Old Home Providence

Of the various places I have lived, my very favourite is of course London, but the second favourite is Providence, Rhode Island. My history with Providence goes back to 1974 when Bob was offered a graduate place in Brown University's Linguistics Department. And now much of a lifetime later, we have come back full circle to another Providence connection through our son-in-law who is working there at an internet start-up company.

We lived in Providence from 1974 until 1978 when Bob finished his Ph.D., left for four years in San Diego, and returned to Providence, with two children, in 1982. I desperately wanted to raise my children in Providence, but sadly there were no jobs for an unemployed Ph.D., even with re-training for the 1980s finance boom, and by the end of 1983 we had packed up and left Providence for good. Wall Street and New Jersey became the future. As Bob says, living in London has been the reward for that forced march to New Jersey.

We have been back to visit since 1983, but the wrench of leaving was so painful, we cut off all contact with the people and the place during the New Jersey years. When Bob was offered a Boston job in 1991, we briefly considered the commute from Providence as an option, but the nightmare of the long commute on New Jersey Transit for seven years quickly brought us to our senses. Now of course poor Barnz is suffering the commute in reverse from Hingham.

Last Thursday, Veterans' Day, the only holiday, except Christmas and New Year, not Monday-ed in the States meant no school for Bibs and three children at home all day, so Megan popped us in the mini-van for the Great American Tradition of Visiting-Daddy-at-Work. Sadly there was no time for photocopying favourite stuffed animals — 25 years ago, we had some dynamite copies of Susan's favourite woolly mammoth from several angles done at Moody's Xerox machine — but the children acquitted themselves well and have been dubbed the Barna-babies by office colleagues.

And I had a chance to see a bit of Providence, which is such a different place from 1974, despite the economic hard times of the past few years. Rhode Island has had an unemployment rate second only to the perennial first place Michigan recently. In 1974, Rhode Island was nicknamed the "armpit of New England" with Providence the axilla at the head of Narragansett Bay. We were charmed by the place, but endlessly gobsmacked by its eccentricities.

Rhode Island is not an island, although some of its area includes islands in Narragansett Bay, and as the smallest of the states, is more like a city-state — think medieval Florence — than like any of the other 49 states, except perhaps Hawaii, which is a real island state. Geographers talk about the lasting importance of Initial Occupation, which in the case of Rhode Island, if you don't count the Native Indians, was Roger Williams, a true eccentric. Born in Smithfield London, educated at Cambridge where he became a Puritan, he emigrated with his family to Massachusetts in one of the early years of settlement. Living in the Massachusetts theocracy, he managed to piss off everyone with his rabid belief in the complete separation of church and state, and his dedication to treating the Native Indians fairly. He was eventually tried for treason and heresy and found his way into the Narragansett tribe's territory where he established a settlement he named Providence Plantations which joined with the settlement on Rhode (now Aquidneck) Island to form one of the original thirteen colonies — the first to declare independence, the last to adopt the Constitution — more eccentricity. The official name is still the State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, affirmed earlier this month, when residents voted down an initiative to drop the Providence Plantations from the state's name. Puritanism was too tame so Williams founded the first Baptist Church in the New World, and the classic meetinghouse built during the 1770s is still the site of Brown University's undergraduate commencement. He then went on to join other fringe sects.

Soon after our arrival in 1974, Buddy Cianci was elected mayor of Providence and the world turned upside down. The 1970s was my favourite decade because that was the last time I remember when problems could be confronted honestly and sometimes things even got done smoothly and correctly. Prime example, Nixon was a crook and a liar, and when that was evident to all, he was ousted. The Sixties overturned mores; in the Seventies, for a brief few years, we still believed we could change the world. Providence was falling apart in the mid-1970s, the last department store — The Outlet — where I bought my first beloved Bernina sewing machine closed down, and the centre city was essentially moribund. At the same time, the country was gripped with commemorating the Bicentennial of the United States, and few cities could offer up a feast of history like Providence could.  The Providence Preservation Society had been protecting houses and streetscapes on the tony East Side from incursions by Brown since the 1950s, but they were expanding their interests to the greater city, and with support from the new city administration, hotels were rehabbed, theatres and performing art centres were opened and reopened by the time we left in 1978. Sadly Buddy Cianci was also on his way to court and possibly jail by then too.

