London: So close, yet so far.

It's so weird to think at 6 this morning I was in London, and one 9.5 hour flight, 2 hour layover, and 1 hour connection later, I'm back home. I left that beautiful (albeit rainy) city for the frozen tundra that is currently Iowa. Madness.

In retrospect, I would consider this trip to be incredibly successful, although it may have been wiser to stretch out the research more evenly instead of cramming it all in. That would have cut out a lot of frantic panicking towards closing time at both archives...but I don't think there was anything that would help the amount of flailing I did. Can't stop, won't stop. 

On the plus side, I now know: 

• Why Campbell was late to the party, having been appointed governor in 1774
• What went so horribly wrong in August 1775 that led Campbell to ultimately flee the following month
• Where Campbell went once he boarded ship in September 1775--including which ships--and what he was doing in various places
• What he was telling Dartmouth during the course of his administration more on his relationship with Bull, Innes, members of the Assembly, other Southern royal governors, &c. 
• The extent to which Campbell tried to help Southern loyalists and how
• A complete British perspective of the first attack on Sullivan's Island in June 1776
• What Campbell was doing in his last months before he died in September 1778

And that's me sparing you the more mundane details!

I also probably took more notes and copies of things that I won't even use until I have a bigger project to work on (fingers crossed, South Carolina dissertation madness), but that's beside the point. I did all the research that I described in my Luther Rice Fellowship proposal, and now I just have to transcribe and rewrite my notes the rest of break. Writing this honors thesis will, hopefully, come much easier now! And, on top of all that, I got to traipse around London, while nerding out and spreading Campbell love. 

But let's be serious--this trip really afforded me the chance to get the best creeper pics of Banastre Tarleton ever taken. Now, that's what I call dedication.

Nearly Headless? How can you be 'Nearly Headless'?

So now I'm home. It's Christmas Eve, and Young Guns 2 will be on AMC soon (if I manage to stay up). I can promise that this trip will probably be all I want to talk about for the next two or three months, until the grad school panic really sets in. There are a million things I don't ever want to forget--from touching Horatio Nelson's handwriting to the Christmas choir practicing at Westminster Abbey, and everything in between. I apologize in advance--but not really. Sorry I'm not sorry. 

On that note... Merry Christmas!

Last Day in London: More museums and tea.

Mom and I went to the Tate this morning and, for some unknown reason/unlike every other dang art museum in this city, photography was allowed. And I didn't realize that until we had gone through all the rooms and I had taken a million stealthy creeper pictures from behind my floor map. Honestly. So, I insisted we go through the earlier rooms again--because I just don't understand art after 1900--to take better photos and details of my favorites.

Lady Hamilton was a babe.

 True Life: I'm obsessed with Gainsborough.

Precious 18th century baby nugget dress as Henry VIII!

True Life: I'm also obsessed with archery portraits.

New husband. Two guesses who.

I will say, I thought American art was bad in the 17th and early 18th centuries, but then I discovered British art of the 16th and 17th centuries. My heart.

Is she dead???

Sir, your pants are missing.

I just can't. WTF???

On the way up to Trafalgar, we stopped by the Horse Guards. It must be so irritating to have to put up with tourists all day... Bless those horses and guards.

Horse Guard is unamused.

And, it only took me two weeks...but I finally, finally, finally got the up-close-and-personal creeper pic of Col. Tarleton that I've always wanted!!!!!!

Success is sweet. Banastre Tarleton is even sweeter.

As a side note, my mom asked "Who is Ba-nass-tray Tarleton and why do you like him?" 1) Are you even my mother? 2) "Ba-nass-tray"???????!!??! 3) Without question, I'm naming my first child Banastre if only to torment my mom for the rest of forever. Second child will be Horatio, obviously. Last one Beau. This trip has been so inspiring for naming future children, let me tell you.

