Last Day: Murder in Wimpy?
Sep. 13th, 2019 12:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ashetlandpony13 September 1989
My last full day in London was mostly spent sightseeing, which, in retrospect, is something I wish I'd done a lot more of this past week instead of shopping.
First stop was Westminster Cathedral. Up in the bell tower, I was disappointed but not terribly surprised to see that my initials that I'd carved into the soft brick there in 1969 were long obliterated.
After that was my aforementioned return visit to the B.M.(N.H.). Then back to the hotel for a breather before I set out again by taxi to Westminster Abbey. (I don't know why I don't have a photo of the Abbey this time. All I can think of that there must have been scaffolding on it, and I didn't want to waste a picture on that.)
I took my time at the Abbey, going to every nook and cranny that was open to the public. Then, I sought the permission of some receivers to view an area that was not public: the tomb of Sir Francis Vere (below).
Stock photo by Alamy. Note the partially-visible inscription on the floor in the lower left corner.
That April, I had seen a documentary on PBS concerning the so-called 'Authorship Question' which presented a case that the works of Shakespeare had actually been written by Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford. In this program, a living descendant of de Vere had accompanied the presenter to Westminster Abbey to show him a spot in front of the tomb of Francis Vere where he believed Edward de Vere may have been laid to rest. On the floor in front of the tomb was a stone which bore this inscription...
...and I very much wanted to see this for myself. The two receivers were kind enough to escort me to the Vere tomb in the Chapel of St John the Evangelist, and listened patiently as I told them the story of the stone that I'm sure they had already heard dozens of times.
(Incidentally, this fellow has a far more ingenious notion of where Edward de Vere lies in Westminster, which is simultaneously shocking, yet – if one does believe the Earl of Oxford was 'Shake-Speare' – not surprising at all. Well worth a watch, especially if you're an Oxfordian!)
In nearby St Michael's Chapel, the receivers pointed out to me the tomb of Lady Elizabeth & Joseph Nightingale; in particular, the spectacular marble sculpture of Death who has emerged from the nether regions to aim his spear at Lady Elizabeth. It's one of the most incredible works of art I've ever laid eyes on.
Photo courtesy Westminster Abbey.
After the Abbey, I took a walk toward the Palace of Westminster to have a look at the newly-restored clock tower. I understand it's hidden by scaffolding yet again in the present day; this time for up to 4 years. Can't fathom what was wrong with the 1989 restoration. It looked positively brilliant to me.
Photo by J Scott Shannon.
I'm glad I have this image, though. Even if I were to return to London now, notwithstanding the scaffolding, I wouldn't be able to take a photo from this vantage point without that thing mucking up the picture.
From there, it was back to the hotel for more pictures. This snap of the Regent Palace from Piccadilly Circus is one of my favorites.
Photo by J Scott Shannon.
Alas, at this point, it was time to start packing for my departure the next morning. For dinner, I went to Wimpy one last time. (Actually, other than a single small pizza and my lunch break at the B.M.(N.H.), I ate every meal in London at Wimpy!)
Photo by J Scott Shannon.
As usual, there wasn't a seat to be had in the place, so I stood in a corner near the serving counter and started eating my food there. Quite out of the blue, a breathless and rather desperate-looking young man approached me from my right and said, in a Middle-Eastern British accent:
"Excuse me, sir, but I believe I have just killed a man."
Startled, I pretended I hadn't heard him and just kept eating.
"Sir, I have just killed a man. Please, come with me. I must show you."
I finally made eye contact with him, and seeing his staring, wide-eyed expression, I absolutely believed what he had told me. However, needless to say, I had no intention of going anywhere with a stranger who said he had just killed someone! So I still maintained silence.
But he wouldn't go away, and he said it yet again, even more slowly and insistently.
"Don't you understand? I. Have. Just. Killed. A Man."
I was on the verge of freaking out. If he had killed someone, what in the world was I supposed to do about it? So I said the only sensible thing I could think of.
"Perhaps you should find a policeman and they can help."
"No, I beg of you. Please come with me. You must come with me."
"No, I'm very sorry, I can't."
Then, finally, he did wander away, looking for someone else to plead his case to.
At that point, I left the Wimpy without any delay, trotted straight back to the hotel, and finished eating my food there. I thought, after that, there is no way in the world I am leaving this room again tonight. So, that unfortunate and rather scary incident ended up being my very last adventure in London.
Post scriptum: after my 1989 trip, I didn't wear my suit again until my mother's funeral the following year. When I did, I found this in one of my pants pockets.
An accidental souvenir probably stuffed away in haste during my run back to the hotel and forgotten about. Now, since the chain's demise, I imagine it may be the only used Wimpy serviette still in existence in the entire world.
