Today
I am leaving my beloved city of London. In this short period of time, I have
come to love this city: each day I found another aspect that deepened my
affection, respect, and interest in this wonderful place. I’ve traveled to
every major city in the US, and I love them each in their own ways; but London
far outdoes them in my eyes. There is something completely different about this
place, about the UK. Honestly, it’s the pride of its people. The British are so
fiercely proud of their land and ways, and have good reason to be. It makes for
a very elegant, refined, and respectful society, one that I’ve adored from afar
for many years, but experiencing it has only made me love it more. Perhaps if I
lived here, after many years, I would get a bit sick of it; but for now, I would
give anything to spend more time in this city.
So
it was with great sadness that I spent my last day in London. Honestly, I
didn’t even spend much of it in London – around 11:00, Eli and I took a bus to
Oxford for the afternoon. But in the morning, we walked down to LSE one last
time, down Aldwych and the Strand, around Horse Guards Parade and past the
Palace. It was cool and grey, of course, and I find that I have even come to
love that. I, who want to spend the rest of my life drowning in sunshine, was
so cosy and happy in the chill British air and under rainy grey skies.
After
walking through a grey cool London to our bus stop at Grosvenor Square, we
boarded a double-decker bus and crossed the deep green countryside to reach
Oxford, and I got to see a bit of the UK outside the city: rolling green hills,
shallow valleys, pastures of sheep, little villages. It was so perfect. When we
alighted on High Street, Eli and I immediately delved into Oxford’s campus. I’m
not familiar with the area, but we visited Radcliffe Camera, St Mary’s Church,
one of the libraries, Christ Church, and many beautiful courtyards. The
architecture of the school is obviously so impressive and old, and the gardens
and lawns were well-kept and so British. We randomly happened upon a small
exhibit of ‘Magical Books’: artefacts from the creation of those magical worlds
that have become entwined with Oxford. Yes, this was a special exhibit for
Middle Earth, Narnia, and some of the other fantastic places that are tied to
this place in various ways. I couldn’t believe that we happened across this
little room, because it was too perfect to be true. Almost half of the entire
exhibit was dedicated to the works of JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis.
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| Tolkien's hand-painted 'Conversations with Smaug' |
As soon as we
walked in, I saw two small hand-drawn maps set in glass cases that looked
familiar… it took me some time to come to terms with the fact that these were original maps of Middle Earth and Narnia
hand-drawn by Tolkien and Lewis. I don’t think I’ve come to terms with this
even now… I have spent so many hours reproducing Tolkien’s world, through maps,
language, music, script, art; and there it was, the original, in the creator’s
hand. The exhibit also included quite a few of Tolkien’s watercolours:
‘Conversations with Smaug’, Bilbo and the giant eagle, cave paintings from
Middle Earth, the death of Smaug, and, possibly the ultimate treasure for a
Tolkien fan and an artist, the original
hand-painted covers created by Tolkien himself for the novels. First of all, it
was almost beyond my comprehension to see these things that he had created by
hand. Second of all, the man was a fantastic artist. His watercolours on their
own are beautiful, richly coloured, and masterfully done. That on its own was
impressive! There was a number of other incredible related things, including
the script from the One Ring and the carvings from Balin’s tomb written in
Tolkien’s hand, and torn and burnt pages from Book of Mazarbul that Tolkien had created.
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| Another of Tolkien's illustrations |
It
still leaves me shocked to think about it. If I were to ever plan some
elaborate, grandly-scaled theft, I wouldn’t steal endless amounts of cash from
a vault or casino; I would find a way to get my hands on these artefacts, these
pieces of paper that are beyond worth. The maps and manuscripts and
illustrations hold far more worth to me than the things other people would
consider valuable. Tolkien shaped so much of who I am, and I have the deepest
reverence for his genius.
That
being said, imagine my reaction when Eli and I went to the Eagle and Child, a
very old and small pub in Oxford that Tolkien and Lewis (along with others) met
at to discuss their writings. They called themselves the Inklings, and I
remember when Eli and I first became friends and bonded immediately over our
love for writing, our fathers (who are Tolkien geeks too!) hinted that we were
creating our own Inklings group. And that’s what we called it for years, when
we got together at a café or bookstore to write and read each other’s
manuscripts and discuss our ideas. We have both dreamed of coming to the Eagle
and Child since we first met; it kind of signifies the ultimate step of our
friendship to us, like we’re coming full circle.
It’s
a small, dark place, with a fireplace in each room, a little bar, and a
conservatory at the back (which is probably new). The Rabbit Room is set to one
side by the bar, with a long wooden table right by the large fireplace. This is
the room that the Inklings met in, where they sipped beer and pored over each
other’s manuscripts. It was honestly too much to handle.
It’s
quite an interesting phenomenon: it’s quite evident that the majority of the
greatest creative masterpieces have come from the North, particularly from the
United Kingdom. What is it about this land, the chill, the grey clouds and
stone, the deep emerald green, that inspire such imagination in men? One would
think that the brilliant hues of the tropics would be a more fertile land for
imagination and tales, but the greatest stories come from these cold hills and
cliffs. I don’t understand why, but I can certainly feel it when I’m here.
The
Eagle and Child can be a place where time stands still. When Eli and I had our
little Inkling meetings years ago, we’d just sit and write for hours on end,
with no other worries, gone to the world. We’ve since lost that… but at the
Eagle and Child, tucked in a corner by the fireplace, hot Earl Grey tea at the
ready, we found our sense of writers’ timelessness again. Imagination can come
alive here, in this little old pub. The dark shelves and fireplaces, wooden
walls, quiet private tables in little rooms; I can easily see how these men
were inspired to write about
the halls of Rohan, underground burrows of talking
badgers, hushed conversations around a Bag End fireplace. Middle Earth and
Narnia came alive right here. They were crafted over many hours and
conversations and pints over this wood table and by this fireplace. I could
have stayed forever.
But
of course, we had to pass on. We returned to London around 18:00, and got ready
to depart for Paris. We’re taking an overnight bus from London to Dover, in a
ferry over the English Channel, and then down from the coast to Paris, to
arrive early in the morning. Then, we skip over to Versailles for a day, to
stay in the beautiful Trianon Palace!