Another eccentricity of Rhode Island — once again think medieval Florence — is that smallness breeds familiarity, tribalism, and ultimately crime. In this case some of it organised crime, since the premier New England Mafia operated out of Providence at the time, but much of it more on the order of: we grew up together on the Hill (several to choose from: Federal (Italian), Smith (Irish), College), you help me, I help you, everyone gets what they need. When we were having trouble with a new car, a kindly neighbour offered to have it stolen so we could collect the insurance. He knew the parking lot where it could be best done. (We declined the offer, but did consider.) A few years later, he headed up an important City Board that he was probably not really qualified by expertise to sit on, but he had grown up on the right Hill, and he needed a job.

After we left for good, Buddy Cianci returned as Mayor and really undertook a massive overhaul. A giant downtown enclosed mall brought department stores back, condos and office buildings, and the project he is most associated with is uncovering the river. The American Industrial Revolution began in the village of Pawtucket, at Providence's northern edge, when Samuel Slater illegally slipped out of England having memorised the design of Arkwright's Derbyshire cotton mill machinery which he promptly sold to the wealthy Brown family of Providence. Mills needed water power, and there were plenty of rivers at the head of Narragansett Bay. When steam took over, rivers were in the way of development, and often channelised and paved over for roads that were by then more essential. By the Millennium, every successful city boasted a waterfront or a riverfront, so Providence tore up the roads at the foot of College Hill to uncover the rivers beneath, created the RiverWalk greenway, and thousands visit the city on Summer weekends to view the thrilling WaterFire Festival events.

Soon enough, Buddy once again was back in court and back in jail a few years later, accompanied by quite a few colleagues this time. Including someone I worked with briefly in the 1970s, but I am happy to see that his old job was held for him because Rhode Island is a forgiving sort of place, and he was a very nice guy, and I'm sure he didn't really mean any harm by whatever it was that he did. I have no doubt he was just doing something to help a friend he grew up with on the Hill, while doing good for his wife and kids. just the Rhode Island way. In recent years, the boom and bust of the past decade have not been kind to the city and the state. Saving treasured places is always an uphill battle, and often one that needs to be fought more than once.

Autumn Glory

When we say we live in London for the food and the weather, people tend to think we are either joking or being cruel. We are telling the truth. I now have three grandchildren, all born in a suburb of Boston, Massachusetts. The first was born in July — much too hot that time of year to want to be in New England; the second was born in February — much too cold that time of year to want to be in New England. The third grandchild has hit it right — born in October, my very favourite month to be in New England. The leaves turn colour in September in the northern New England states, then the colour line moves southward week by week. This year I arrived in mid-October when our southern Massachusetts leaves were reaching their glorious colour peak. 

Our house where the elm has already shed all its leaves.

Our overgrown back field is beginning to turn

A maple at peak colour 

A mix of colours carpet my friend's deck

The view from a friend's window

My favourite shade of autumn leaves is this reddish gold

The grounds of a local cemetery

Down the street from our house

So it is true that in this one season of the year, I might rather be in New England than in old England.

It's Election Day. . .