My last full day in London was mostly spent sightseeing, which, in retrospect, is something I wish I'd done a lot more of this past week instead of shopping.
First stop was Westminster Cathedral. Up in the bell tower, I was disappointed but not terribly surprised to see that my initials that I'd carved into the soft brick there in 1969 were long obliterated.
After that was my aforementioned return visit to the B.M.(N.H.). Then back to the hotel for a breather before I set out again by taxi to Westminster Abbey. (I don't know why I don't have a photo of the Abbey this time. All I can think of that there must have been scaffolding on it, and I didn't want to waste a picture on that.)
I took my time at the Abbey, going to every nook and cranny that was open to the public. Then, I sought the permission of some receivers to view an area that was not public: the tomb of Sir Francis Vere (below).
Stock photo by Alamy. Note the partially-visible inscription on the floor in the lower left corner.
That April, I had seen a documentary on PBS concerning the so-called 'Authorship Question' which presented a case that the works of Shakespeare had actually been written by Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford. In this program, a living descendant of de Vere had accompanied the presenter to Westminster Abbey to show him a spot in front of the tomb of Francis Vere where he believed Edward de Vere may have been laid to rest. On the floor in front of the tomb was a stone which bore this inscription...
...and I very much wanted to see this for myself. The two receivers were kind enough to escort me to the Vere tomb in the Chapel of St John the Evangelist, and listened patiently as I told them the story of the stone that I'm sure they had already heard dozens of times.
(Incidentally, this fellow has a far more ingenious notion of where Edward de Vere lies in Westminster, which is simultaneously shocking, yet – if one does believe the Earl of Oxford was 'Shake-Speare' – not surprising at all. Well worth a watch, especially if you're an Oxfordian!)
In nearby St Michael's Chapel, the receivers pointed out to me the tomb of Lady Elizabeth & Joseph Nightingale; in particular, the spectacular marble sculpture of Death who has emerged from the nether regions to aim his spear at Lady Elizabeth. It's one of the most incredible works of art I've ever laid eyes on.
Photo courtesy Westminster Abbey.
After the Abbey, I took a walk toward the Palace of Westminster to have a look at the newly-restored clock tower. I understand it's hidden by scaffolding yet again in the present day; this time for up to 4 years. Can't fathom what was wrong with the 1989 restoration. It looked positively brilliant to me.
Photo by J Scott Shannon.
I'm glad I have this image, though. Even if I were to return to London now, notwithstanding the scaffolding, I wouldn't be able to take a photo from this vantage point without that thing mucking up the picture.
From there, it was back to the hotel for more pictures. This snap of the Regent Palace from Piccadilly Circus is one of my favorites.
Photo by J Scott Shannon.
Alas, at this point, it was time to start packing for my departure the next morning. For dinner, I went to Wimpy one last time. (Actually, other than a single small pizza and my lunch break at the B.M.(N.H.), I ate every meal in London at Wimpy!)
Photo by J Scott Shannon.
As usual, there wasn't a seat to be had in the place, so I stood in a corner near the serving counter and started eating my food there. Quite out of the blue, a breathless and rather desperate-looking young man approached me from my right and said, in a Middle-Eastern British accent:
"Excuse me, sir, but I believe I have just killed a man."
Startled, I pretended I hadn't heard him and just kept eating.
"Sir, I have just killed a man. Please, come with me. I must show you."
I finally made eye contact with him, and seeing his staring, wide-eyed expression, I absolutely believed what he had told me. However, needless to say, I had no intention of going anywhere with a stranger who said he had just killed someone! So I still maintained silence.
But he wouldn't go away, and he said it yet again, even more slowly and insistently.
"Don't you understand? I. Have. Just. Killed. A Man."
I was on the verge of freaking out. If he had killed someone, what in the world was I supposed to do about it? So I said the only sensible thing I could think of.
"Perhaps you should find a policeman and they can help."
"No, I beg of you. Please come with me. You must come with me."
"No, I'm very sorry, I can't."
Then, finally, he did wander away, looking for someone else to plead his case to.
At that point, I left the Wimpy without any delay, trotted straight back to the hotel, and finished eating my food there. I thought, after that, there is no way in the world I am leaving this room again tonight. So, that unfortunate and rather scary incident ended up being my very last adventure in London.
Post scriptum: after my 1989 trip, I didn't wear my suit again until my mother's funeral the following year. When I did, I found this in one of my pants pockets.
An accidental souvenir probably stuffed away in haste during my run back to the hotel and forgotten about. Now, since the chain's demise, I imagine it may be the only used Wimpy serviette still in existence in the entire world.
