Saturday 17th September 2016 (updated)

Open House

We have only missed one Open House in six years. With that in mind we did mean to make a good deal of it. But, what with work, travel and all the other stuff, I was planning the day mainly on Friday evening, looking at what was available in the guide. I had intended on a few of the Livery Houses, as well as some City Churches. Then there was the usual favourite of Admiralty House which we have failed to make it round to over the last few years, and as it turned out would again this year.

Should we have set the alarm for crack of dawn, or even before? Maybe we should have done, but then there was always Mulder to ensure we didn't sleep too long. IN the end it was nearly half six by the time we gave in and got up, fed the cats and made breakfast. It was a dull, grey morning but that could be a good thing, right? Not so hot on old London town, or so we hoped. I checked on the train times only to find that there were no trains from down the hill at Martin Mill, so that meant going into Dover, which meant either stumping up the cost of parking or find somewhere free.

We find a place along Priory Gate Road, whilst I try to park, Jools goes to buy tickets, as we have only a few minutes before we leave, and we have yet to have breakfast! I think we could have got something from the station buffet, but decide against it, and instead climb aboard the train and take a place around one of the tables in the front coach, ready to leave.

You know the trip by now, so I won't go into details. I look out the windows, always finding something new to look at, whilst JOols does some crocheting on the squares for the blanket she is making. And in this way we go through Kent, into Essex and into the tunnel to Stratford.

We get out, and go up to the concourse and have breakfast where I normally stop when I'm on my way to Denmark. We have coffee and baguette melt things, which is mighty fine indeed, and sets us up. To get to Stratford regional station, we walk through the shopping centre, and it really is horrific to see such a cathedral to commercialism. I mean I have no problem with shops and shopping, I like shopping. But three laevels of glittering and shiny emporiums, all selling pretty much what could be described as designer gear, and all of it pretty much looking very uncomfortable. Maybe its what makes people happy. Maybe not. And it goes on for ages until we get to the broken automatic doors and onto the bridge over the Great Eastern Main Line; but any thought of looking at the trains going back and forth were dashes as every glass panel had been covered up with advertising for Citroen cars. Do we really need all this? Is this public or provate space? I know the shopping centre is private, but this is just silly now.

On the Jubilee Line we get a carriage to ourselves, at least for a while, and wait for it to leave. The line runs beside the DLR line, at least to Canning Town, then it dives underground, and in the non-air conditioned carriages, its pretty warm.

We get off at London Bridge, with the hope of seeing the new concourse beneath the Southeastern platofrms, but we can only find our way to the Southern terminal platforms, and for a change, there was no strikes so all seemed to be working well. Saying that, we could find no signs for toilets, and so set out towards the bridge itself, to cross into the City, where there were some public conveniences near to the Monument. It seems that the modern world means less public conveniences, who says this should be? Phillip K. Dick didn't see that one coming.

Once in The City, the plan went out the window as usual, and I began the usual trudge round the City churches that are usually closed. Just the other side of Lloyds and in the shadow of the Gherkin, sits St Andrew Undershaft, not a small church, but dwarfed by the modern buildings that have risen around it. It is also partially hidden by the queues waiting to go into The Gherkin, usually the most popular building in Open House, and for which most people waiting will not get in to. We tried the first year and gave up when we found we were going to have to wait at least six hours and with no guarantee we would get in.

But we ask if we could get through the line, and find the door to the church open, and so we walk in. What greets us is an ancient church, but done with a modern makeover; ancient walls, and new wooden floor and seating. We were given a warm welcome, but for a moment I was just stunned to be inside, this being the first time I had even found the church open. Regular tours are taking place, but I decline one to go around myself and see if I can see the history of the old building.

I am met by one of the guides, who has already spoken to Jools, and asks me about why I am here. I can't really answer, even when put into the context of the Kent Church Project, because, why do I do that? What will I do with the thousands of images? I have to say, I am not sure. But I have a desire to see history, and to see inside something built by a name we all know, Sir Christopher Wren, a link to him and the Great Fire.

We are all looking for meaning in life, I am, and those who came before me are. I may have a modern scientific outlook, but still, why have I spent the last eight years of my life visiting 300 or so Kent churches, why do I re-visit the same places every year looking for orchids? Well, I enjoy it, and maybe that's enough.

I decry the enforced closure of St Peter Upon Cornhill to all those that its custodians allow inside; why should that be? It is a place of historic importance to London and England, why not allow all to see? I tell her of The Friends of City Churches, whose volunteers enable many churches to be opened at least one day a week, and could that not be extended to St Peter? She agrees that it should.

