Some London Churches

 

London isn't just about pubs, whether in Tower Hill, Soho, Marleybone, Fleet Street or anywhere else, it's also about churches, and I took the time to visit a few. Corpus Christi Maiden Lane, just off Covent Garden, stood out. A beautiful catholic church, full of the beauty and sense of holiness.

As soon as you enter this hidden away gem of a church you're struck by the hushed reverence of the place, a haven from the secular rush outside. You'll note Corpus Christi doesn't have a knave altar. I lit a candle and prayed.

Corpus Christi

St. Mary le Strand is Church of England and stands on the Strand opposite King's College, it's an architectural masterpiece designed by James Gibbs, replacing an earlier church which was demolished in 1549 to make way for Somerset House. The new St. Mary's was consecrated in 1724 and, curiously, I'd never been inside, despite walking by it daily while at King's. What was it like?

St. Mary le Strand

Stately and perhaps intimate English Baroque, a very medium sized congregation would feel at home in the nave. Was there a sense of the numinous, the holy within? Not compared to Corpus Christi and perhaps that was because of the Vicar holding some kind of planning meeting, under the pulpit. There they were, planning away. Still, a beautiful church and a haven from the rush of the Strand.

St. Bride's

Walk a few minutes east to Fleet Street Street and St. Bride's, the journalist's church. I'd never been there before, oddly, and was somehow moved by the calmness of the place, its sense of reverence, and lit a candle. After visiting the church you can visit a pub, the Old Bell, built by Christopher Wren and pleasantly unspoiled.

St. Anselm & St. Cecilia's

Heading back west, walk north up the Kingsway to St. Anselm and St. Cecilia's, a Roman Catholic church and yet another shelter from the storm of people rushing, in this case, into the vastly expanded maw of LSE (London School of Economics). It's an austere, simple church and I prefer Corpus Christi, still, Christ is most definitely present

Then return to your set up on the Strand via Lincoln's Inn, get ready to meet old friends and wonder at the sheer number of churches in this small section of the city, the above's just a snapshot. 

They weren't built from a lack of faith, may that return again.

God bless,

LSP

An Officer And A Gentleman

 

You may not have heard of Lieutenant Colonel Alfred Wintle MC, but he was a remarkable man. An eccentric Lion of the Empire who fought with great distinction in World War I and II. He was, needless to say, difficult. Here's a snapshot via the loathsome Wikipedia:

After the French surrender, Wintle demanded an aircraft (with which he intended to rally the French Air Force to fly their planes to Britain and continue fighting Germany from British air bases); when refused, he threatened an RAF officer (Air Commodore A.R. Boyle) with a gun. It was alleged that he had threatened to shoot himself and Boyle, and for this he was imprisoned in the Tower of London.

Wintle enjoyed himself in the Tower thus:

My life in the Tower had begun. How different it was from what I had expected. Officers at first cut me dead, thinking that I was some kind of traitor; but when news of my doings leaked out they could not do enough for me. My cell became the most popular meeting place in the garrison and I was as well cared for as if I had been at the Ritz. I would have a stroll in the (dry) moat after breakfast for exercise. Then sharp at eleven Guardsman McKie, detailed as my servant, would arrive from the officers' mess with a large whisky and ginger ale. He would find me already spick and span, for though I have a great regard for the Guards, they have not the gift to look after a cavalry officer's equipment. The morning would pass pleasantly. By noon visitors would begin to arrive. One or two always stayed to lunch. They always brought something with them. I remember one particularly succulent duck in aspic - it gave me indigestion - and a fine box of cigars brought by my family doctor. Tea time was elastic and informal. Visitors dropped in at intervals, usually bringing along bottles which were uncorked on the spot. I don't recall that any of them contained any tea. Dinner, on the other hand, was strictly formal. I dined sharp at eight and entertained only such guests as had been invited beforehand. After a few days of settling in, I was surprised to find that - as a way of life- being a prisoner in the Tower of London had its points.

You will note "for though I have a great regard for the Guards, they have not the gift to look after a cavalry officer's equipment." Quite. Here's Wintle after the war, at El Vino's on Fleet Street, from a 1999 letter to the Spectator:

Sir:

Frank Bower was not always able to eject unwanted patrons from El Vino (Letters, 1 May). One morning in the late Fifties, a West Indian workman entered what he thought was a pub and asked the proprietor for a pint of bitter. Empurpled with rage, embroidered waistcoat at bursting point, Bower was hustling him into Fleet Street when interrupted by a crisp military command from the back of the bar: 'That gentleman is a friend of mine. I have been expecting him. Kindly show him to my table.' Colonel Wintle - celebrated for inspecting the turn out of his German guards when a prisoner of war and for debagging a solicitor - had spoken.

Rising to greet his guest, Wintle trained his monocle on Bower and ordered, 'Pray bring us two small glasses of white wine.' When this had been drunk and a convivial conversation concluded, the Colonel and his new friend rose, shook hands and went their separate ways.

Wintle wore a monocle because his eye was blown out in the war

 

Yes, there were giants in those days, and thanks Anon for the link and make of this what you will.

Your Old Pal,

LSP