The Art of History in London

So. This is a post I've been meaning to write for a while, but as I sit here alternating between my paper on WWII and my paper on the Great Exhibition, fresh off a viewing of The King's Speech, I felt compelled to write it now.


I came to London, specifically this semester, for several reasons, however there being one central one: The BU London History Programme. Two core classes, one a seminar and one general history of London from 1666, doubled with a 5,000-6,000 word thesis due in less than three weeks' time. It's London, it's old, it's historical, so it makes sense, right?

Pictured: How I pictured 99% of Europe

In the past semester, I've learned more about Britain, the British Isles, Europe, and the world in general than I ever have before. Since I declared a history major at BU I've been slowly and steadily branching out beyond my scope of general American knowledge  and into a world that's filled with the most amazing, incredible things. Learning history in this country, a country that's, what, five times the age of the United States, is so different from studying it anywhere else. It's living history. It's one thing to look at an old painting and think about a house or an alleyway that may have existed at some point in time; it's another to look at said painting, pack up your things, walk three blocks and see it yourself. Everything from grandiose castles and mansions to something as simple as the winding corridors of the East End, still surviving after years of war, Blitz and fire, still seething with dark caverns of mystery and buried under a layer of historical detail.


And don't even get me started on the World Wars. I've always found the World Wars to be interesting, of course; what history person isn't interested in at least one aspect of those glorious, bloody wars? But, obviously, the United States wasn't really involved in the struggle as much as it was over here. Over here being, well, northern Europe. Just a hop skip and a jump from where the bulk of both wars were fought. I'm of the opinion that they're minorly obsessed with the Wars here but, to be fair, they did have a big effect on Great Britain. Going to Belgium and seeing the vast fields of green where thousands of bodies still lay, and seeing the trench first-hand, walking around, smelling it's horrendous stench, looking at the rabbit hole they called a door into a dark, dank corridor beneath the ground... uncertain if they were to ever come out.

Imperial War Museum

The Imperial War Museum has to be my favorite place, in addition to all this nonsense. Just the way it walks you through the problems of the 20th century, starting with the Home Front in WWI and slowly adding in more and more nations until it's 1989 and half the world is waiting for the Berlin Wall to fall. And the Churchill War Rooms... that's just amazing. To walk the same hallways that Churchill did, and his generals, and his staff, and running to and fro during air raid sirens to check their maps and try to figure out just what they could do to stop the Third Reich from swallowing Europe whole.

It's just... ugh. Good Lord. I first saw "The King's Speech" in either June or July, randomly watching it with my mother on a rare evening off. I enjoyed it, but I couldn't say I was completely in love with it. I enjoy Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter as much as the next person but I didn't have this... investment in it. I just re-watched it while trying to simultaneously write a paper (I don't know why I always think I'm good at that kind of thing) and... I just felt so much more about it. I understood the context of the time; I've been to the places featured; I've seen instances of the fear, the confusion, and the crumbling facade of the British Empire. It's astounding to just think of all that Britain was going through in the late twenties and early thirties-- hell, my thesis is about that time. It's incredibly terrifying and exhilarating and I spent the entire movie yelling at the screen.


This place, I feel as if I've become immersed in wartime Britain. Considering how much of Europe's history is just carved and shaped by war, I'm surprised I'm surprised but... as I said to my roommate this morning, "History has a way of being very, very depressing, doesn't it?"

The Emerald Isle

So, over the last weekend, I went to Ireland. Dublin, to be exact. It was a trip that was planned waaaaaaaay back in September and, to be honest, if we hadn’t planned it then, we probably wouldn’t have gone. It’s smack dab in the middle of the most difficult point of the semester, my 6,000 word paper is due in three weeks, and at the time I had a paper due on Monday. (Let’s not talk about that paper, shall we?)

Anyway, Saiya, Nicole and I all went on separate journeys to all meet together in Dublin, Ireland, on Friday/Saturday. Naturally, I got lost on my way to the hostel, because the directions were juuuuust vague enough that I went in the wrong direction for a little too long. I did get some lovely night views of the city, though.

And an old boat!

Nicole arrived a few hours later and, after checking her in, we randomly were invited to go karaoke with four totally random guys. Now, the thing about these guys is, I can’t remember their names, and I don’t think they ever actually learned ours. They were four friends from four different countries whom had all met because they were travelling around Europe at one point or another, and every so often agreed to meet in the same place in the same hostel. One of the guys wanted his other friend to sing “Love is a Battlefield” by Pat Benitar at karaoke, and suddenly Nicole and I are following these four guys around the Temple Bar area, looking for a karaoke bar.

I was known simply as “Boston”, since I was from Boston; Nicole became “Louisiana” to go with the elaborate alter-ego she’s constructed for dealing with guys whom she doesn’t want to know. The four guys we met were known as Canada, Australia, Scotland and Cambridge. Canada was a wiry little guy with dreadlocks and an affinity for the Dropkick Murphys; Scotland was a big Indian guy with a thick accent who was very, very proud to be Scottish and called everyone ‘Lassie’; Cambridge was short, had glasses and was very white, and apparently sleeps a lot; and Australia was tall, lanky, really drunk and was the one who had to sing Pat Benitar in a falsetto.

