate Cemetery. Bigger, please.
Above this sign is a multi-story glass and metal home, with all the furniture and sculpture visible through the windows, including a rainbow-colored elephant. I respected the occupants’ wishes. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t.
The survivors left tools for tending to the site. Very trusting and attentive.
Somebody had a great sense of humor when they chose their gravestone. Mooning all cemetery visitors for eternity.
Or maybe they were being more philosophical than humourous. Sisyphus as a metaphor for life and propagation of the human species.
At times, the tombstones in the west section of Highgate Cemetery were lit with specular light cutting through the trees.
At other times, blackness prevaded the landscape even though it was daytime.
Terraces of graves in the east section of Highgate Cemetery.
Nobody knows for sure where we go when we leave this life, but Douglas Adams left us The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which might prove useful during the journey.
Notting Hill. I am sucker for the romance between William Thacker (Hugh Grant) and Anna Scott (Julia Roberts). It is my goto movie at Christmas time, even though it has nothing to do with the holidays. On this trip, I decided to pay the neighborhood a visit. Big disappointment. The main drag was filled with tourists (me included). The Portobello Road Market was a dump. Being there during just one season of the year was more than sufficient for me.
Just a few blocks from Notting Hill. Somebody doesn’t like Putin. The display appears to be outside the Offices of the High Commission of Guyana.
The bookstore where William worked and Anna stopped in. It is now largely filled with children’s books and souvenir cloth bags.
The house where William Thacker lived, and the door that William’s roommate, Spike, opened so that the British Press could see Spike’s package.
Walking toward Regent’s Park, just a few blocks from Notting Hill.
Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park. I had always wanted to check out Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park; the place reserved for free speech. I was hoping there would be a speech or debate concerning the Israeli-Hamas War. Unfortunately, some preacher type was lecturing on the merits of Christ. I must admit, he was very good, but I wanted something more political.
Reaching out as he proselytizes on behalf of Jesus Christ.
Making his point in glorious black and white.
‘And one more thing.’ The guy went on and on, with no signs of letting up. He was an excellent speaker. One bystander got in my face about saving me. After a few minutes, I told him I would punch him the mouth if he didn’t back off.
Regent’s Park. Chicago has plenty of parkland, but London’s system of parks far surpasses Chicago’s. I encountered a bunch of kids and their parents taking turns on a zipline in Regent’s Parks. It was Day 2, and later in the day, I would see William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night in an outdoor performance . The actor who played Toby was astounding. He played the part in campy drag.
Before heading to the outdoor theater for dinner and the play, I stopped at the London Zoo. Unfortunately, the animals were either indoors, or sleeping. Nevertheless the Zoo is very impressive in terms of size, displays, animal categories, and activities. To some extent, I was not surprised. After all, as an empire, Britain, controlled many exotic lands. Apparently, people in London wanted to see the animals from those lands.
Taking a great leap as he boards the zipline.
Riding together.
‘Catch me if you can.’
One of many signs in an area of the London Zoo that paid homage to India.
I’ve never seen a Komodo dragon in a U.S. or any other zoo.
Central London. On my first trip to London 30 years ago, I saw the crown jewels, the Churchill War Rooms, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, and all the other stuff that first-timers hope to see. As far as I can recall, there were no admission lines, which is not the case anymore. The lines are long, so I have never returned to any of these sites, nor do I so desire. If I did want to return, I suspect there is a way to bypass the lines should I be willing to pony up a few extra Pounds. Good news: Don’t bring a lot of Pounds with you. London is much farther along than the United States when it comes cashless payment. In fact, I don’t recall many museums or shops that accepted cash.
I don’t find photographs of the iconic sites particularly interesting, but like everyone else, I still will photograph them when passing by.
The back of Westminster Abbey with some nice light illuminating the structure. I passed it several days later at 5:00 PM. People were still waiting in line.
Big Ben is an impressive structure. It keeps ticking.
The Houses of Parliament.
As the years have gone by, I have become increasingly enamoured with Julie Driscoll’s voice. On the Brian Auger double-album, Streetnoise, Driscoll sings about the Lambeth Bridge, so when I passed it on the way to the Tate Britain, I decided to memorialize the bridge in a photograph.
The Thames is not my favorite river. I walked along the river for a couple of miles. The banks are largely inaccessible to pedestrians, so there is no street life (cafes along the river, book vendors like in Paris, or people dangling their feet in the river or making out while lounging on a bench), at least along the river from Battersea Power Station to the Houses of Parliament. Further north, there are parks, but no walkways along the river.
Battersea Power Station is a monument to Britain’s Industrial Age (and also the inspiration for the Pink Floyd album cover for Animals), so I decided to check it out despite knowing that it now housed a gigantic shopping mall. A Malaysian development company was apparently behind the conversion, at least based on the signage I saw. To the credit of the developer, the conversion has sparked massive residential development behind the former power plant. My preference would have been for leaving the power station as it was. Even though the rough outlines remain, the glass and steel structure now rising above the original roof destroys the allusion.