A dejected future voter

It's the first Tuesday in November, Election Day, in the US. The rest of the world holds their collective — socialist? — breath waiting for the results every two and four years. The rest of the world may pay more attention than US citizens since not very many people care enough to go out and vote. In Presidential election years 50% to 60% of eligible voters bother; in non-President years, the turn out of voters doesn't even reach 40% of those eligible.  Once upon a time I might have vented about dereliction of duty as a citizen, etc., but I can no longer work up that sort of ire, when most outcomes of elections seem to run the gamut from disappointment to outright disaster. Election fatigue also needs to be seen as a major factor in suppressing voter participation. For months, citizens have been subjected to a barrage of political adverts in the press, in the post, on TV and radio, and very worst are the robo-telephone calls, whose frequency force people to turn off their phone ringers for a bit of household quiet. Last night the robo-calling reached such a crescendo that Bob could not telephone us from England because the message "all circuits are busy" was a constant refrain. I read that something like $5 billion dollars has been spent this year on the election — yes I did say Billion; a third of the country is on food stamp assistance and 50 million people have no health insurance, but the political machine rolls on.

I have voted in every Presidential and Congressional election by absentee ballot in the 12 years since we moved to London. Today I was able to go to the polling place at our town's high school to vote — taking a black marker to fill in the boxes denoting my choice of candidates on the large A3 size card ballot. I also voted NO on the three silly and damaging voter initiatives, such as reducing the state sales tax, when this state, like all 49 other states, is nearly broke, but I did vote YES on my support for medical marijuana if such a law is ever considered by the state legislature. So I have done my civic national and international  duty, but I have little hope for the outcome that will trickle out tonight and tomorrow from across the country. Friends are talking about making inquiries on the possibilities of moving to other, saner, countries.

Meanwhile, the post-Halloween pumpkins are still cheerfully adorning front steps around us here in New England.

Bibs and Bobs with our pumpkins.
The Jack-o-Lantern designed by Bibs

Down the street . . .

Up the street . . .

Special Edition, Special Addition

Megan had her third baby this afternoon!

A second girl joins big sister Bibs and big brother Bobs. She is 7 lbs 13 oz and 20 inches long.

She doesn't have a name yet. Probably tomorrow. 

Her gestational nickname was Trix or Trixie, so we usually refer to her by that nickname.

Daddy Barnaby came home from the hospital and took us back for a short visit tonight.

Introducing the Family of Five

Bibs says hello

Megan always looks great 

Swaddled and asleep after her first feeding

A Favourite September Tradition: Sunday

Most years during the Open House weekend, we stick to to the inner boroughs, but this year, with our newly expansive view of London, exploring an outer borough or two seemed appropriate. We set off on Sunday bright and early for the farthest west borough of Hillingdon.

First stop was St Mary's in Harefield, one of our 1000 Best Churches, which is decorated outside and in with fantastic carvings and monuments.

An ancestor of Lady Diana Spencer lies here.

Sunday was the congregations seasonal Harvest Festival, and the church was beautifully decorated.

Hop vines and apples decorate the piers

A magnificent vegetable arrangement

Hillingdon was once rural land dotted with hamlets and villages dating back to medieval settlements.  During the First World War this empty quarter, 14 miles west of central London, was used for landing aircraft. The hamlet of Heath Row was demolished as the airport began to expand with the growth of air travel in the 1930s. In the late 1940s, the government purchased land from the village of Harmondsworth  to build the runways, and the surrounding hamlets were subsumed by the enormous airport.

Our next stop was the village of Harmondsworth to see the magnificent Great Barn dating to 1426.  The previous government had approved a Third Runway for Heathrow that would have obliterated the remnants of medieval Harmondsworth still extant including the barn. Fortunately, the new government overturned approval for the scheme as one of their first acts.

190 feet long and 40 feet high

Dubbed the Cathedral of Middlesex by John Betjeman 

Original early-15th century wood structure is intact

In anticipation of the windfall to come with the runway expansion, an offshore Gibraltar company purchased the barn for £1 a few years ago and has let it deteriorate. Last year, English Heritage (the public-private quango that takes care of historic public property) stepped in to repair the roof to prevent further structural damage. EH is now suing the owners and may be able to get a mandatory purchase order if the company does not respond.

