Thames Walks: From the Globe to the Mayflower

My walk took me along the Thames Path on the South Bank. Starting at Blackfriars Station, I quickly passed through Bankside, past the Tate Modern, and soon arrived at the replica of Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. The original Globe was not located here, but somewhere near here. I did not come to see the Globe, however, but a house next to it. 

I had recently read The House by the Thames and the People Who Lived There by Gillian Tindall, a fascinating account of Bankside and its people since medieval times. I have passed the house in question many times before but never took any notice of it. It isn’t a palace, or even a mansion, but a modest residence that has been here since the early 18^th century. After reading Tindall’s book, however, I just had to have a look.

What I was most interested in was this plaque on the front of the house:

None of this was true, as Tindall explains in her book. Wren did live for a time in a house nearby that no longer exists. As for Catherine of Aragon, no evidence exists that she slept here, with or without Henry. The house did not exist in 1502. An inn, perhaps, but as Tindall points out, 16th century princesses didn't stay in common inns. 

The claims about Wren and Catherine were fabricated. the culprit was a mid-twentieth owner of the house, Ludwig Malcolm Munthe. Perhaps he put up the plaque to attract tourists who prefer myth to history or just to make himself feel important. Despite Tindall’s exposure, the plaque remains to mislead those who bother to read it. Munthe’s fabrication may have had a good result, however. Tindall argues that its faux history may have helped save the house from demolition in the late 1940s, the fate of many nearby old buildings.

Moving on, I passed The Clink, a museum named for the Bishop of Winchester’s prison that existed here from the 12^th century to 1781. The Bishop’s Palace was next door, but only part of its foundations remain. A little further on is the Golden Hind, a replica of the ship that Sir Francis Drake circumnavigated the world in/on 1577-1580.

Resisting tours, I plowed on past London bridge and the HMS Belfast, a WWII light cruiser, one of only three surviving ships that formed part of the bombardment fleet on D-Day, June 6, 1944.

Next, I came to City Hall, which looked like it was about to take off into hyperspace, in stark contrast to the extremely earthbound medieval Tower of London across the river.

Just past these monuments to the past, I arrived at iconic Tower Bridge, which looks medieval, but dates from the 1890s, when neo-gothic was the rage.

I recalled the story that the developers of Lake Havasu City, AZ, who bought the previous London Bridge in the 1970s, actually thought Tower Bridge was London Bridge, and were disappointed to learn they had bought a rather dull neoclassical construction. Maybe the story is apocryphal, but many tourists no doubt think of Tower Bridge as London Bridge. Souvenir shops are full of models of the former, but not the latter.

Passing under Tower Bridge, I entered Bermondsey. The Docklands proper begin here, and for centuries until the 1960s this area would have been chock full of ships coming and going from all points of the globe. The advent of giant container ships ended that world. Just past the Bridge one comes to Butler’s Wharf, a huge Victorian warehouse that has been converted into upscale apartments and restaurants.

At the end of Butler’s Wharf, I came to a muddy inlet of warehouses: St. Savior’s Dock, New Concordia Wharf, and Jacob’s Island Pier. This area was once a notorious slum. It now features luxury flats. 

Readers of Dickens’ Oliver Twist may recall that it is at Jacob's Island that the villainous Bill Sykes meets his well-deserved end, falling from a roof into the mud, still very evident at low tide. Dickens called this area “the filthiest, strangest, and most extraordinary of the many localities that are hidden in London.” It's no longer filthy, at least, and is now rather posh.

After crossing the inlet on a metal pedestrian bridge, I went through and under a building on the waterfront. For a few blocks here, the Thames Path meanders along Bermondsey Wall West. Here, old warehouses, now luxury apartments, generally obscure the river from view. I passed by the location of a huge new Thames super sewer tunnel project, which also obscures the river from view now. Recent discharges of raw sewage into British waters make the need for this project urgent. 

