Lady chapel

Last week to the Lady Chapel at Westminster Abbey to hear an early evening talk by Tracy Borman about some of the men in the life of Henry VIII, the younger son of the chap who had the chapel built. A heritage flavoured civil servant who is also a historian and author. See reference 1.

A fine bright evening, but after much thought I decided against Bullingdon from Vauxhall or anywhere else, on the grounds that the lady chapel might not be quite the place for my cycling gear. During most of the train journey I had a couple of not so young men, swarthy and foreign, possibly Romanian, across the aisle from me, noisily watching something on a telephone. One of them seemed very charged up, so probably either drunk or drugged - but not a real nuisance, just irritating.

Out at Vauxhall to stroll along the embankment to Lambeth Bridge. First sight being a small blue tent, set up among the grass and trees on the south eastern side of the road. Presumably someone without a home to go to. Second sight being a rowing boat advertising its forthcoming trip across the Atlantic. Sadly not convenient to cross at that point to go and inspect it. Didn't look very big from across the road, but with two watertight compartments, one at each end, so probably safe enough. One for grub and one for sleeping? Third sight being the bar on a barge, still there from the days when I used to walk the route every day, rather busier than it was in my day. River full, starting to ebb strongly. Maybe not a good time to fall in.

Westminster end of the MI5 building in the middle of a major refurbishment, perhaps twenty years after it was done up for them. And the building across the road, once Thames House North and at least partially occupied by what was then the Department of Employment Group, now in the middle of something even more serious, with a large hole behind. Still seemed to be open though. Perhaps it is one of those jobs where they preserve the heritage façade but rebuild behind. Fake!

Onto St. John's where I thought to take a beverage, the next door public house being a little busy. No go, as the basement was closed for a private function.

A royal Irishman and his lady

On to a back entrance to the Abbey cloisters, where I was greeted by an Abbey police lady, with careful make-up, who let me in without needing to see my ticket. Perhaps she had the same standing as the police in the precincts of Canterbury Cathedral, noticed at reference 2.

The Abbey being closed to the general public at this point, even to members of the association, a very pleasant half hour in the quiet cloisters. The tablet above caught my eye, to a loyal member of the Commonwealth who was also able to claim descent from true Irish royalty, presumably from the glory days of the Septarchy. Also a tablet to a minor Ligonier, possibly erected by a major Ligonier, major enough to get the good spot in the Abbey proper noticed at reference 3. Wikipedia confirms my guess that they were Huguenots who came across to do good service in our army.

I also discovered that the four sides of the cloister square involved at least two sorts of arch, which I had not noticed before, despite having been there quite a few times now.

Another lady, this one without make-up, checked my name off a list and presented me with a white wrist band, after which the attendance - somewhere between fifty and a hundred of us - trooped into the Lady Chapel, equipped with tubular steel chairs between the two sets of stalls for the occasion. The stalls were not completely roped off and some hardy souls thought to sit in them - while most of us thought that this did not show enough respect for the members of the Order of Bath, whose stalls they were.

We were welcomed by the unfortunately named Canon Ball, Canon Steward & Almoner of the Abbey, the chap in charge, inter alia, of functions such as this one.

A small blue sanctuary light in front of the altar, as is proper for a lady chapel.

A lot of the stained glass was absent, but we had the central, east window, flanked by two new windows, abstract in blue. I liked them much better than the rather larger Hockney window at the crossing.

An opportunity to inspect the elaborate tracery of the ceiling, sufficiently elaborate that it had not been possible to carry a coherent design across the whole. Overall effect rather good, notwithstanding. The golden terminals to the stone pendants were rather like up-side-down versions of the turrets around the replica of the Aachen Barbarossaleuchter at Buckfast Abbey, for which see reference 4.

Competent talk from Borman, a talk prepared for what I imagined were a series of talks to promote her new book, but which suffered from being deep frozen, if I can put it like that. Rather leaden and lacking in the spontaneity which some university lecturers can produce, or at least fake. But I offer a few titbits.

Henry VII might have acquired the reputation of a miser, but he was very rich, having gathered up both the Duchy of York and the Duchy of Lancaster, and as a younger man was fond of dress, feasting and entertaining, spending a great deal on them. And a better king than his son.

While Henry VIII, who as the second son had not been properly brought up and was rather spoilt, was keen on showing off to the point of challenging King Francis to a wrestling match at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, which he lost - and he subsequently went right off the French alliance. Dangerous times for monarchs who liked this sort of thing, with King Francis's son going on to be killed in a tournament, by a lance thrust to his eye as I recall. The son was chivalrous enough to forgive his killer, but I think the killer did get into trouble later. While Henry got a lance thrust in his leg at some point, which never properly healed, with the result that while he continued to eat and drink, he got no exercise and the waist measurement of his parade armour, now in the Tower, grew to around 50 inches.

Not really a Protestant, he was just desperate for a son and heir. Not so unreasonable given the examples of Richard II and Henry VI, not that many years before. And not as violent in private as he was in public. Kind and compassionate even. Probably treated his dogs very well.

Compassion which extended to a private execution for Anne Boleyn (on more or less trumped up charges), which meant that only around 1,000 people came to watch. Not sure whether the watching was to make sure that everyone knew that she was dead and there was no talk of escape and pretenders or whether it just too good as entertainment to turn it up altogether.

I was a little irritated that Wolsey was described as the son of a butcher from nowhere, that is to say from Ipswich, an ancient and once important town which was more or less my birth town.

There were not many questions, a result, I think, of the deep freezing, but Borman's daughter got to ask a couple of entertaining questions about Henry's dogs. The second was rather clever, but sadly I forget what it was.

On exit, back down the embankment, where I had some trouble working out where west was. But once I had, a good bit of aeroplane spotting, including a couple of two's. Rowing boat just pulling out, so I missed it again. And Metropole (motor) cycles, once a large operation near the station has fallen.

Plaque

A plaque, on the bottom of a wall near Vauxhall Station, from the glory days of Southern Railway, close on a hundred years ago now. Perhaps we ought to suggest a paint job followed by Grayling unveiling (as the now responsible minister) to the present users of the name.

Handrail

Health and Safety on the case, with the semi-retirement of the heritage bent-wood handrail, much the same as those that used to grace most of the stairs in what was the Treasury building in Parliament Street. Oak, with cunningly bent bits to do the corners, with a gentle bend being just about visible at the bottom right of this snap. Perhaps Health and Safety said there must be yellow up and the Heritage people said you can't take the brown down. So we get the compromise as shown.

Tara

Thought to take refreshment at the Half Way House at Earlsfield. Service bad, so moved on to the house under the arches. Service bad, so moved on to the Wandle which was unpleasantly noisy. So tried my luck at the Tara Theatre which was just closing up after a show, where they could offer me a glass of wine which was quick, cheap and drinkable. Only spoilt by a world class theatrical bore banging on to the young ladies.

Interesting looking programme, but the first date I checked didn't work. And then I was not sure about a performance in French and even less sure about a performance of an adaptation of Othello in Japanese. But a place to keep an eye on. Supported by the John Thaw foundation - who must have made enough money from his successful television career to have some left over for this sort of thing. Perhaps the people who included a Morse Prize in an episode of Lewis knew all about it.

Some ones on the platform at Earlsfield. With a certain two blocked by town train.

Rather spectacular sky to the west, around 2120, around Stoneleigh. Pinks and blues.

Reference 1: http://www.tracyborman.co.uk/.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/03/canterbury-close.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/more-abbey.html.

Reference 4: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/10/canopy.html.