FAMILY HISTORY: DIVE IN THE WATER’S FINE

Family history has it that my wife’s Grandfather was in Dunkirk in 1940 and her Dad sailed with the Arctic convoys bringing supplies to Russia.

One was in the English Army, the other the Royal Navy.

Who knew?

What happened to Grandpa after Dunkirk? We know Dad found his true love in Bath, England and moved to America.

Like my Grandparents during WWII who met at a USO dance and married just before he shipped out for the duration, my wife’s folks met at a mixer after the war in the Pump Room.

We recreated the moment.

Good travel partners learn more about each other than they’d ever guess.

You can be married to someone nearly four decades and still only scratch the surface.

Did she know I carried our passports at all times, ready to fight to the death to make sure we get home?

I was the one who lost his phone on the Paris subway five years ago, so I’m motivated to get it right this time.

We leave tomorrow. Mission accomplished.

So far.

 

Historical Whirlwind

My wife’s parents both came from England; her brother was born here.

What I mean is she takes her roots seriously and is unabashedly tied to something here.

My guess? Scones and clotted cream. She’s crazy about that stuff.

Scones, clotted cream, and pageantry. She loves a good parade.

We walked down The Mall where kings and queens rode coronation carriages, where princes and princesses rode in marriage  carriages.

We walked down the Mall to Whitehall and the huge horse arena set up. She loves a good rodeo, but no horses that day.

It reminded me of the Ben Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia between the Museum of Art and City Hall, a special place for the city to embrace.

But Philadelphia, in spite of its long and colorful history, hasn’t had anywhere near the run of London.

Stick around England long enough and you start noticing the memorials in the parks, on the corners, in the churches and cathedrals.

It’s a place where past heroes and their heroic deeds feel like family history.

 

On this, our last full day of cruising London from our matchbox room near Notting Hill Gate into Hyde Park, I’m taking a moment to reflect.

Earlier today my wife and I walked the dewy meadows of no mow May grass.

Me: I wouldn’t walk in there. Have you seen any dog crap bags? Me neither. Besides, you’re wearing open toe sandals and socks. That could get messy.

Her: We don’t have to walk on paved paths all the time.

Me: This is a good time. How’s it going so far.

Her: My socks are wet.

Me: (Not saying I told you so.)

 

After things dried out we found our way to Kensington Palace. It was near the Round Pond.

Like a couple of rookie Yank tourists, we walked up and asked the butler where to get a cup of coffee.

He pointed to his left up a sloping hill with a switch-back trail leading to a sunken garden surrounded by a tree-tunnel.

It was beautiful by anyone’s standards, made more so with a statue of Princess Diana with three kids.

Soon after that moment of nostalgia and tragic family history we found ourselves in the Orangery looking for that cup of coffee to walk around with.

 

The Royal Afternoon Tea is a truly regal indulgence, with a selection of delightful treats including Castle Farm lavender éclair; traditional scones served with Cornish clotted cream and blackcurrant preserve and pea, broad bean and tarragon quiche, to be enjoyed alongside Pimm’s or English sparkling wine. 

 

If leaving London on a high note is a goal, High Tea in the Orangery at Kensington Palace works.

It sounds like a bucket list box to check for anyone.

But there’s more.

On the walk out of Hyde Park we passed a coffee cart.

Me: What’s a cup of coffee cost? Less than high tea?

Wife: No.

Me: That’s what I thought.