The path soon rejoins the river again at Bermondsey Wall East, near the Angel Pub. I was sorely tempted to enter for a pint, but I resisted and sat for a while on a bench, looking across to Wapping and Execution Dock, where the notorious alleged pirate Captain Kidd was hanged in 1701. A short distance past the Angel I walked through a narrow passage between warehouses (now apartments) linked by overhead bridges (now bedecked with flowering plants). 

Just past these warehouses I entered the historic heart of Rotherhithe and arrived at the quaint and ancient Mayflower Pub. 

The pub, which dates in part from the 17^th century, was later renamed for the famous ship that carried the Pilgrim Fathers (and Mothers/Kids) to Massachusetts in 1620. The ship was from here in Rotherhithe, and several of its owners are buried in St. Mary’s Churchyard across the street. Among them is Christopher Jones, who captained the Mayflower on its voyage to “discover the New World." At least this is what the plaque on the pub’s front claims. Fake News has a long history. 

The plaque reminded me of Munthe’s plaque on the House by the Thames at Bankside: not entirely truthful, but maybe useful. I went inside and discovered the Mayflower pub, enjoying an ale and lunch. Leaving the Mayflower while I could still walk, I soon arrived at the nearby Brunel Museum.

The building was originally an engine house designed by Marc Isambard Brunel, the engineer who designed the Thames Tunnel. Completed in 1843, it was the first tunnel ever built under a navigable river. It connects Rotherhithe with Wapping on the north bank of the river and is @1300 feet (396m) in length. The engine house contained pumps to pump water from the tunnel during construction. 

Today, the museum highlights the careers and engineering projects of Marc Brunel and his more famous son, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, who completed the tunnel after his father’s death. The Thames Tunnel is used today by London Overground trains.

The Brunel Museum is a charitable project. I would have liked to visit it, but I was running out of time. I made my way to the nearby Rotherhithe Overground Station and so to home. I decided to come back soon and see more of the fascinating Docklands area. 

[See History and Other Stuff: A Curious Walk along the Thames: Rotherhithe, Deptford, and Greenwich (mycandles.blogspot.com)]

How the Gardenia Got its Name

The gardenia is a familiar, fragrant flowering plant with whitish flowers. Obviously, it derived its Latin name from the word “garden,” but it was not named for a place full of plants, but a physician and naturalist who lived in Charleston, South Carolina during the eighteenth century.

Alexander Garden was born in Birse, Aberdeenshire, Scotland in 1730. He studied at Aberdeen and Edinburgh Universities, receiving an MD from the latter school. He served as a surgeon in the British navy for several years, but resigned, he said, because he could not overcome sea sickness. A lung complaint, probably tuberculosis, may also have played a part in his decision. [Image: Alexander Garden]

He emigrated to warmer South Carolina in 1752 in hopes of improving his health and income. In the latter goal, at least, he succeeded. South Carolina was not only the wealthiest British North American colony, it was also the unhealthiest. Garden married a wealthy local heiress, Elizabeth Peronneau, and soon had a flourishing practice in the provincial capital, Charlestown). (Image: Charlestown harbor, 1760s)

By the time of the American Revolution Garden had become the richest physician in the colony, and had bought a plantation in nearby Goose Creek, which he named Otranto.

His passion, however was natural history, initially botany, but later zoology. In South Carolina, Garden collected specimens of many new species and sent them to European naturalists, especially John Ellis of London. As a reward, Ellis urged the Swedish naturalist Carolus Linnaeus to name a new genus or species after Garden. 

Linnaeus had invented the modern system of biological classification, and currently had the final say on naming. Garden and Linnaeus also opened a correspondence that lasted for several years. (Image: Linnaeus)

In 1757, Ellis failed to convince Linnaeus to name a South Carolina plant after Garden, the Calycanthus floridus (Sweet Shrub, below). 

