The Time I Stumbled Upon History in the Making

There are two things I remember most about my first and only visit to London, over a decade ago. 1) Walking so much my feet hurt for almost a week afterwards. 2) The profound disillusionment I felt when I discovered that the iconic Buckingham Palace guards wear a gray coat in the winter time (gasp!) and are much further from you than any film would lead you to believe. So, of course, I had to go back to see the red coats for myself.

Guard in red. Because it's summer. Very climactic, no?

Will and Kate weren't available when I dropped by. Guess I should have called ahead.

I was in the neighborhood so I meandered down past Westminster Abbey (where a lot of famous British people I don’t really know anything about are buried), into Parliament Square, to get a good look at Big Ben. While I was there, I saw a Bobby, Nelson Mandela (statue) and Winston Churchill, which of course made me think of my grandfather and the time he “accused” me of being a socialist (like that’s the worst thing in the world). He quoted Churchill at me, then copied down the quote on a piece of paper and taped over it as a pseudo lamination job and told me to keep it in my wallet and read it often. You know, had that wallet not been stolen, I would probably still be carrying that old quote around in some hidden pocket deep in my wallet, just cause I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.

"Socialism is a philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy; its inherent virtue is the equal sharing of misery." Winston Chirchill. mmmm kay

I was finishing up some lunch, getting ready to make my way to Trafalgar Square when I noticed people were gathering and waiting for something. Then I heard pipers, tambourines and distant chanting. Within a few moments, I could see a parade of blue-clad, sign-carrying men, women and children marching up Whitehall towards the square. I soon realized this was the London March for Europe, the largest of several coinciding walks planned throughout the United Kingdom to protest the referendum decision to leave the European Union. Across the country, millions of Brits were taking to the streets to ask parliament and their new Prime Minister to “take back control” and “reverse Brexit”.

Even Big Ben made an appearance as the crowd paraded into Parliament Square.

Many were brandishing signs relaying their conviction that the country, it’s systems and organizations (ie science and health) and citizens were better off within the EU. They also decried the fears and philosophies that buttressed the exit campaign—“Progression, not regression”, “Say no to nationalism” and “Aren’t we all foreigners?” Watching the whole event unfold was strangely moving, though it bears little direct impact on me. The protestors’ passion was palpable. It was also a good moment of reflection for me because it occurred to me that a lot of us are drawn to Europe for its rich history. It is all too easy to get wrapped up in the past and think of history as a stagnant thing. It’s good to be reminded that everywhere we live and visit is a dynamic place, where history is very much still in the making. It’s a wonderful thing to be able to witness it, let alone have a role in it.

"Na na na Na, Na na na Na, Na na na Na Eeee Uuuu"(Why yes, they were chanting to the tune of the Beatles "Hey Jude"

After the rally, I continued on to Trafalgar Square and Picadilly Circus, anxious to test the accuracy of my teenage recollections.

Trafalgar Square still makes me feel at home... perhaps because it is adjacent to Canada House?

Most memorable aspect of Piccadilly Circus?

All the taunting signs for musicals in the neighbourhood that I wish I could afford to see.

Being a fan of the macabre, I treated myself to a Ghost Bus Tour, which in addition to offering a nighttime view of London’s key monuments all lit up, explored the city’s haunted past, from grizzly crimes to royal executions. Bet you didn’t know there’s now a parking lot over an old pit grave where deceased “single women” (definitely a euphemism for prostitutes in this case) used to get dumped unceremoniously en masse without markings. Apparently they had to move several hundred skeletons when they were digging for Jubilee tube line, but estimate that some 15,000 people were buried there all one on top of the other.

I will spare you anything more dark and dreary than a view of the swanky bus.

I also happened to be in London 350 years to the day of the great fire of London. Great fiery exhibits were held nightly at the Tate Modern on the banks of the  Thames, concluding on the Sunday night with a ceremonial burning of a wooden model of London in the middle of the river. This I did not see, as I was at the airport, waiting to fly to Greece, but I’m sure it would have been quite the sight.

"London Burning" at Tate Modern. A pyromaniac's playground.

The London Fire Monument is a very busy place right now.

On my last day in London, I made it to the Charles Dickens home/museum (obvi), to King’s Cross to find Platform 9 ¾ (but I didn’t wait in line for my own picture with the cart because it was about 3 miles long) and to church (the only YSA I have found in all my LDS maps searches across Europe thus far).

Anyone up for cloning Dickens? In the study, not far from his old desk, the museum keeps a lock of his hair on display.
Not joking.

Do you think the sorting hat would put me in Gryffindor because, like Harry, it's what I really want? Or would it put me in Ravenclaw, where I probably actually belong?

A "proper" English breakfast. Packed with protein.