Tuesday, May 30: London
It is almost 7 A.M. The sun rose four hours ago, and I am eager for the ample breakfast the Sandringham provides in the room overlooking its sunny garden.

Two days here have made London familiar. At least I now know how to tube virtually everywhere. We have taken a bright, sunny boat ride up the Thames to Kew gardens, an Elysisian Field of walks, fountains, deep purple rhododendron, such follies and oddities as a tall pagoda, "ancient archway," and tallest flagpole in England. The houses, on a human scale for a change, first of George III, and then the cottage of Queen Charlotte, gave character and perspective to the vast garden. The Victorian greenhouse was a wonder not only of plants and space, but of time as well.

From Kew Steve, David and I took the tube back to the city. Mom and Marilyn, like conspiring little girls, confiding remarks to one another about people and the gardens, Mom stopping to rest her swollen feet and to chat with many of the local Brits, returned on the overflowing boat.

The Killians and I have taken in Westminster, Big Ben, St. James Park, Trafalgar, and Picadilly. When the boat arrived at the wharf below Big Ben, the five of us took a double decker bus to Russell Square for a glimpse of Bloomsbury.
Yesterday, at sunrise, I wandered alone over Hampstead Heath, just beyond the hotel. I was surprised by the sheer open space, the flood of morning sunshine, the glittering pools, and the warm, hearty English people who said good morning as they passed, jogging or walking their variety of dogs.

Somehow making my way back from the path from the Spaniards behind Kenwood, to the ponds, over the viaduct, past hill and dale, I discovered the Vale of Health. There, like a revelation, appeared the tiny red brick house D.H. Lawrence inhabited in 1915. In that small, sturdy house Lawrence must have first thought out what he then called "The Sisters," and what became, years later, The Rainbow and Women In Love. I felt not only empathy for Lawrence and the struggle he must have experienced there on the edge of the heath, but also, a psychic presence such as I felt at Lawrence's ranch in Taos, N.M., which Lee and I visited 16 years ago. All the years immersed in the study of Lawrence returned.

There is much I'd like to record about Mom's reactions to London and her odd protectiveness of Marilyn, treating her like the little sister, etc. They often act like excited children. As expected, Mom loves the pubs, from the Hare and Hound, to the cozy, friendly Horse and Groom on Heath Street and Jack Straw's Castle where we dined on "light fare" and capped a long day and evening with Irish coffee.
Drink led to a night of intimate talk and comradeship as Steve, David, and I finally found a place open that would serve us bitters after hours. It was an Italian restaurant fronting the main street of Hampstead. We were even allowed to buy a good Chianti Classico, at a fair price, to take back with us to our room. There we finished off the wine and the small bottle of cognac I saved from the flight.
Steve and I had a long, soul-baring talk about our lives and longings. David, meanwhile, dozed off, reminding me oddly of Ben on those many occasions when Jim and I would become enthralled in conversation and speculation while Ben sat saying next to nothing and showing no enthusiasm for what was to us exciting and profound ideas.

Steve showed himself to be a thoughtful and open-minded person, taking a genuine interest in points of view different from his own. He shows too a spirit of adventure, wanting a wide range of experience, in spite of a limited education and limited personal relationships. I think he has escaped the Killian/Kraft mold of dependency, uncertainty, and inertia that lead to a passive acceptance of whatever conditions happen to occur. I wouldn't say Steve altogether knows himself, and his needs, but then, such unformed sense of self can also be an asset.
May 30 (night)
We decided to spend an extra day in London, a day of tubing all over town. First we visited the Tate Gallery. I had forgotten how over-whelming the Turner collection is, tracing the complete development of his work. The Turners which we saw later in the day at the National Gallery should be seen with the Tate's collection as well. Before leaving, I paid a visit to the impressive library on the upper floor of the Tate, with views from the offices over the Thames. The librarian was very obliging, telling me how much they like the catalogs we send from the High.

While everyone else walked around the Tower of London, I dashed over to the Whitechapal Art Gallery. Then we bussed past Trafalgar to visit the National Gallery, to have lunch at the gay old Salisbury pub (I also looked in at Brief Encounters), and to shop at the F___ bookstore. Finally, we hurried to Harrad's for a rather disappointing high tea that was "high" mainly in the sense of price. After Harrad's we tubed during the rush hour (Mom amazed at the politeness of all the huddled Brits) to the Avis location. Steve was brave enough to do the driving back to our hotel in Hampstead, like driving in a busy mirror, I thought. Steve, David, and I dined at the now familiar Italian restaurant on Heath St. then took a long stroll to the Vale of Health and through the residential area that includes John Keats' house. Hampstead offers such a personal sense of what London once was.

Notes for May 31- June 1:
On Wednesday, Steve again took the helm and drove us through the nightmare of London traffic into the open, green English countryside. We flew past Windsor Castle, taking narrow highways and the big M Throughways, whipping around the mirror horrors of circles at all major intersections, until we came to Salisbury. We toured the scaffolded medieval cathedral with its high stained glass windows and ominous sculptured tombs. Then we went back in time from the Middle Ages to Prehistory by climbing above the Salisbury plain to Stonehenge. The stones were the color of the cold, grey cloudcover, and stood unimpressively surrounded by fence and rope in a dull grassy field.

Gathering my courage, I took the wheel at stonehenge and made the scenic, but busy, drive through Warminster to Bath. After the confusion and hassle of making reservations in the heart of the town, we found our way to the B&B on Monmouth St. Only then could I fully take in the dazzle of the city itself. Overall, though many periods engulfed me there, I felt that I had stepped into the Renaissance. Mom and M. had high tea, excellent this time, in the famous Pump Room (it could have been better called Pomp room). I walked to the park and bridges over the River Avon. The late afternoon literally bathed everything in gold.

S.,D., and I dined later at the Roundtree Pub along the bridge of shops that crosses the Avon. The pub food, Chicken Kiev with potato and veggies and, of course, bitters, was delicious. We went on to whisky and soda at another quaint old pub.