I still view Big Ben as the English equivalent to the Eiffel Tower, but the people behind tourism now apparently want the London Eye to serve that function. I still have not stood in line to ride the London Eye. Not surprising. I do not find the ferris wheel at Navy Pier to be of much interest.
Hyde Park. The day I walked through Hyde Park, the light was rapidly changing. The skies were mostly cloudy, with some fantastic, but short-lived sunspells. Before arriving at the Royal Albert Hall, I passed the Serpentine, which is a 40-acre recreational lake that includes a Lido—beach. For just a moment, the Royal Albert was spectacularly lit, with its red brick on fire. Then the sun disappeared behind a front of clouds, never returning that day.
There were plenty of large signs instructing people not to feed the birds. I encountered a number of people who were gleefully ignoring the signage. Swans have a reputation as mean birds, but this large one obviously was acclimated to people. I suspect that the woman in black had previously fed this swan.
As often happens, someone—a kid today—just stepped into the frame. In this case, the result is magical. Thanks to the pigeons who startled her.
This, together with the next two images, offers proof that the light was changing rapidly. The three were probably created during a period of just five minutes.
Queen Victoria’s husband, Albert Prince Consort, has been memorialized in an ungapatchka monstrosity constructed in back of the Royal Albert Hall. But at least the sunlight momentarily hit the statue under the chuppa.
In a variation on the theme: How many skateboarders does it take to fill the Royal Albert Hall?
I spent lots of time inside museums, including the Tate Britain (for a John Singer Sargent show), the Royal Academy ( with Frederick Leighton’s Flaming June on display), the Courtauld (for an exhibit of Frank Auerbach’s charcoals), the Victoria and Albert Museum ( for Fragile Beauty: Photographs from Sir Elton John and David Furnish Collection), the Photographer’s Gallery, the National Portrait Gallery ( for an exhibit pairing the photographs of Francesca Woodman and Juliet Cameron titled Portraits to Dream In), the National Gallery, the Frederic Leighton House, and the Wallace Collection (Baroque ungapatchka).
The Reading Room of the National Art Library in the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Appropriately, a display case filled with old cameras outside the Victoria and Albert Museum’s photography galleries.
The Victoria and Albert Museum’s courtyard has an attractive nuisance—a large, shallow pool tht kids can’t resist. I didn’t talk to them, but I suspect she is pushing her brother into the fountain, although he seemed went willingly.
Happily, on occasional, someone photobombing me works to my advantage.
She has him tightly within her grasp as they sit around the fountain. I wasn’t the only one who took note of what was going on.
Architectural details from the Victoria and Albert Museum.
The chase is on.
One of the hallways leading visitors through the Victoria and Albert Museum’s Sacred Silver and Stained Glass Galleries, which hold every wedding present received by British royals since the days of Adam and Eve. Nobody wants the stuff anymore, so they royals gifted the objects to the museum.
Looking at someone who is looking at Richard Avedon’s portraits of the Fab Four.
The Reading Room in living color.
The sun came out long enough to illuminate the Victoria and Albert’s brick facade. Looking good.
Down the street from the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Fifteen or so years ago I stopped to watch a busker in Covent Garden. Dr. Philistine is still doing his “Born On A Rope” Thing. He told me that he has been busking in the same spot for over 30 years.
Dr. Philistine’s act is more about the patter than the actual tricks, although he is very deft when it comes to balance.
Dr. Philistine incorporates kids into his routine. Of course, the parents are likely to leave a larger tip if the interaction with Dr. Philistine produces a great Instagram moment.
Another kid was asked to toss Dr. Philistine’s top hat to the good doctor. The good doctor has signage illustrating the cost of living. At the end of his act, he suggests how much categories of people should tip, ending with the suggestions that Americans should throw $50 into the hat.
Dr. Philistine claims that he is 10 stories above ground when he does his death-defying act. In responding to those who are skeptical about the Doctor’s claim, he points to that double-decker bus as as proof of just how far he is off the ground. It looks very small from his vantage point far into the sky.
Those knives look sharp.
Time to pay up for the 20-minute show. To his credit, Dr. Philistine only takes tips after the show, assuring that those paying for the show are fully satisfied with the Doctor’s performance.
On one cloudy afternoon, I spent my time in Marylebone and the surrounding area.
Folks headed into and out of the Tube.
Let there be light.
Walking between the buses and cabs.
J. H. Fragonard’s work is so over the top that I find it highly amusing. According to the docent who spent a good five minutes describing this painting, the young woman on the swing is not wearing any undergarments, so the young man lazing about in the painting’s corner is enjoying an 18th Century peep show. You don’t have to fly to London to see work by Fragonard. The Frick Collection in New York City has a room with four Fragonard panels, each illustrating a different season.
An example of the architecture lining Marylebone High Street. The shopping is very high-end.
Daunt Books on Marylebone High Street is a fantastic bookstore. In days past I would have bought the coffee-table book featuring maps detailing all the sites damaged by the Luftwaffe’s bombing runs during World War II, but what was I really going to do with it once I got the massive book home. I do love the fact that someone took the time to compile the maps, which were very colorful.
Daunt Books’ Russian section offers an example of just how comprehensive the bookstore is. This isn’t even the entire section.
