London Impresses

We left Oxford with some sadness in our hearts. We, all of us, had grown attached to the small college with its quaint graveyard, white-gloved breakfast and dinner service, and easy availability of what was possibly the best lemon curd cheesecake known to man just a block away. While my room was so small that I had to squeeze into the bathroom because the door only opened a little bit before it banged up against my bed, it was nevertheless a teeny room in Oxford and probably housed somebody important at some time.

Besides, the door eventually banged up against the back of my heel when I had to pee in the night and the whole thing came off the hinges. Once the searing pain stopped and I had my pee, I looked upon it as a bit of a blessing really. I am sure that the staff at St. Edmund’s will understand.

London welcomed me back after two years with rain and gusts of wind that shook the bus as it made its way across Blackfriar’s Bridge. This was very similar to the rains I experienced during my last visit when I was almost blown off this same bridge and into the Thames. Had this happened I was pretty sure I would have ended up on the northern shores of France.

The Bankside House Residence for the London School of Economics was exactly as I remembered it. The food was okay and plentiful, the staff were a bit more cheerful this time around, and the spirit of the place reminded me of the brutal, blunt architecture still present in the eastern portion of Berlin. No spirit, no joy, and no warmth. It was redecorated in the 1970s so the décor looks like an ABBA video but without the voulez-vous. Remember Space:1999 from the 1970s? It had an all-white décor and everyone walked around in bell bottomed track suits with a splash of colour in one arm? And the acting was stiff and the plots were so weird you really couldn’t connect with it? And yet it still had the potential to be interesting if it could just get over itself for a minute or two?

Add splashes of burnt orange and French’s mustard yellow, carpets made out of vinyl, and approximately seven thousand big-haired, screaming tweens from Barcelona filling up the elevators with too much perfume and hairdos that were so big they required their own postal codes and you will have a clear understanding of the Bankside Residences of the London School of Economics during the summer.

London is a busy place. I know this sounds like an obvious statement, but I was really made aware of it this time around. The first time I came here was twenty years ago and it was my first trip to Europe, so I found the whole experience new and exciting and big. Two years ago the whole city was heaving as it prepared for the Olympics which would begin within a matter of weeks. So this was the first time I really observed the city as an entity. New York is packed with people navigating through the tight grid that is determined by the buildings that make up the famous skyline. There is very little extra space. London has broader avenues and is much more spacious in general when it comes to the streets outside of the oldest parts of London.

And yet the people move. By bike, cab, bus, car, or foot, there are masses of people moving and weaving and navigating through the streets. And London makes sure that her inhabitants move pretty quickly and easily. I enjoy walking the south bank along the Thames. Once a dubious industrial blight, Southwark, with its London Eye, British Film Institute, National Theatre, Tate Modern Art Gallery and countless restaurants, pubs, and condos has changed the landscape considerably. The Jubilee and Queen’s Walks are always full of people, but the walking is easy and the sights are spectacular.

We, of course, took the kids to the usual places that are required when in London. I always find it fascinating how some are so enthusiastic while others just look up from their phone and note the scenery. I admit to sometimes feeling despair during these moments. I look out onto the faces of my students who look up at the architecture of Westminster Abbey as I speak of flying buttresses and the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II and I sometimes wonder if they are really listening. If they aren’t just politely looking towards the direction my finger is pointing while they sing a Justin Beiber song in their head.

And then they remind me not to lose hope.

We took them to see Buckingham Palace. After explaining the standard waving from a mast on the roof and some of the history of the building and those who live in it, I like to take them to the Canada Gate that is nearby. Photos are taken and the kids make a big show of their national pride that is never seen during the national anthem at school or during Remembrance Day assemblies. Then I took them to the Canadian War Memorial.

Consisting of two triangle-shaped slopes at about twenty degree angles standing next to each other, the monument is a set of two waterfalls that has the water gently flowing from the stylized pointed tops of the piece (about seven feet high) to the wider bottom which is about two feet below the street level. The water is calm and almost imperceptible as it washes over bronze embossed maple leaves that seem to have fallen on the surface. The further you look down the flow you will see these leaves gather at the bottom. A few real leaves from nearby maple trees have floated down and nestled among these bronze images.

As I approached the memorial I cursed myself for not remembering to remind my charges that this was a memorial and proper behavior was required. When I turned around I realized that this particular direction was not necessary for this day. They were somber, quiet, reflective and respectful. They broke apart and wandered about the memorial on their own. There were no phones, no pictures (at least at first) and no speaking. Eventually I heard them whispering to each other about relatives and loved ones who had served in past and present wars and conflicts. At one point, one of the girls pulled on my sleeve and in a quiet and cracked voice said “Sir,” and pointed to a nearby shrine to the fallen RCMP officers who had been shot in New Brunswick this past spring.

I didn’t need to explain the imagery and metaphors found within the memorial. These kids knew it. I didn’t need to connect the events of last spring to the events of World War II. These kids knew it.  For a while we sat around the memorial and discussed service to one’s country and the many forms this took.  We talked about the need to support our troops when they come back as well as when they go away to serve. We talked about how you can be against war but supportive of soldiers. And we talked about how it is important to recognize, and observe, and not forget.

Sometimes, not often anymore, I am asked why I would want to work with teenagers all day long. But these people are thinking about those annoying jerks at the mall. Or the group of young people who act stupid because they are young and stupid (like we were). These people who ask me these questions don’t see these moments. They don’t see the quiet understanding, the hint of a tear as they look at photos of men they never knew, the subtle touching of arms and elbows and shoulders as they support each other while taking in these hard realities.

Yes, these young people can drive me to distraction. Yes, there are times when I wonder if I should have pursued my goal to become an Egyptologist and deal with relics of the past instead. But I chose something else. I chose the future.

Whatever their failings, my kids…your kids…will inherit the world in which we live. More often than not, I have been reminded that this is not even remotely a bad thing.