We also popped inside St. Martin in the Fields for the first time ever, having passed it by at least 25 times. I wish we had been able to go to a candlelight concert--I can only imagine how beautiful the atmosphere would have been!

 Nothing says Christmas like silver ladies, garlands, and wonky windows.

We returned to the hotel for afternoon tea and miniature treats. The spiced chai tea warmed my soul, and the baby violet cupcake and strawberry macaroon were delicious. If I could eat those for the rest of my life and not turn into a cow, I would be perfectly content.

 Hobbit-sized treats for a...hobbit.

These two weeks have flown by. I really don't want to leave. Packing has been so depressing, mostly because I'm putting Wee Little Nelson in my suitcase with Wee Little Wellington, Charles II, and Wren.

The Gang's all here...

The Banqueting House: My new home.

This morning, we visited the Banqueting House at Whitehall designed by Inigo Jones, which I would highly, highly recommend to anyone on a trip to London. There was a short, informative video (with a great soundtrack) in the undercroft, and then we were given the audio tour guide and sent upstairs. We sat in the hall that held masques, foreign receptions, Maundy Thursdays, and Touching for the King's Evil during the reigns of Charles I, II, James II, William and Mary, &c &c. Even Cromwell used the space in a very royal manner as Lord Protector of the Commonwealth! I really enjoyed the audio guide--the narrator had a fantastic accent (possibly topping Owen Bennett Jones) and you could choose to listen to further explanations on everything from what Charles I and II were like "as men" to conservation efforts, all while taking in the gorgeous room. Rumor has it during the Great Fire, Christopher Wren saved the Banqueting House by exploding gunpowder at the palace building next to it, containing the fire.

Dreamy sigh.

Obviously, the most significant moment in the Banqueting House's history was the execution of Charles I--who had commissioned the gloriously impressive Rubens canvases on the ceiling for "an astronomical" £3,000. (These survived a couple fires, as well as World War II bombings--which was the only time they were taken down.) Even more interesting, evening receptions and masques ceased when the huge canvases went in because Charles didn't want them to be damaged from candle smoke.

But less about art history and more about history! For Charles I's execution, they constructed a scaffold that reached the second story, so he walked through the hall with its ceilings illustrating the divine right of kings (it being, ironically, the last thing he saw of his reign), exited the staircase window, and walked onto the scaffold.

Even dreamier sigh.

And, I mean, the throne wasn't too bad, either.

I feel at home here.

Apparently, the space is still used today. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I've found my new dream wedding reception location, replacing Middleton Place...

You are cordially invited to the impossible wedding of Gabriella and Some Dead Guy.

London: Apocalypse Now.

Well, the world still has yet to end over here. Mom and I spent the day at Westminster Abbey, the Benjamin Franklin House, Twinings, Covent Garden, and finished the day off with a trip on the London Eye. Casual.

Westminster was even cooler the second time around. I found the George Howe memorial (near the James Montagu memorial, as it were), but I couldn't sneak a picture. I pointed out to my mom John André's grave and memorial in the nave of the Abbey. Yes, you read that right: John André, Benedict's bestie. The Abbey was also being decorated with wreaths and garlands while we were there, and Mom was obsessing over the (real) trees. At 11 o'clock, they had another prayer and then invited us to join them for a prayer at the shrine of Edward the Confessor (where all British monarchs have prayed after their coronation since the Abbey's completion). That was really cool. I touched the stone of the shrine. Oh, and I took Mom to John Burgoyne.

The man needs more love.

After Westminster, we walked to 36 Craven Street for a "Historical Experience" tour of Benjamin Franklin's House, which he lived in over the course of 16 years, as recommended by Professor DiGiacomantonio. Apparently, when they were fixing the house, they discovered thousands of bones in what is now the basement theater. There was an anatomy lab during Franklin's time by the owner's daughter's husband, so the bones were from cadavers. We were taken through the rooms of the house, which had an interactive technology set up, by a woman playing the landlady's daughter, Polly Hewson. 