We moved on to another tithing barn in Ruislip which is still part of an extant medieval manor complex managed for commercial and public use by the town. Manor Farm has been occupied since the Normans arrived and built a Motte and Bailey fortress.

The Motte and Bailey site

The present Manor House dates to the 16th century, and has been refurbished and turned into a local history museum.

The Tithing Barn is said to be the second largest in England and was hosting a wonderful crafts fair with food stalls. The huge Tithing Barns were used to store the harvested crops owed to the Lord of the Manor and the Church as rent by the farmers who worked the land.

The Tithing Barn

Other Manor outbuildings are used as a public library, workshop space for artists, and meeting rooms.

We then drove east to the neighbouring borough of Harrow to visit Pinner, a medieval town that deserves more time than we had this afternoon. We stopped off at West House, once a gentleman's country estate set in a private park which is now a public park, and the house has recently been refurbished and opened as a museum exhibiting a collection of artwork by Heath Robinson, a one time resident of Pinner. Robinson's great love was landscape painting, but he made his living with illustrations and satirical cartoons.

The First Aeronautical Wedding was on display

West House will rotate the Robinson work on display so we will have to return regularly for further treats in the gallery and in the lovely cafe on site.

Finally, as the afternoon wound down, we arrived at the Church of St Lawrence in Little Stanmore, one of our 1000 Best Churches, and what a stunner. James Brydges, Paymaster General to the Duke of Marlborough, made himself a fortune and was made Duke of Chandos. He married a North London girl with a nice house which he elevated into a Baroque palace to match his boss's Blenheim. He incurred so much debt, his son had to sell off everything, a famous Georgian Fire Sale that furnished other great houses across the country. Chandos took on the medieval parish church and turned it into a Baroque masterpiece with grisaille painted Evangelists and Virtues on the side walls, Bellucci murals on the end walls, and a Laguerre decorated ceiling. Chandos hired Handel to compose for him, and the organ with Grinling Gibbons carved ornamentation, was built for Handel to play the commissioned work.

The Duke's Mausoleum stands in a side chamber, designed by James Gibbs, architect of some of London's most famous Georgian churches including St Martin-in-the-Fields in Trafalgar Square, the template for most of New England's lovely spired churches.

Looking through the Open House booklet, I can see that in the past two months, we have visited, or at least been through, nearly all of London's boroughs. But the list of places to see and to walk grows longer rather than shorter, the more places we visit. I know London never ranks high on the pervasive lists of the "Best Places/Cities to Live/Retire" etc. because it is dirty and crime ridden and expensive, according to the criteria embraced by list makers, but I can't imagine a better mix of cultural landscapes, available activities, and international reach, all tied together by a public transport system that continues to expand, than this city in which I am lucky to now live.

A Favourite September Tradition: Saturday

Open House London is an annual event that comes around on the third weekend of September. Nearly every borough participates (What's your problem, Barnet?) with both public and private buildings open for visits. Architects hoping to drum up new business offer their recent work, local museums and churches find it a great way to remind residents of their existence, and buildings which in the workaday world restrict entrance to members or employees grant access to the curious for this weekend. In mid-August a 70-page booklet begins to appear in libraries and participating museums listing this year's options by borough. Organised people can immediately get on the phone to reserve spots for places that require pre-booking. People like me, just page through and formulate a dozen possible itineraries.

Saturday was a half day because an important stamp show is held on this same weekend, and Bob is a keen philatelist. We did manage to see three churches on Saturday afternoon. Although Barnet does not participate, the Hampstead Garden Suburb, which is in Barnet, does have a special page in the Open House booklet. The Suburb is just one stop north of us on the Tube, and the bus that is still conveniently, but irritatingly, stopping across from our flat takes us there in a few minutes. Henrietta Barnett, a turn of the 20th century do-gooder, inspired by Ebenezer Howard's utopian urban planning volume Garden Cities for To-Morrow, embarked on her own project in 1907 by hiring visionary planner Raymond Unwin and architect Edward Lutyens to create a Garden City for London. Like most utopian suburbs, this one ended up expensive and populated by the upper middle-class who could afford Utopia.

