Cool story: Roald Dahl, reading the newspaper, comes across an article about a farmer, Gordon Butcher, who four years before, during the war, ploughed up a cache of Roman silver (plates, spoons, cups, etc. for opulent dining). So impressed is Dahl (he said that the article sent electricity down his legs) that he jumps in his old car and sets out on a journey -- to Mildenhall -- to interview Butcher. From that interview he wrote a short story: "The Mildenhall Treasure." An American magazine -- The Saturday Evening Post -- purchases the story, and Dahl, having always felt that Butcher did not receive proper compensation or credit for the find (because of some greedy maneuverings of another man), splits the check exactly in half and sends the modest farmer the other half. That's good stuff. The Mildenhall Treasure is on view at the British Museum right now. We did not see it, or if we did, it was a blurrrrrr, as we spent our time racing from item to item to satiate The Boy's plans. And for some reason, the Roman Silver Setting passed under his radar. The British Museum was one of the top things on his list.
I believe that his two top items to see were Lindow Man and the helmet from the ship-burial at Sutton Hoo.
Lindow Man was fascinating, but sad. No amount of science or time takes away the fact that you're looking at human remains on display. He lived around the time of Christ, and it's unclear why he was killed. I wonder who was home waiting for him to return... The science -- the part that absolutely fascinates The Boy -- is interesting: "Bogs are cold, acidic places lacking in oxygen, which makes them hostile environments for micro-organisms that break bodies down. Sphagnum mosses that grow in bogs also help preserve bog bodies. When the mosses die, they release a sugary substance that acts as a tanning agent. This turns skin, tendons, ligaments and muscle into leather. It also turns skin brown and hair red" (from the placard). To preserve him once removed from the bog, the museum used chemicals, wrapped him in cling wrap, and froze him -- essentially he was freeze-dried. I didn't feel right about taking a picture of Lindow Man, but I did snap one of these crazy-cool El Dia de Los Muertos characters, so I'll insert it here as a way of honoring all the dead that end up being gawked at in museums... and hope that our family remembers to gawk respectfully. Voyeurism and sensationalism are horrid cousins to gaining knowledge, witnessing, and acknowledging.
The helmet from Sutton Hoo just reminded me of how slap-dash my grasp of history is. Anglo-Saxons came when? For me, it's more like Sutton Who?... Apparently they came after the Romans were eating off their enormous silver plates. I'm not going to feel too terrible for being ignorant, as the experts originally assembled the helmet incorrectly (it had been found in dozens of pieces), and twenty years later it had to be taken apart and reassembled. It took the curator a full year to figure it out, and I like how the education materials say that he did it based on the pieces, rather than any preconceived notions of what the finished product "should" look like. That's just an important life philosophy there. If you want something authentic, if you want to get to the truth, you must really look at all the pieces in front of you -- not force things into what you think the end result "should" look like.
Similarly, the Portland Vase was also put back together wrong (in this case it had been shattered by a visitor). Forty years later somebody at the museum "found" some "extra" pieces to it (??? was this an accidental thing, or was the first restorer like so many parents on Christmas eve who find themselves with left-over screws and are like: ah, shiz, just put them in the junk drawer)? All pieces have now been used, and the restoration looks great. The vase, made within 25 years either way of Christ's birth, is considered one of the finest pieces of Roman glass. It is made in the cameo-style, meaning that the vase is created with a darker color, and then an additional layer of glass is put on top (usually white) and then carved away. If I ever knew that's how cameos were made, I did not retain it.
My knowledge of The Enlightenment also needed brushing up, so thank goodness for the Hall of Enlightenment. The age of reason... learning... discovering (from the 1680's to about 1820). "Enlightened" men and women believed that one should observe nature, observe history, unlock mysteries and catalogue/impose order on things in order to see patterns and do more of that learning, reasoning, mystery unlocking, etc... Essentially, the concept of museums follows the pattern set by The Enlightenment. The Hall of Enlightenment is lovely. It's right up this family's alley, with books and fossils and seashells and diagrams. We could have stayed there for hours, but we went through it like whirling dervishes. Watching the kids discover something and then run to find the other kid to show the find was really cool.