The next year, Ellis first set eyes on an attractive, fragrant plant that a ship had recently brought from South Africa. He soon began a campaign to get Linnaeus to name it after Garden. Linnaeus initially refused, saying he preferred to give the name to a plant discovered by Garden himself, or another species. In 1760, Linnaeus reluctantly agreed to the name gardenia, giving Garden what Ellis called a “Species of Eternity.” 

The honor impressed many of Garden’s acquaintances in Charlestown, but one medical colleague was apparently jealous. Dr. Louis Mottet is alleged to have scoffed that he had discovered a very beautiful local plant, and named it “Lucia” after his cook, Lucy.

In the following years, Garden continued to make contributions to natural history, including the discovery of new species of amphibians and fish. (Image: Siren lacertina)

In 1773, Garden was elected to membership of the Royal Society of London, Britain’s most prestigious scientific organization. Among those who nominated him were Ellis and Benjamin Franklin. During these years Garden became a close friend of many leading figures of South Carolina, among them Henry Laurens, later president of the Continental Congress. Garden mentored and adored Laurens’ son John Laurens, who served as a  Patriot officer during the American Revolution, and was killed in one of its last engagements (Aug. 1782).

The War for Independence proved disastrous for Garden. He tried, unsuccessfully, to remain neutral. His family divided. During the British occupation of Charleston (1780-82), his daughter Harriette married a British officer. His son Alex joined the Continental Army, rising to the rank of major.

In 1782, the South Carolina State Assembly banished Garden as a Loyalist for having signed a memorial congratulating Lord Cornwallis on his victory at the Battle of Camden. The government of South Carolina confiscated most of his property, although Alex was allowed to keep Otranto. (Image: Battle of Camden)

When the British evacuated Charleston in December 1782, Garden, his wife, and younger daughter Juliette went into exile in London. He died there in 1791, most likely of tuberculosis. During his time in London, he was an active member of the Royal Society, and was elected vice-president.

Further reading:

Edmund Berkeley and Dorothy Smith Berkeley, Alexander Garden of Charles Town (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1969)

James Edward Smith, A Selection of the Correspondence of Linnaeus and Other Naturalists (2 vols., London, 1821)

A Midsummer Night's Dream: Iceland's Enchanting South Coast

The day after I had taken the Golden Circle Tour, I took a whale sightseeing boat, didn't see any whales, but saw lots of colorful puffins. Later I met up with friends who had arrived from the US. We spent the day, which happened to be the longest of the year, exploring Reykjavik and enjoying lots of seafood.  Around midnight, we toasted the solstice at a local bar, the intriguingly named Uncle Tom's Cabin.

The following day we rented a car and drove about 30 miles east to a rural farmhouse, where we would be staying for the next couple of days. The house backed up on a field full of Icelandic ponies -- I mean horses, some of whom came close enough to say hello.

That evening we discussed plans to explore Iceland's south coast. We stayed up talking until about 2 am, losing track of time. After a late and leisurely breakfast, we set out around mid-day. The late start hardly mattered, because we didn't have to worry about running out of daylight. And the day was sunny and pleasantly warm.

Our first stop was a waterfall, Seljalandsfoss, one of many that grace this region. 

    

We glimpsed other waterfalls from a distance as we drove along the coast.

Before long we arrived at a valley that had been devastated by the eruption of a volcano, Eyjafjallajokull, which began in late March 2010. The name means "island mountain glacier." The eruption began under the ice sheet of the glacier, and produced a huge volume of volcanic ash, which disrupted transatlantic flights for days. It also produced massive flooding in the valley, destroying farm buildings and houses. We stopped at a museum shop belonging to one of the local families, who had suffered major losses. We viewed a film about the eruption, and bought t-shirts that said "What about Eyjafjallajokull don't you understand?" The photo below shows the valley and the snowcapped peak of the volcano.

  
Back in the car, we drove on to our next destination, Skogafoss, another spectacular waterfall.

We walked up a path from the base to get a view of the falls from the top. 

