War and other distractions
Last week while I was at London Bridge waiting for Callum, I took a stroll along Tooley Street and happened upon the 'Britain At War' museum. It is housed just underneath London Bridge Station and I've always had a mild fascination with Second World War memorabilia, and I had read alot about the use of Tube stations as air raid shelters in the war so it was with eagerness that I headed there yesterday. I needent have bothered. The whole museum takes about 45 minutes to go through, and apart from some posters, coins, clothes and army equipment from the era it is decidedly lacking. My Lonely Planet 'Best of London' book doesn't even give it a mention, which I should have taken as a sign. The only two things to note from the museum were a story about a man from Kentish Town who travelled to Bond Street every night to sleep in the shelter there because he 'wanted to die at a good address', and a poster urging citizens to save fuel by car sharing which bore the slogan "If you ride alone you are riding with Hitler!" which amused me no end.
Yearning for a decent way to spend my Sunday morning, or early afternoon as it now was, I headed for HMS Belfast, the Second World War battlecruiser which is now permanently moored on the Thames between London Bridge and Tower Bridge and is open to the public as a floating museum. It is advertised as a 'family day out' and is constantly cited in guide books as being a great place to take children, but it definately appealed to me. (What that says about my own maturity is neither here nor there.)
You are given a very informative audio guide, and while the exterior of the ship is all tarpaulin and scaffolding, it is almost pristine inside with faithful recreations of rooms as they were in the 40's and 50's, when she was in active service. I meandered down the narrow corridors and popped into one of the gun turrets, but the highlight was the second I went below decks, to the boiler and engine rooms. I climbed down a steep ladder and stepped through a few doorways until I was standing on a green walkway no wider than 10 inches surrounded by an incredible latticework of piping. As I dodged the many protrusions from the walls I was faced with the giant fans which were used to suck in air from outside to keep the pressure regulated and, as my voiceover explained, if it was warm air that was being sucked in, it was warm air that filled the already sauna-like boiler room, making conditions close to unbearable. After all, it was a cool January day, the ship is not even in use, and it was pretty warm in there - I can't even begin to imagine what it was like for the sailors who worked there. The complexity of the pipework was the most fascinating aspect of it, pipes of all sizes ran in every conceivable direction, making you wonder if they couldn't have laid it out alot neater. How the maintenance crews knew which pipe did what is beyond me, but they really were everywhere. I was utterly captivated.
As I climbed out of the bowels of the ship I made my way through the crews' washrooms and shower cubicles, and all of a sudden was struck with a longing to have been there, as a sailor during war time. I could see myself standing infront of the mirror brushing my teeth as a sudden jolt signalled that we were being called to action stations. Without a seconds thought, my crewmates and I were headed towards our posts, I was a gunner who had to hightail it all the way to the 'Y' turret at the stern of the ship, charging past fellow sailors up the steep ladders and narrow gangways with my heart pumping as fast as it could. With a raging storm outside visibility on the deck was minimal, and as the sea tried to climb on board all that kept me going was pure instinct. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins as I wondered not if anyone would die today, but how many.
I had gotten so lost in this fantasy that I didn't even realise my phone was ringing. At first the intrusion was incredibly surreal, I don't think the sailors during the war could even have contemplated such technology, but I soon remembered that it was actually 2007, and I was in a museum and my mate Callum was ringing me to see if I fancied some lunch. I had roughly another hour on board during which I took in an informative exhibition about some of the ships greatest moments, and spent ages marvelling at some of the detail, including a poster urging sailors to speak to their commanding officer if they had any worries at all about a range of subjects including mortgages, insurance, coping with grief, stress, and problems with other crewmen. At the bottom it also said (with tongue firmly in cheek), "Your commanding officer cannot help you with the following: How to find her, and family planning." It was an unforgettable day out.