We saw the Rosetta Stone and talked about how people use the term "it was the Rosetta Stone of ___" to indicate that it helps translate something because it contains something known that acts like a bridge to something unknown.
The Boy found the black obelisk -- and boy was he ticked. He kept saying that the museum had shoved it in "a random corner" (it's in the Great Court... in a corner) and wasn't giving it "proper respect." He is hoping to someday buy it from the British Museum for his museum. He doesn't think it will be a big problem, since, as before mentioned, there doesn't seem to be a lot of respect for it.
We saw the Lewis Chess pieces that complete the set that we saw in the National Museum of Scotland. I personally think Scotland should have been allowed to keep the entire set. The Boy refused to take a picture of it because he didn't like how it was displayed. I have to agree that Scotland has a much cooler set up -- more ambiance. The Queen's face expression must have instilled a great deal of confidence in the player.
The Parthenon Marbles. Quite a controversy. Elgin, working with the Ottoman empire as an ambassador, got "permission" to ship beautiful parts of the Acropolis back to England at the very beginning of the 19th century. Some consider it blatant looting and feel that the pieces should be returned to Athens. Some feel that while the deal might not square with today's standards, at the time it was fair, and considering the struggles that Greece has endured Elgin's actions might have actually preserved the art and history. And in fact, might still be properly preserving them much better than they would be in Greece. The Boy, referencing the tidbit learned at The Tower about the polar bear and his keeper, came up with a solution that might address these concerns: send the pieces back to Athens, but go ahead and send some curators from the British Museum with the lot to make sure they are kept properly.
And of course, there's the option of replicating. Which seems to be considered tacky by the more discerning scholars. There was a special placard by the Kudara Kannon statue that said: "Japan has an official system that gives the title National Treasures to important buildings, works of art, and traditional skills. It shows the importance in modern Japan of keeping alive the achievements of the past. The Kudara Kannon statue is a copy of a famous Nation Treasure... made in the AD 600's. The copy was made in about 1930 for the British Museum. The accuracy of the replica is important -- the original has been copied right down to the damage on its surface. The spirit of Kannon ensures that although this statue is a replica, it is in some ways 'real' as well. Copies keep old forms alive." Hmmm. I agree that copies can be useful, and they certainly can help preserve originals... Yet, I think it's a bit squiggly to say that "it is in some ways 'real' as well." It seems that adults often use intellectual crapiola to get things all twisty. That's why it was a kid who screamed out: "The emperor is naked!" (Oh, how my kids would have loved to be in that story... to be the hero for screaming about nudity!) In other words, I know how much more invested the kiddos are when they know something is "real." Here's the fakey-fakey:
Questions of true ownership, the ethical and emotional connections with replicas, honoring the dead... All worthy topics, but topics that would need to wait, for after scarfing down lunch at the museum, we were off and running. We were scheduled to meet a friend of ours (she lived in NYC for one year, but has since moved back to London; she is the brilliant constitution guru who taught the kids a lesson on the Constitution and Declaration of Independence in the fall) at the ZOO! Yep, The Boy had his time at the museum, and now The Girl was to get hers.
The first thing we saw while waiting in line for tickets was this:
It is in fact a true event. A group of tigers is called a "streak," and in the hopes that doing something so outrageous will raise some significant funds for the 300 Sumatran tigers left in the wild, the zoo is hosting this "after hours" event. You can just imagine how thrilled the kids were at this concept.
Aside from the upcoming nudity, the thing that might have stuck in our brains most firmly was this:
Or perhaps the lecture on the Komodo Dragon. They are nasty things. Their mouths have so many different strains of hardcore bacteria that if bitten most will go septic if they "survive." Some scientists also believe that they have a form of venom. Point being, they do attack humans, so if you see one you need to climb as high as possible into a tree. Once up there you might find baby Komodo's -- also staying out of the reach of the cannibalistic adults. Lovely creatures.
Favorite things from the zoo:
1. Checking out the reptile room and looking around for kids acting like Dudley Dursley, so we could have an opportunity to test the kids (if the glass disappeared we could start checking the mail next year for that Hogwarts invitation).