Lutyens created an elegant Central Square with an Institute for adult education — a crucial element in Ebenezer Howard's plan for improving the working class masses who would, theoretically, make up a percentage of a Garden City's residents — on one side, flanked by two churches facing each other across the square. The Institute is now a highly academic girls grammar school named for Henrietta Barnett. Lutyens's St Jude-on-the-Hill (Church of England) is magnificent, with an interior completely painted with murals.

Across the Square is the Free Church, for Dissenting residents of the Suburb, a much simpler building with an undecorated interior.

We then traveled into Bloomsbury to visit a church that I had read about and was anxious to see. The Lumen Church is a Dissenting (United Reformed) Church with a long history connected to London's Gaelic population. Various church buildings came and went over two centuries. A York Minster imitation was damaged in wartime bombing and replaced in the 1960s with the present smaller building. The surrounding property was used for parking lots and church halls. A few years ago the congregation sold the adjoining properties for millions of pounds, and used the money to build a new church within the existing walls. The architecture partnership Theis + Kahn won a RIBA award for their work on Lumen and have since been nominated for the Stirling Prize.

Lumen's Exterior: c.1960

 New Front Window: Sculpture and Cafe

The Cloister

The Sanctuary with Window  from 1960s church

The Sacred Space

The Sacred Space rises through the Sanctuary

Looking up from inside the Sacred Space

 Three interesting churches, and home again for another Saturday night with Mad Men.

The North: Friday

17 September 2010
Home again today, but yesterday's all day car ride didn't make much southerly progress. We spanned the length and breadth of Cumbria, and ended up in a perfect chocolate-box country town, Kirkby Lonsdale, that I had never heard of, but is apparently a prized destination for many. We booked a comfortable room and ate a fantastic dinner and breakfast at The Sun which helpfully provided a copy of a walk to something called Ruskin's View in their information notebook.

First stop was the church, one of our 1000 Best Churches, directly behind the pub. A Norman church with fat carved piers just like Durham's.

I love the Rainbow Banners

Each pier has a different carved pattern

A Green Man capital

Continuing through the churchyard we arrived at Ruskin's View, which turns out to be a spot where Turner painted and which Ruskin considered to be the finest natural landscape in the country. It is pretty spectacular.

The walk continued around the outskirts of Kirkby (pronounced Kirby) and back to the Market Square.

The 13th c. Market Cross in the Swine Market

The River Lune

The town sheep

The 13th c. bridge

By midday we started on the long ride back to London, making a few rest stops on the way. First in Saltaire, a Victorian planned town, built by Titus Salt for the employees of his textile mill. Another UNESCO World Heritage Site, but we had no time to walk beyond the mill building for photos that offer a flavour of the townscape. The fabulous church was under layers of scaffolding, so I couldn't even snap that.

Salt's Mill

We also stopped in Sheffield, England's Steel City before deindustrialisation. The new museum complex includes a small metalwork gallery, a small crafts gallery, a special exhibits gallery (closed for mounting a new display), and the weirdly presented Ruskin Gallery. Ruskin's enthusiasms were prodigious, and one of them was to open a chain of museums in the industrial cities to bring culture to the masses and to train their eyes to appreciate beauty. Sheffield's was the only one to open and to close, leaving the city with a Ruskin Collection of bits and bobs intended to elevate common thoughts. The new Gallery is a hodge podge of rocks and minerals, copies of famous Italian paintings, watercolours of Venice, renderings of architectural ornamentaion, Audubon birds, and hundreds of other items. The running theme of commentary accompanying the display is that you too can be trained to appreciate beauty just as Ruskin desired, and thus inspired to go forth and be creative. Whatever.

And that completes our five days in The North.