As I was quickly running out of superlatives to describe the experience, I left the ship and went to find Callum. We took a trip to South Kensington to pop into the Science Museum for an hour or so, and Callum wanted to see the MI6 building at Vauxhall, so I took him there. From Vauxhall we walked east along the river and ended up at the Tattershall Castle, a paddle steamer which is now a floating pub, moored on the Victoria Embankment opposite the London Eye. Jen and I have spent several evenings there but I hadn't been in a while and luckily the weather was mild enough for us to enjoy a pint on the deck before we headed below for three or four more. As we were both working today we didn't stay out particularly late, but I was rather tipsy when we left and longed for my own bed after a long day at sea. What shall we do with a drunken sailor, eh?
Yearning for a decent way to spend my Sunday morning, or early afternoon as it now was, I headed for HMS Belfast, the Second World War battlecruiser which is now permanently moored on the Thames between London Bridge and Tower Bridge and is open to the public as a floating museum. It is advertised as a 'family day out' and is constantly cited in guide books as being a great place to take children, but it definately appealed to me. (What that says about my own maturity is neither here nor there.)
You are given a very informative audio guide, and while the exterior of the ship is all tarpaulin and scaffolding, it is almost pristine inside with faithful recreations of rooms as they were in the 40's and 50's, when she was in active service. I meandered down the narrow corridors and popped into one of the gun turrets, but the highlight was the second I went below decks, to the boiler and engine rooms. I climbed down a steep ladder and stepped through a few doorways until I was standing on a green walkway no wider than 10 inches surrounded by an incredible latticework of piping. As I dodged the many protrusions from the walls I was faced with the giant fans which were used to suck in air from outside to keep the pressure regulated and, as my voiceover explained, if it was warm air that was being sucked in, it was warm air that filled the already sauna-like boiler room, making conditions close to unbearable. After all, it was a cool January day, the ship is not even in use, and it was pretty warm in there - I can't even begin to imagine what it was like for the sailors who worked there. The complexity of the pipework was the most fascinating aspect of it, pipes of all sizes ran in every conceivable direction, making you wonder if they couldn't have laid it out alot neater. How the maintenance crews knew which pipe did what is beyond me, but they really were everywhere. I was utterly captivated.
As I climbed out of the bowels of the ship I made my way through the crews' washrooms and shower cubicles, and all of a sudden was struck with a longing to have been there, as a sailor during war time. I could see myself standing infront of the mirror brushing my teeth as a sudden jolt signalled that we were being called to action stations. Without a seconds thought, my crewmates and I were headed towards our posts, I was a gunner who had to hightail it all the way to the 'Y' turret at the stern of the ship, charging past fellow sailors up the steep ladders and narrow gangways with my heart pumping as fast as it could. With a raging storm outside visibility on the deck was minimal, and as the sea tried to climb on board all that kept me going was pure instinct. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins as I wondered not if anyone would die today, but how many.
I had gotten so lost in this fantasy that I didn't even realise my phone was ringing. At first the intrusion was incredibly surreal, I don't think the sailors during the war could even have contemplated such technology, but I soon remembered that it was actually 2007, and I was in a museum and my mate Callum was ringing me to see if I fancied some lunch. I had roughly another hour on board during which I took in an informative exhibition about some of the ships greatest moments, and spent ages marvelling at some of the detail, including a poster urging sailors to speak to their commanding officer if they had any worries at all about a range of subjects including mortgages, insurance, coping with grief, stress, and problems with other crewmen. At the bottom it also said (with tongue firmly in cheek), "Your commanding officer cannot help you with the following: How to find her, and family planning." It was an unforgettable day out.
As I was quickly running out of superlatives to describe the experience, I left the ship and went to find Callum. We took a trip to South Kensington to pop into the Science Museum for an hour or so, and Callum wanted to see the MI6 building at Vauxhall, so I took him there. From Vauxhall we walked east along the river and ended up at the Tattershall Castle, a paddle steamer which is now a floating pub, moored on the Victoria Embankment opposite the London Eye. Jen and I have spent several evenings there but I hadn't been in a while and luckily the weather was mild enough for us to enjoy a pint on the deck before we headed below for three or four more. As we were both working today we didn't stay out particularly late, but I was rather tipsy when we left and longed for my own bed after a long day at sea. What shall we do with a drunken sailor, eh?
Labels: HMS Belfast, London, War Museum
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