2. The baby okapi. Okapis are clearly the coolest animals -- combining uniqueness with sweetness. It is said that they are one of the shyest animals, a characteristic that has given them enigma-like status. They spend their days quietly walking through the forest, often alone, looking for plants to eat. Being unique naturally -- not for the sake of attention-seeking -- is something I like about my own kids. It's good that there's another okapi in the world.
3. The story of Winnie the Bear. In 1914 while overseas during the first World War Lt. Harry Colebourn, of the Canadian Army Veterinarian Corps purchased a black bear cub. He named her Winnie after his home town -- Winnipeg. The bear became the "pet" of the soldiers (he was with the Horse Regiment). While serving in France he left the bear in the care of the London Zoo. In 1919 he decided that it would be best to let Winnie stay at the zoo, where she was visited and loved by many locals, including... A.A. Milne. In 1926, Winnie the bear became immortal when Winnie-the-Pooh was published. There is a statue at the zoo commemorating this. Many might say that it was wrong for Colebourn to kidnap that bear... and yet... and yet... Daggnabbit, then we wouldn't have: "If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you." Or: "'What day is it?' 'It's today,' squeaked Piglet. 'My favorite day,' said Pooh." I could go on. I just convinced myself that that bearnapping was inspired.
4. The old Penguin Pool. From a design standpoint the coolest zoo habitat ever (built in the 1930's when design was indeed at a high-point). From the penguin's standpoint, apparently not awesome because standing on concrete all day gave them achey joints. It's currently a water feature.
5. The new penguin habitat. It is enormous and like a real beach. The only problem with it is that a million other birds also want to hang out in it. We almost couldn't focus on the penguins during the lecture for all the gulls, egrets, and other birds circling around. Our friend, who lives in Primrose Hill just north of the zoo, said that the Starlings that nest on their flat come home with sardines that they swipe from the penguin habitat.
Though very expensive, we all very much enjoyed the zoo, and as is often the case, left saying, "more time, next time!" I'm sure that I failed to record many other "favorites."
Our friend showed us around her neighborhood, Primrose Hill. It is a lovely place -- a self-contained little village tucked up behind Regent's Park. First we walked up the hill in Primrose Hill park and looked at London's not-so-impressive skyline. She explained how building laws are strict (i.e. you can't just tear down an old building and throw up a skyscraper), so London hasn't gone very vertical. She also pointed to some ugly post-war buildings closer to us and said that very often when you see a row of pre-war buildings, and then a new building it means that a bomb took out a building there -- thus enabling the more brutal post-war rebuilding. Something very fascinating: because of the location and elevation of Primrose Hill the land surrounding it was bought up by the aristocracy because the air was cleaner. Because of that "buy up" you often don't just outright buy a home in Primrose Hill. Many "sales" are actually one hundred year leases. So you might "buy" a flat for a million pounds, but technically you are leasing it from aristocracy... when the lease runs out (it might be sixty years into the one hundred, or just ten... usually the price reflects how much is left on the lease), there is a renegotiation of terms for the next one-hundred year lease. Or something like that -- it was nutty.
After our tour concluded, we said goodbye to our friend and her sweet new baby in their charming flat that overlooks so much greenness and perfect architecture, and we went down to the village's high road to find dinner. We found a delicious Italian place, but service was a bit slow. Or maybe the service was as efficient as could be, we just happened to be cutting it close. I read an article about how that high road is in the midst of some changes. While it has traditionally been businesses for those in the neighborhood, it is becoming a trendy place for people to come on the weekends and hang out at cafes. Rents are skyrocketing and some places that have been there for years are having to pack up to make way for trendy little coffee-shops. As Bowie sings (and it's been stuck in my head since we went through the exhibit): "Ch-ch-ch-changes..."
For now we were able to enjoy the village-like feel and we stuffed ourselves thoroughly with two courses AND dessert. We figured that as it was our last night in England we might need to try that sticky toffee pudding again.
You can't imagine how that dinner came back to haunt us as we ran, and ran, and ran, and ran through Regent's Park in order to make "curtain" at the outdoor theatre. We had tickets to "To Kill a Mockingbird."
Believe it or not, we made it... without any purges. And I'm so glad that we did. The children were the only children in the entire audience (being as our seats were in the most back, most top row I had a clear view and can say this with authority), which is a shame because it was a play that showed the power of words. I'm hoping that the lack of children was because it was a school night (sometimes I forget that not everybody is on a sabbatical year), and that over the course of its run many young people attend the play.