Nearby, we visited a restored village, where one can get a glimpse of life here in the late 19th century or so. The houses and most buildings have grass roofs. 

Our next stop took us down a small road to the edge of the glacier under which Eyjafjallajokull lies. From the car park, we walked a short distance to the glacier's foot. The ice was almost black, mixed as it was with volcanic ash.

From the glacier, we road on eastwards to the little town of Vik, which boasts a black beach, made of volcanic sand. From there, one can view some stacks offshore.

We had a bite to eat in a beachside cafe, and began our trip back to the farmhouse.On our return, we caught a great view of the volcano on the glacier. 

A MidsummerNight's Dream, II: Iceland's Golden Circle

The Golden Circle Tour proved to be a delightful way to spend a day. The weather started out overcast and a bit chilly with a bit of rain, but skies soon cleared and the thermometer soared to about 65F (18C). The driver was knowledgeable and funny, and best of all, he didn't get us killed. I learned a lot about Iceland, among other things that hot water heaters are unnecessary. The geothermal springs that are found all over the island provide all the hot water required, not to mention power to generate electricity. 

I also learned a great deal about the flora and fauna. When the first Vikings arrived from Norway in the tenth century, the island had no native land mammal except the arctic fox. Polar bears sometimes landed on the north of the island, but never took up permanent residency. The only native tree was the dwarf birch, which grows to about six feet. This is the source of one of the driver's best jokes. Q: "What should you do if lost in an Icelandic forest?" A: "Stand Up."

The Vikings brought in other species, including reindeer and horses. The horses are small, more like ponies, but do not tell an Icelander that. Call them horses, please. Farm animals, dogs, cats, mice, rats, and many different plant species have been imported over the centuries since the first human settlement. One particular import, the lupin, has taken over large swathes of the island.

The Golden Circle passes through a lot of beautiful landscapes, including the most spectacular waterfall I've ever seen, Gullfoss, on the Hvita (White) River. (Gullfoss)

Gullfoss is fed by Iceland's second largest glacier, and is considerably larger than Niagara Falls. The roar of the falls is certainly deafening. Gullfoss means "Golden Falls". The name derives from the fact that the sediment-laden water looks golden on sunny days. It drops 32 meters (105 feet) into the chasm below. It is the largest waterfall in Europe by volume, if one considers Iceland part of Europe. That brings me to the second highlight of the Golden Circle: Thingvellir.

Thingvellir National Park stands at the place where two tectonic/continental plates meet: The Eurasian and the North American. Iceland is thus partly in North America and partly in Europe. 

Thingvellir is a geologist's paradise. But its importance is not only geological. It is also significant in Icelandic history. Starting back in AD 930, the national assembly (Althing) met here, and continued to do so until 1798. The name Thingvellir means something like "Parliament (or Assembly) Fields." (Thingvellir)

Thingvellir lies in a rift valley that marks the crest of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, and the evidence of geologic activity is all around you.

  

Thingvellir, and Iceland itself, sits atop the Iceland Plume, a volcanic hotspot which is believed to have formed Iceland some 16-18 million years ago. Geologically speaking, that is very young, and it means that the island never had dinosaurs, or many other species that emerged elsewhere over eons. But volcanoes and geothermal phenomena abound. That brings me to the third highlight of the Golden Circle: Geysir. (Iceland geology)

Geysir (from which we get "geyser") is a hot spot where Iceland blows off a lot of steam. The place is named after the largest of the geysers in the park, Geysir. It erupts infrequently nowadays, sometimes not for years, but its recorded eruptions have sometimes reached heights of more than 100 meters. Other geysers nearby are rather tame most of the time, just bubbling away. Good places to boil some eggs. But one geyser, called Strokkur, erupts about every 6-10 minutes, which is good for tourists on a tight schedule. Strokkur sends a plume of hot water about 30 meters into the air. Thankfully, the water cools a good bit by the time it returns to earth, because it is hard to avoid being hit by some of it when up close. 

