Everyone I talk to has a tale to tell of how being buried in the lockdown is getting to them. What effect are restrictions (if any) having on you? It's making me less communicative in writing, I think - it's a struggle these days to even do Facebook, and, although I love to read your blogs I'm not writing here much either. Are you doing Zoom chats with family and friends? I'm certainly doing that more.
In general, we're okay though. We've both been vaccinated and we are managing day to day, but we have friends and relatives living in countries where vaccines are in short supply or even unavailable, and every day is an incredibly anxious one for them. Yes, we're lucky.
My first vaccine shot was two weeks ago. I haven't a date for the next one yet but they're not booking much in advance. Below's a (blurry) photo of inside the vaccination centre. We were in a gymnasium, sodium lit and freezing cold, with people filling out consent forms, all muffled up against the cold, with volunteers running around sanitising chairs and vaccinators working full stretch in the little white booths at the right.
Afterwards, I felt liberated, though I know I won't be properly protected for a while, so mustn't be over confident. I'm glad the vaccine rollout has been fast, but it needs to be. A relative works at a big NHS hospital and is flat out helping staff who are at the end of their tether, so we both want to avoid doing anything that puts even more pressure on the NHS.
For this reason, we've sadly decided to miss the twins' birthday party this week. They've been planning it in detail, food, games, etc. all ready for the guests, who will be their teddies.
More obedient, good natured friends than the teddies are hard to imagine, but I'll be glad when the twins can get back to school and see their real live friends.
Nothing fazes Nature in London at the moment, it seems. The shoots of the spring bulbs are starting to appear on schedule. I was thrilled to see how one little snowdrop had pushed some flowers through holes in a leaf which had fallen on it and been shading it all winter.
And T. and I have been litter picking. It's great to leave a place looking better than you found it. We've been spending more time than usual around the church of St John-at-Hampstead, which is on our regular exercise route. It's a popular and welcoming spot but does get litter. We keep hoping we'll find some ancient treasure while poking about under the bushes and behind tombstones, but the most interesting thing so far was an unopened tin of tomato soup, a nail file, some unopened jam and some scissors. I spent quite a while wondering what the story was behind that little hoard!
We've also been exploring the old overspill Burial Ground next to the church, and over the months we've seen its flowers and wildlife change with the seasons, and noticed some of the striking or quaint memorials. I took this photo in the early summer, after this fine magnolia had finished flowering
A very prominent tomb is that of a carpenter's-son-turned-clockmaker who solved the problem of longitude in the 18th century. This may sound a little academic, but until John Harrison invented a clock that kept accurate time at sea, the only accurate clocks had pendulums, and, these do not work at sea. By enabling accurate navigation, Harrison transformed the whole business of sea travel and trade, and, of course, saved countless lives.
The Mark 4 portable chronometer, which he spent his life developing, kept time to within three seconds a day. I looked it up and found it resembled a huge pocket watch which ticked at five times a second and this picture below shows what a beautiful piece of work it was. The image is from the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, which is proudly selling great big prints of this and other beautiful instruments in its gift shop, (or would be if it was open, as I hope it soon will be again).
I also discovered a lady called Eliza Acton buried at Hampstead. She was the author of one of the best known cookery books of the 19th century, "Modern Cookery," which was only overtaken by Mrs. Beeton many years afterwards. She also wrote a comprehensive book on bread, "The English Bread-Book." Goodness know if there is such a thing as a historian of bread, but if so, then she's it. I've linked to a facsimile here.
I've looked at her recipes and am considering adding powdered ginger to my next loaf. That is because I like ginger, but she says a ginger loaf can be helpful for people with delicate digestions or upset stomachs, and was particularly useful for "coach journeys," apparently. If you've ever been inside an 18th or 19th century coach, you'll understand why settling the stomach might have been needed. Just the idea of being crammed up inside one as it lurched endlessly over muddy, rutted roads! Ugh!
The churchyard is also the burial place of Peter Llewellyn Davies, M.C. original inspiration for J.M. Barrie's "Peter Pan." Below is an illustration from my rather battered copy of the original book Barrie wrote about him as a baby. (This is long before Wendy came on the scene, and introduced the Boy who Never Grew Up to the world). In "Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens," Peter is a baby who believes he can fly. Because he believes in his own ability so firmly, he can really do it. Full of confidence, he flies to Kensington Gardens, only to learn from a crow that he is not able to fly after all....
Peter Llewellyn Davies' life was a difficult one, and perhaps he might have been happier if, like Peter Pan, he'd never had to grow up but had lived a happy life somewhere away from the real world. His parents both died before he was fourteen, and he brought up partly by J.M. Barrie, who was perhaps not the easiest of people to deal with.
In the first world war, Llewellyn Davies was decorated with the Military Cross for bravery, and after the war, he established a successful publishing house. So he did his very best, but he had been badly scarred by his wartime experiences, and later developed a drinking problem. Sadly, at the age of 63, he committed suicide after his wife and three children were all found to have inherited a devastating fatal disease. He is buried near both his parents and two of his brothers.