How could I not stop in. Upon entering, the first thing I noticed was Beatles music playing on what I presume is a continuous loop. I asked one of the employees standing in the backroom whether listening to the Beatles eight hours a day didn’t eventually cause madness. He asked me what I would thought would be a good alternative. I said, “How about a little Freddie & the Dreamers?” which first produced a hearty laugh, followed by a perceptive statement: “You must be a Frank Zappa fan,” which of course lead to further discussion. Turns out the guy was not a fan of Ronnie Scotts because the admission price is extremely high.
The faux competition between the Stones and Beatles continues six decades later. This store was across the street from the Beatles shop.
As I have noted, I spent many hours in museums.
I just liked the light on the third floor of the Courtauld.
A woman in the Courtauld photographing one of Frank Auerbach’s charcoal paintings. Auerbach worked with the same sitters, often requiring 50 sessions for a single painting because he erased most of the work after each session. His technique explains why the paintings are so textured.
The Courtauld’s massive facade.
I walked along Savile Row as I traveled between the Royal Academy and the Courtauld. Charlie Watts immediately came to mind when I saw this men’s clothing shop. He apparently frequented the stores on a regular basis, buying lots of suits.
The Royal Academy honoring two stalwarts of Western Civ.
Most of the statues in the Royal Academy are so-called plaster casters, used by students as subject matter, which is certainly cheaper than life drawing because no live models are involved.
I found the Royal Academy very welcoming when I saw a statue of myself on display.
Lord Frederic Leighton's studio in Leighton’s mansion, which is now museum (Monochrome).
Lord Frederic Leighton's studio in Leighton’s mansion, which is now museum (Color).
A detail from a John Singer Sargent painting in the Britain Tate.
The final painting in the Britain Tate’s John Singer Sargent exhibit. The subject bears a striking resemblance to my most detested relative.
The young boy has the gallery in the National Gallery all to himself on a Friday night.
Her screen proves far more interesting than the paintings on the wall. At least admission to the National Gallery is free.
A young fan snaps a photograph of a painting on a Friday Night in the National Gallery as other kids wander about. This photograph was palmed.
Blasphemy. The crypt in St. Martins of the Field has been turned into a profit-making cafeteria and gift shop. Imagine eating your ham sandwich while seated on the grave of a dead person. This photograph was palmed.
The view from the dining room on the top floor of the National Portrait Gallery. Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and Nelson’s Column are all visible. What else do you need?
On the last Saturday of the trip, I took the train out to Hampton Court, the home of King Henry VIII. I had talked about doing this on previous trips to London, but never visited the palace. Large palaces are generally not my thing, but it was supposed to be a sunny day. It wasn’t.
A train arriving at Vauxhall Station, which once again brought the great Julie Driscoll to mind.
The poppy field at the entrance to Hampton Court was probably the most spectacular thing about the place. I had been looking forward to the famed maze, but it had grown back, which meant I could no longer see the heads of the people trying to find the exit.
One of the kitchen’s that served Henry VIII and the other residents at Hampton Court. It is of no special significance, but I liked the light cast from the window.
A courtyard designed by Christopher Wren, the architect behind St. Paul’s Cathedral.
I thought this reflection produced a nice abstraction.
I don’t know why, but Harry Potter came to mind.
Harry Potter also came to mind when I encountered this dragon.
One of the galleries filled with paintings of important figures. The painting by Holbein are displayed in a gallery where no photography is permitted.
The three were having an animated discussion whether one them might fall into the pond.
A fountain and garden area outside of one of the newer wings.
Here are some miscellaneous photographs from my walks around London.
She was somewhat hesitant to pet the horse, particularly with signs saying that the horses might kick or bite. By the tradition, the guard never acknowledged her or anyone else. He just kept looking straight forward.
Ya gotta love the graffiti in the Tube.
The chocolate room in Harrods of London. The chocolate-covered dates were fabulous. I should have more images from within the store, but a security guard shut me down. Only iPhone photography is permitted inside the store.
People walking along the sidewalk outside of Harrolds.
Two women walking down a street with their newly acquired acquisitions. The photograph was palmed.
Most of the buildings in central London retain their historic facades, but most many possess modern interiors. This image explains why.
I missed the Nan Goldin show, but was not disappointed. I’ve had my fill of her Ballad of Sexual Dependency, a slide show carrying violent, sexual, and addiction-related connotations.
The challenge in London is not getting run over. The authorities have kindly painted signage on the pavement telling pedestrians which way to look before crossing, but even following those directions is not foolproof. London gives much higher priority to buses and automobiles than pedestrians. Typically, pedestrians are given no more than 10 seconds to cross a busy street. And you might not see any cars coming, but when you step into the street, they suddenly start coming at you from a completely unexpected direction.
This literally is the last photograph I captured during the trip. A motor scooter was lying in the street. I am not sure if this is the rider or a pedestrian who was struck. Part of the scooter is pictured in the foreground. This photograph was palmed.
Copyright 2024, Jack B. Siegel. All Rights Reserved. Do Not Alter, Copy, Display, Distribute, Download, Duplicate, or Reproduce Without the Prior Written Consent of the Copyright Holder.