Having completed the Golden Circle, our coach returned to Reykjavik. I went off to check into my hotel, only to discover that they didn't have a room for me. But they had booked me into a nearby pension, which turned out to be comfortable and boasted a scenic view of the harbor. I slept well after a long but delightful day.

Iceland: A Mid-Summer Night's Dream

Iceland: land of volcanoes, geysers, waterfalls, glaciers, and trolls. And constant daylight in mid-summer. Having left London in pitch dark of midnight, I arrived at Keflavik Airport in blazing sunshine around 3 am. I took a bus to Reykjavik, the capital and largest city. Actually, the only city in this land of just over 300,000 people. It was 5 am but it looked like midday, and the streets were deserted. I felt like I had walked onto the set of an apocalyptic film, in which some superbug had wiped the entire population.

As I walked from the bus station through an elegant park graced by a lake I was relieved to hear sounds of life: ducks quacking. Ahead of me, I spied a well-dressed man sitting on a bench. When I got closer, he turned out to be a statue of some local worthy. I'd read that sunlight in Iceland turns trolls into stone, so maybe this was my first troll. He did look as if he had been there awhile, though.

I continued on, looking for my hotel. I had prided myself in having reserved a room at one of the cheapest hotels in Reykjavik. I found it and it fit the price. Shabby, sans the genteel. Well, this is Iceland, I thought. Cockroaches surely don't flourish here as in Charleston, South Carolina, where I had lived for many years. In Charleston, roaches have been known to grow as large as small dogs. I went inside. No one was at the desk. At 5:30 am I shouldn't have been surprised. I decided to continue my walk through the town until something opened up. I strolled down toward the harbor and discovered, among other things, one of Reykjavik's most famous landmarks, the World's Best Hot Dog Stand.

Vowing to try one when they opened, I walked on and soon came to the Gray Line coach terminal. That's it! I thought. Take a tour, and see something of the place, rest, relax, and go to my hotel at a normal time. Unfortunately, the coach office was not open yet. I decided to get some breakfast. I walked up and down the main streets, but found nothing open. Oh, yeh, I reminded myself, it's not quite 6 am. Too early for cafes, too late for bars.

At one intersection, I spied a large, unusual, pyramidal building, that dwarfed everything around it. Curious, I walked up to it, and discovered that it was Hallsgrimmelskirkja (Hallsgrimmels Church), the tallest building in in Reykjavik at 75 meters. It was unlike any sacred building I'd ever seen. Its designed to look like a volcano, which Iceland has quite a few of. A warning of divine anger, or merely something inspired by the landscape? Disappointingly, there is no smoke, fire, or lava, spewing from the top. Standing there, doing nothing in particular, it looks like a cross between a moth-balled rocket ship and Devil's Tower in Wyoming. Yet it does make a statement and gets your attention.

    
 In front of the church I spotted a large statue of a Vikingy-looking guy. It turned out be one of the most famous Vikings of all, Leif Ericson, who discovered America some 500 years before Columbus, but failed to get the credit -- or the blame. The statue was a gift from the USA to Iceland's people, for letting the US Air Force use the island as a giant aircraft carrier during the Cold War.

I retraced my steps to the Gray Line office, and found it had opened. I entered and went up to the reception desk, where a woman who reminded me of Britt Eklund asked how she could help, in flawless Americanese. I said I'd like to take a tour that would last several hours, at least until I could get into my hotel. 

"The Golden Circle Tour is perfect for you," she said. "it runs from 8:30 to 5."

"Great, I'll take it." I'd read about the Golden Circle and was sure it would be interesting. Waterfalls, glaciers, geysers, fault lines, that sort of thing. I had some time before the coach left to get some breakfast. The receptionist directed me to a nearby cafe-bakery, where I snarfed down a couple of delicious pastries and coffee before boarding the coach. I now knew that I would survive my first day in Iceland. And thrive.

More to come.