He was a cousin of the writer Daphne du Maurier, who is also buried here. Daphne was the author of many extremely popular books, of which the most famous is probably "Rebecca" which Alfred Hitchcock made into a terrific film (I see it has also just been remade for Netflix by the amazing Ben Wheatley, which should also be worth watching).
"Rebecca" is the story of a grand house and estate overshadowed by the still-felt presence of the deceased first wife of the owner, Mr. de Winter. The second Mrs. de Winter does not find this to be an easy situation, and, naturally, nothing runs smoothly. If you haven't seen Hitchcock's movie, here's a clip. I must say I'd forgotten how well crafted his films were, so I am going to re-watch the whole thing. I'm going to re-read Du Maurier's novel, too.
Another writer buried at Hampstead, and a big contrast to Daphne, was Eleanor Farjeon, a really, really familiar name in my childhood. Her huge output included not only original children's stories but also retellings of legends and old tales, poetry and verse. (She was also friendly with many celebrated writers, including Robert Frost and D.H. Lawrence). I saw her unusual name constantly at school, for she is associated with school for me, and always liked the things she wrote. My favourite is a children's hymn, "Morning has Broken" which she put with an old Scots Gaelic tune. Every time we sang her words at Assembly I relived the happy feeling you get on waking up on a summer morning in the holidays, with the feeling that the day belongs to you....
In the 1970s, the hymn was taken up and became associated with 1970s singer Cat Stevens, but I prefer this version by folk singer Mary Hopkin, Even better, I'd like to hear it sung by a group of little kids. What do you think of the words?
If you're into great actors, there are several buried here. One of the most celebrated is actor-manager Herbert Beerbohm Tree, grandfather of Oliver Reed, father of Carol Reed and one of the most famous theatrical figures of the Victorian age, specially for his interpretations of Shakespeare. It's hard to over-estimate what a towering figure he was on the Victorian and Edwardian theatre world. Among his many achievements he founded the stage school RADA, which has trained many people you're going to have heard of. (And even I have heard of, given that I have a terrible memory for that kind of thing)
Gerald du Maurier, actor-manager, philanthropist and father of writer Daphne Du Maurier is also there, as is the Austrian actor Anton Walbrook, who fled to Britain in 1936. Walbrook is seen here in Stephen Fry's introduction to the British "Gaslight" film, (which is very interesting in itself.)
Several artists also lie in this surprisingly small area of land. In a far corner, this peaceful, almost oriental figure stands by an old, ivy-clad wall and holding a fresh flower. It commemorates the artist Randolph Schwabe.
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One of his war drawings, above, shows the area around Coventry Cathedral after the devastating air raids of 1940. Doesn't it just show up the primitive, childish, pointless nature of war? The destruction is in such contrast to the careful skill of the drawing.
There's also a beautiful stone commemorating Arthur Watts, an accomplished illustrator who died in a plane crash in 1935. I really love his illustrations, (some shown below) for their clever viewpoints, delightful use of colour and surprisingly contemporary feel.
But the most famous artist interred in this burial ground has to be John Constable, who revolutionised landscape painting in the early 19th century. He lived in Hampstead for the last ten years of his life, even though he's usually associated with "Constable Country" the beautiful area of south Suffolk where he was born and raised. Perhaps the most famous of these large works is "The Hay Wain," which most people in Britain seem to know. If you are interested in art, here is an amusing talk by Colin Wiggins of the National Gallery about it which will tell you more about Constable.
While he lived in Hampstead, Constable was raising his seven children alone and doing many outdoor landscape sketches from life on Hampstead Heath. One shows a view which is instantly recognisable and very familiar to me. It is a vista of the valley between Hampstead and Highgate, with the distant skyline punctuated with the spire of St. Michael's church in Highgate village.
The photo below is taken very near to the viewpoint of the painting, although further down the hill (and, at dawn). We take this gravel track every time we travel from Hampstead to Highgate village and back. Of course the trees are different now, and the photo was taken nearer to the hedge on the right than Constable's viewpoint.
Both villages are both around 450 ft, so first we have to climb up one hill, then go down across the valley to get to the other hill, and then back. It's not exactly the Tour de France but it is reasonable exercise and Highgate is a nice place to look around.
When we go to Highgate on a sunny day, it's usually a nice little treat to have lunch on the lawn outside the cafe of the old mansion at Waterlow Park. Here's a photo taken only last summer, which is set on the hillside and has a very interestingly designed garden stretching around it in all directions.
It seems a long way away right now, in freezing cold, lockdown London!
Still, now the vaccines are here, I feel more optimistic that it won't be long before we will be able to go back to that cafe again. They do great smoked salmon bagels and good coffee. Fingers crossed.
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