Chapter One - The "Hood"

The German mission I served fortyish years ago was, and may remain, the greatest growth period of my mortal life.  Even my eternal life, for all I know.  I am glad beyond words to have served that mission.  But I am just as glad not to repeat it.  

I put on my bravest face.  I did my best to fool others as well as myself.  But the long days — the sometimes ten-plus hours of tracting — and the constant rejection and other demands were tough.  I battled depression and anxiety.  The release from that first mission was the happiest day of my life.  At least in terms of that exhilaration that comes from laying aside a crushing load. 

If that’s a bad attitude, or just a weird one, I apologize.  And I apologize if I’m slow getting to my point.  Which is that this second mission — now to London — is very different from the first.  Very different.  

Indeed, it is cool beyond words.  No hyperbole.  No brave face.  I have truly loved every day of it.

Before our recent departure for the MTC folks would ask, “Are you excited about your upcoming mission?”

My honest answer would have been, “No.  Not really.”  I felt strongly that the mission was a good thing.  The Spirit was guiding us this way.  And I was willing to serve.  I was positive about the journey and challenges ahead.  But not overjoyed.  Had I known then what I know now, I’d have been far more enthusiastic.  Very excited!

This journal, this blog — or whatever it is I am now starting — is my attempt to tell why I am so happy on this mission.  Why it’s so wonderful.  (And should there be un-wonderful things, report those as well I suppose.)

As with most human endeavors, it is those humans around us — our people connections — that do most to make things wonderful.  (Or awful, I guess, depending upon the nature of those humans.)  I shall have much to say about the young brothers and sisters we are so coming to love here in London.  Let me first, however, set the stage.  Describe our surroundings.  "The hood.” 

Before this mission, I had been to London a few times on work and vacation.  I found it impressive.  Majestic.  But impersonal.  Crawling with tourists and urban crush.  Gray and a bit overwhelming.  Not sure how much I liked the place.

But this go-around is different.  Settling in — with time to appreciate and indeed join this world — I am able to savor the charm, as well as the energy.  Hearing we’d live in the heart of London, I expected a jungle of soot-colored masonry.  But was in for a nice surprise.  Let us gander about this “hood” of ours, known as South Kensington.  

First, a couple quick map shots of where we dwell.  (The blue dots mark our flat.  If you click on the images in this blog, most will expand from the small versions you see posted.)

 

London - The Big Picture

Where We Live  (Closer)

The "Hood" (Closer still)

Next, this Flat where we dwell.  Photos and video clips have been posted elsewhere.  For those who may have missed them, here is a look:  

Now a look from our balcony.  The street before our Flat is the well-known Queens Gate.  It is not the quietest corner of England.  But Doll and I enjoy the life and the views we get. 

Across the street is the Glendower Preparatory School for Girls.  The girls here come from what appear to be well off families.  They wear matching uniforms of Glendower purple, or long overcoats of gray.  Their periods of outdoor recess seem to last almost all day, every day.  And they spend every second of it screaming and shrieking happily.

Above the Glendower school are four stories inhabited by regular folk.  On our side of the street — just next door to our own Flat — is the rival Queens Gate School.  Another preparatory school for girls.  The girls here do most of their shrieking and screaming indoors.  It comes through the walls all day long.  Then goes silent at night.  The girls of the Queens Gate School wear lovely straw hats.

Straight north, up our street of Queens Gate about half a mile, is the Queens Gate into Kensington Garden/Hyde Park (hence the name of our street I suppose).  I shall have more to say about Hyde Park later on.  Here are a few glimpses for now.

A walk or bike ride up our road is interesting.  On the very first corner is a great Mecca for Silver Beavers and serious scouters everywhere.  It is the Lord Baden Powell House.  In honor of the founder Boy Scouts in the Britain, and from thence to the rest of the world.

A bit past Baden Powell on our street are places like the Embassies of Thailand, Bangladesh, and Oman.

At the top of our street, near the Queens Gate is Royal Albert Hall.  Opened by Queen Victoria in the 1800s, it is one of the great performance venues of the world.  In recent decades, it has hosted everything from the most high-brow ballet and opera to the first Sumo and UFC fight tournaments in the UK.  The Beatles, the Stones, Frank Sinatra, Pavarotti, Cirque du Soleil and basically everybody who is anybody has performed here.  (Robert Plant is coming soon -- but it's long sold out.)

The streets branching off from our Queens Gate and nearby are not shabby:

Running parallel to our street is Gloucester Road, where my beloved companion does much of her shopping.  Doll seems to enjoy especially some of the offerings in Partridges.

I am myself especially fond of the outdoor market held every Saturday morning, a block or so from our Flat.  They have great Brats and burgers, French cuisine, authentic German pastries, and other great stuff in addition to fresh produce.

Halfway between our Flat and the Hyde Park Chapel we attend — along the route we walk virtually every day — is the Museum of Natural History.  The UK equivalent, basically, of our Smithsonian.  The building is on my short list of favorites in London -- or anywhere for that matter.  Imagine a building running from Polk’s End to about 22d Street.  It’s about that long.  It houses dinosaur remains, gems, and much else.  But I like best the building itself.  (That's a blue whale skellington you see below.)

Since mid-October the Natural History Museum has been sporting a Christmas tree, lights, and ice rink.  And there is always something happening in this part of the Hood.

About a mile down our road — straight south, in the opposite direction from Hyde Park — lies the Thames.  As anyone who has ever watched V is for Vendetta well knows, the Fifth of November is Guy Fawkes Night in the UK, with fireworks, bonfires and much to match our Fourth of July. That first weekend of November, Doll and I strolled to the Thames to catch some of the action.

I guess the foregoing kind of scratches the surface of this South Kensington Hood of ours.

Observation:  One of the words young Brits love these days is “literally.”  Pronounced not in four syllables, but three — “litrally.”  So, if you want to sound very young and very British, you must not only master the accent.  You must also talk like this.  “Last night around eleven, I litrally went to bed.  Once during the night I litrally got up, and litrally went the loo.  Then, in the morning, I litrally woke up.  And then I litrally went back to the loo.”  That's the way we talk around here.  Litrally.

Second Observation:  These British weights and measures are tricky.  But I think I've now figured them out.  I weighed myself recently.  And I'm pretty sure I litrally weigh 14 stone, 5 quid, and 7 tuppence.