I take my shots, as usual, and we leave.

Up Cornhill we come to another church, not one I expected to see, but clearly is open; so we go inside. St Mary Cree is a delight, empty apart from us and the volunteer quietly reading near the door. It is a triumph to be honest, and unlike At Andrew, I can go round, seeing all what I want to see. Another understated City church, and a haven of gold, peace and light among the ugliness of the modern City outside.

I had been told in St Andrew that St Helen's in Bishopgate would be open. It was just a short walk, according to the map. IN fact, I didn't realise how close, and from St Andrew you could almost touch St Heneln's, but through narrow streets and lanes, we reach St Helen's, and indeed the door was open.

We go inside, and are greeted with the most extraodinary interior; a double nave, and also a church that survived both the Great Fire and the Blitz did not fare so well at the hands of the IRA who managed to bomb it twice at the beginning of the 1990s. So it has been restored, but the people who run it, St Andrews and St Peter Uopn Cornhill had had it done to meet their needs. Not to say it isn't a fine and unusual church, it is, but it has something of a sports hall about it, even with those 13th century walls. And it was wildly popular, with hundreds of people being taken round in tours, and over the state of the art system, a description of the church, and how it varies from the traditional Anglican churches. I run round getting shots, inbetween tours passing by.

So, three new City churches in one day. Won't be able to say that again I think!

We walk back to Bank station and catch a train to Chancery Lane to where there is a Tudor hall, part of a college, and is open. We follow the signs from the station, only to find them disappear once we get onto street level. We stop at a juice bar for some squeezed fruit and to consult a map. I am sure the college is just along the steet, and indeed this is the case.

We walk through a gateway, and soon have left the modern world behind. Apart from the hall, the ancient buildings have been lost, but Gresham College is still a place of learning, and offers free lectures to all, and they are all available online. We attend an intoroduction in the hall, and marvel at the surroundings. The college goes back to the 14th century, and its founder came from Norfolk. See, not such a bad place after all!

Where should we go now? Well, I consult the list, and a considerable journey away is a Gothic masterpiece. In order to get there and be able to see other buildings beyond that, we take a cab. We flag a taxi down, and despite telling his where we wanted to go, he latched onto the station at Warwich Avenue, and being the site of a driver's rest, he knew that, and would take no answer on the offer of the postcode for the church.

He drops us off outside the tube station, and after some orientation we find our way on the A to Z, and make our way over the canal at Little Venice.

After a short walk we realise we are hungry, and see a pub-cum-theatre on the other side of the road. We go in, and despite sloe service we order lunch and a drink. I have fish and chips whilst Jools had burger with cheese and yet more meat. It comes and is good, for London.

Once we had eaten, we walk farther along the road, at the edge of a 60s housing estate, then down a dip and over a playing field was St Mary Magdalene. A mighty Gothic pile, some child's nightmare maybe. Inside it was all that and more, a higher than high church, lit with candles and incense sticks. On the walls there were the stations of the cross. Everywhere were altars and icons, making this the most Catholic of CofE church I have seen. And yet there was one further glory to see: in the crypt, a chapel, covered in gold and idols, as Catholic as it is possible to get. I am not Christian or religious, but this plethora of sects is bewildering, high, low, Baptist, strict, non-conformist and so on. Its the same God, no? Be good, you yourself and others and be saved, is that not the message of Jesus?

We could have gone on. Admiralty Building was next, but I was done, and so we walked back to Warwick Avenue; we did not see Duffy, we flag a cab down and he takes us back to St Pancras, arriving ten minutes before the departure to Dover. We go upstairs to the platofrm, and find a seat. Phew, going home.

The tript o Ashford was quiet and usual enough. But there a group of four, two couples, gets on, with carry outs and drink quickly and are loud. Who am I to judge how people spend their spare time, but do anyway. I listen to their loud conversation as one can of vodka/red bull is downed, and other started. There are going to Folkestone for a night of more drinking, apparently. They are looking forward to a concert by UB40 in a few eeks time, and all seem to live for drunken fun. But who am I to judge?

They get off at Folkestone Central, and silence returns to the train. We get off at Dover, walk to the car and drive home. The football had ended, Norwich had won in Nottingham, whichw as good news and spared me all the stress of following the game via the radio and twitter.

We have cheese and crackers for supper, I watch the football on TV, and the just gone full moon rises, partially hidden behind light cloud.

Another fine day comes to an end.