The stage was sparse -- just a tree with a tire swing.
The play begins by actors suddenly standing up one by one from different places in the audience and reading from different vintage copies of To Kill a Mockingbird. They were in modern clothes and spoke with British, and Scottish, and Irish accents. At first I thought, oh, modern clothes... and not American accents... interesting... But as the play progressed I conceded that it was one of the most insightful directorial choices I've witnessed.
As they made their way to the stage a musician started to wander across the stage singing and strumming and suddenly Macomb County was sketched out as the actors took chalk and drew in the outlines of the story's setting.
Some simple props like chairs were sometimes pulled from the sides, but usually the chairs were where the actors sat when not performing. The actors each had a double-role -- their part in the play and their part as Scout's voice when they would read direct passages from the book. They would transition by the slightest of costume alterations and their accents would change from those spoken in the UK, to those heard in the heart of The South. Scene transitions would be signaled by the so-good musician, utilizing guitar, harmonica, and the ukelele. Occasionally the music would also be used to add nuance to a scene.
Perfectly captured was the experience of reading a book -- the negotiating that happens in the beginning as the reader finds the parameters, the sketching out and the filling in, the immersion -- when you don't even realize how deep you are until you have to surface (to do the dishes, or go to sleep, or turn the final page). All of this was framed by the different people reading from the different copies of the same book. By allowing the book to be celebrated -- the very words, not just the storyline -- it more fully celebrated the purpose of plays. Books are our individual journeys -- and they bond us to others who have visited the same places when we make a literary reference, or have a shared emotional connection... This particular play allowed us all to be reminded of that bond -- it was like having a trip reunion when everybody comes together and reminisces about paths walked, food eaten, houses visited, accents heard, etc. It makes you feel validated -- like there are others out there who understand this place and treasure it. That concept of reunion was indeed strong.
I read the director's notes to see how far he would go into all of these rather symbolic choices. In the brief space given the thing he focused on is the importance of reading out loud and how that forms bonds. In an age of individual pursuits we often lose the collective experience -- something that can be maintained by reading to, or being read to. This is something I feel strongly about. I know how many of our favorite family times are when we read books together. It has created so many interconnected threads.
A few days before, The Times ran a review on the play that I read to the family. Here's how it started: "If any performance of this heart-shakingly sincere production are rained off it will be bitterly undeserved. Not one precious night must be lost from Timothy Sheader's rendering of Harper Lee's great novel about a lawyer defending a black man on a rape charge in 1936 Alabama, seen through the eyes of his small daughter. Scout. By the time the chill moon rose behind us and the stage moon saw the terrifying and redemptive final moments, we were all citizens of Macomb County, six-year-old observers." It was given five stars out of five.
And Atticus was given props. And guess who played Atticus:
Tell me how this happens? How does it happen that I just typed out that The Dad is almost 45? How does it happen that I so clearly remember sitting in my friend's parents' minivan teasing her because of the oceanic-quality of her crush on Sean Patrick Leonard after his alluring role in Swing Kids? How can somebody we crushed on be Atticus? It is perhaps time that I stop pondering that question, and just gracefully take on these new roles. Acknowledge that Atticus plays his significant, even heroic role at fifty... that not all heroes are young and lovely and strong, often the heroes are those that gently guide those that are young and lovely and strong... because soon their roles will be changing as well. I think of Roald Dahl -- a young man living at home just recently returned from the war -- jumping in his car, excited to see if he can track down that farmer. We went to his museum and saw his life's timeline. And then went and put pencils on his grave. And went to the newest musical to open on the West End: Willy Wonka. The Romans are gone, but their silver is polished and brilliant... There are treasures to be found, and treasures to be left.
It was a magical night. I'm not sure if the kids understood fully how impressive the production was -- that in fact they might not ever see a more insightful production (The Dad is almost 45 and has seen more theatre than most people I know, and he has declared this his favorite) -- but they stayed very attentive, and were in high spirits when The Dad hailed a taxi. Riding in a London taxi on those jump seats that face backward absolutely thrilled them. They laughed and joked and had sparkling eyes as we traveled the London streets back to our hotel.