So we wandered around with them throughout the throngs of drunken Irish (is there any other kind, really? Badum-ching!) looking for an elusive karaoke bar. Scotland was hitting on everything, although Canada and Cambridge were very thoughtful and talked to us a lot about history and politics. And, because I’m cursed, the World Wars. I don’t know why they always come up with me. This is probably the third or fourth time I’ve met some random people abroad and the World Wars have come up in some way. We were discussing some of the reasons for the outbreak of WWI, if I recall. The conclusion I came to after my WWI/WWII class is true: this continent is obsessed with the World Wars. Well, I guess I would be, too, if it was fought on my continent.

Anyway, Australia broke a glass and Canada was very much drunk, we went back to our hostel around 10 pm and WENT TO SLEEP. The next morning was dedicated to eating, wandering, and locating a lost Saiya.

Once we had found the lost Saiya, we then embarked on our very own man-made tour, which Nicole dubbed the “Two Fs and S Tour” of Dublin.

The most frustrating thing about Dublin was that everything you had to pay to get into, so we spent a lot of time looking at things from a distance.

I see a Saiya!

St. Patrick's Cathedral, from the closest distance I could get.

In the case of St. Patrick’s, a really, really far distance. But everything was truly quite beautiful. We saw a church that had its old foundations right beside it, looking quite old indeed. And, of course, we hard-core gift-shopped, which took more time than we thought but at the same time, didn’t take much time at all.

We wandered around and also got photos of all the Christmas decorations, because Ireland really knows how to celebrate a holiday. And that’s with lots of electric lights everywhere.

Finally we ended the trip at Ireland’s oldest pub, founded in the 12^th century. It was gorgeous inside, small and cramped and with awkward staircases and a weird opening in the front, just like in Belgium and the other old pubs I’ve been to. They really knew how to make awesome pubs back in the day.

The next day we flew home, and I got some shots of the Irish countryside I kind of wish I could have seen up close. If I ever go back to Ireland, I’m definitely going someplace out in the countryside where I can see those rolling hills of green and maybe a potato or two.

There are no whales in Wales, but there are a lot of cows.

And an old castle or several. Actually just one. But there are a LOT of cows. And small horses hanging out in bushes on top of blustery hills.

BUT I DIGRESS. About a million weeks ago (read: 2) my friends and I embarked on an epic journey to... to be honest, we don’t think we were in a town in Wales. We were on a farm, and we ended up in a town called Mumbles at some point but while we were on the farm... picture the solitude of the farm in Little House on the Prairie. Except with less Laura Ingles Wilder and more Welsh chickens underneath the window.

ANYWAY, we stayed in a 6-person room with a HUGE shower

LOOK AT THIS THING.

But it was kinda daunting to use. We also had a desk, a full size bed and two sets of bunk beds. It was like one big sleepover. On Saturday, we went on a full day of horseback riding around the Welsh countryside; up  some hills, down some hills, and really far away from some cliffs.

It was... more difficult than I expected. The last time I rode a horse like this was when I was in Girl Scouts and I rode through a trail in some camp down the Cape. I had a big ol’ horse named Annie, who was gorgeous, calm and lazy. They gave me a stick to hit her shoulders when she got too slow, but even that didn’t make her go faster. Either that or I just wasn’t being harsh enough.

Annie, not caring about me whatsoever.

We stopped at a pub, and then went back into the sunset to curl up in a bed and watch tv for a while. It was Guy Fawkes Day while we were there, so we went into Mumbles, Wales and partied it up. And by partied it up, I mean pitchers of mixed drinks for £7.95.

Why yes, this is as classy as it looks.

Yep. Apparently there’s not much else to do in Mumbles, Wales, Aside from light things on fire on the beach, which we did NOT do.

On Sunday, after sleeping “in” until 8 (as opposed to 7:15 the day before) we took an epic hike to Three Cliffs Bay, where we scared some birds, climbed some hills and hung out in an old castle.

THIS WAS AMAZING.

Also, Wales is gorgeous. At least they have that going on? Afterwards we all passed out on the train home. And had very, very sore body parts.

I have to say, before I came to the UK I never thought I’d actually get to Wales. Scotland, yes. Ireland, oh yes. Wales? Eh. I didn’t know much about Wales before and, to be honest, I still don’t know that much. Wales was taken over in the twelfth century and then never heard from again. My core history class is based on London from 1666 but Scotland and Ireland are at least discussed, if minorly; Wales isn’t talked about at all. They’re not even represented on the Union Jack, and they were taken over by England before England was really even England.

Poor Wales. At least they still have their culture, right? Wales, Scotland and Ireland are all descended from Celtic societies, why didn’t they just ban together and kick the Anglo-Saxon butts in England? I guess we’ll never know.