I think this woman stole my dream job.

I think the tour was supposed to be taking place on Franklin's last day in the house in 1775, before he departed for Philadelphia. I wanted to ask if Franklin at all interacted with any Americans who were studying at Middle Temple--like Rutledge--but I figured Polly or the intern would think I'm crazy. Surely, Franklin must have, though; he was such a gallivanting man-about-town.

I'm probably not the first female to hang off Franklin's fence.

The most fitting thing to do after visiting the London home of Benjamin Franklin is clearly a trip to Twinings, located in the same shop on the Strand since 1706. Mom and I were in there sampling teas for at least an hour and a half. The Spiced Mulled blend was delicious, in case you were wondering, and the brand ambassador who served us our tea was incredibly informative about the history of tea in England. (If you want further information, just ask me to regurgitate it--I'd be more than happy to.)

Walls and walls and walls of tea.

After more wandering and an hour of relaxing at the hotel, we crossed the Jubilee Bridge to get to the London Eye.

I'm glad we rode the Eye at night--I probably would have had a meltdown/vomited during the daytime, being terrified of heights as I am. Of course, the champagne likely helped calm me down, too.

The Shard and St. Paul's.

Trafalgar Square (Christmas tree in the middle).

 Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey.

Tomorrow we're going to Piccadilly for some shopping, but I think we're going to visit the Banqueting House in Whitehall in the morning. Charles I was executed there, in case you were wondering what the historical significance is.

Obligatory Eye photo in front of Parliament.

London: The day before the end of the world.

It was a rainy day in London, so Mom and I went to the Victoria and Albert Museum--easily one of my top five favorite museums ever. I think it's now one of my mom's favorites too! Instead of lengthy descriptions of everything, I'm just going to share pictures.

Robe à la Polonaise wins, hands down.

Why don't men still dress this way?

After the clothing exhibit, we went through all the Medieval and Renaissance rooms...

15th century Italian.

You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting.

And then, my favorite rooms: Britain 1500-1760, and 1760 onward (but we stopped around 1910 because what's the point).

Elizabethan mittens.

The inspiration for Chucky 2: Bride of Chucky.

Interior, 11 Henrietta Street.

I like wide hips and I cannot lie.

Apparently, the V&A added interactive rooms...which often had clothing items in them. So, what did the 18th century have? Hoops and a petticoat that would have gone under a robe à la française. With an audience of several British children who kept throwing me strange looks over their shoulders, I donned these lovely undergarments that someone felt the need to rip at the waist. Do people have no respect for 18th century fashion?!

I can't believe I'm putting these on the internet.

Without fail, I found the rest of their eighteenth century fashion on display. Below: a Spitalfields (Garthwaite) silk robe à l'anglaise, shoes, and a men's coat.

Another example of eighteenth century fashion--as well as a favorite style of mine--the robe à la française.

In the Victorian section, they had another interactive room. A very entertaining (and handsome) British gentleman and his son watched while I helped my mom into a mid-century corset and hoop skirt. Jokes about sitting in chairs, breathing, and women fighting for decades to defeat the restricting undergarment abound with our audience. (Much improved over my glaring youngsters...Hurrumph.)

 I think I know who I get my belle from...

I will say that while we were going through the gift shop, there was a cute little British girl picking up everything and playing with it, so her mom told her, "I would prefer if you look at those with your eyes, not your hands. You're so much better at looking with your eyes, you know!" These people. I love them.

So, after the V&A, we went to Harrods. We spent hours in there before walking down Sloane Street to Sloane Square, getting on the Tube, and calling it a night.

 Christmas in Knightsbridge.

I think I had a moment, if you will, with our dinner waiter, but all too soon the moment had passed. Tomorrow is another day of museums and shopping. Unfortunately, the candlelight performance of Handel's Messiah at St. Martin in the Fields is sold out tomorrow night, but I'm sure we'll find some way to entertain ourselves.