An American In London
I've flown across the pond to England a few times and enjoyed every minute of it.Most of my stays are in London and they tell me that if I want to get a more authentic slant on things I should explore outside of the city. Someday I hope to do that,but the few times I've been to London,I've always said that when I come back,I'll find a place to stay in London again. Now don't get me wrong. I don't want to give the impression that I could give someone the cook's tour of the city. I do the tourist things.Been to the Tower of London,rode across the Tower Bridge,seen the view from the Eye,visited Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace,St. Pauls,the National Gallery,looked up at Lord Nelson at Trafalgar Square,enjoyed the night life in Soho.I know there's more "to dos" on my list and I hope to eventually cross them off. But I'll never forget one week I stayed in the section of London they refer to as St. Pauls or The City. My wife and granddaughter and I were staying in a very nice hotel a stone's throw away from St. Pauls Cathedral.Well,my wife and granddaughter always like to walk around and shop when we travel,but that doesn't put wind in my sails. I like to get out on my own,walk around,and discover things. See how the people are if you know what I mean. I want to blend in if possible. I don't want anyone to notice that I'm a tourist.
I decided to walk a few blocks down from the hotel while my wife and granddaughter decided what trinkets they wanted to buy to take home and hand out as gifts.That ain't for me. I'll find a shirt for someone at the airport. As I entered the walkways of cobblestone streets(they weren't really cobblestone),my imagination triggered thoughts of my impressions of old London town. Most of my prior experience with these impressions of London have been from reading books(H.G. Wells is a favorite)and the motion pictures(give me a good Sherlock Holmes with Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce and I'm spellbound). But I know that's a very thin veneer of covering all the meat that's inside.No. I need to go somewhere unassuming,a common place where the average Londoner goes.As I was thinking,there it was right in front of me-an English pub.Painted gold and black. It was beautiful.Small,quant,old Engklish looking,jutting out, standing on an island carved out and erect between two cobblestone streets.And resting at the doorstep -a shaggy little Scotty dog. I thought maybe this was all set up just for me.
It was after working hours and people were disembarking the underground,dressed in their modest suits and business attire,briefcases in hand,either going inside or settling down around small round tables outside of these little the pubs that were scattered throughout the maze of cobblestone streets. The pub in front of my eyes had an sign painted in old English lettering that read"The Cockpit."Above the door was the word "Courage." Potted plants hung outside adorning the windows .The door ,I could see, was narrow.As I approached to enter,I could see the Scotty dog wasn't going to get out of the way for me.Inside was sufficiently lit,wood tables in the corners and one larger one in the middle of the room with chairs all around. More comfortable easy chairs were against the walls. The papers were hanging on racks for people to take out and spread in front of them to catch up on the day's events.There were standing lamps and table lamps with low watt bulbs covered by modest shades .Flowered wallpaper with bright colors covered the walls. A print of an 18th century cock fight along with some sepia pictures of horses and flowers in small wood frames mildly accented the room. The bar was short with a few bar stools in front.An array of beer spigots popped up from behind the counter and there was every kind of bottle of liquor stacked neatly on shelves behind the bar. People just off from work were filtering in.I decided to order something at the bar and take it back to one of those soft easy chairs. The bartender was an older guy with most of his white hair gone,a fleshy pinkish face ,bulbous reddish nose with a few hairs sticking out from his nostrils,green bloodshot eyes ,and a husky handlebar mustache that needed a trim. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he wore a heavy good looking watch with a leather band on his wrist. As he was drawing a beer from one of the big spigots,he straightened up a bit and gave me a look.
"What can I get for ya'?"he said in a nasal tone.
"Look."I answered."I'm a Yank and I'm not into beer that is room temperature. What do you have that is cold and light color like American beer?"
"Carling is cold and light."
"Then give me one of those."
As he was drawing the beer he rounded the glass off putting a nice head on it.
"You here on a holiday?"he asked topping the glass off like he'd done that a million times before.
"Yes.I'm here with my family. I'm staying at a hotel next to St. Pauls."
"Where are you from?"
"California. San Diego to be precise."
"Well we can't all be perfect,"he said without changing expression.
He put the glass of beer down on a coaster in front of me. I sat down on one of the barstools.
"How long you here for?"
"Just a week.We came over from Spain. My granddaughter is a Flamenco dancer."
"Don't have much of that here,"he said as he put his damp hands on the bar. His hands were big,but soft. His nails were trimmed and clean.
"Are you into sports?"I asked.
"I like the Hotspurs,but they haven't shown much in years."
"I enjoy the game of soccer,especially when I come to Europe,"I said honestly trying to make a connection.
"You mean'football'.I believe you Yanks call your game 'football',but that's not really football."
"I have to remember to call it 'football' when I'm here."
The bartender pulled a cloth from his shirt and wiped his brow.
"I like boxing. England has a heavyweight champ now. This Lewis kid," said still groping.
"He's Canadian.We wanted Bruno to beat him,but I've got to admit that Lewis is a better man. He'll grow on us."
"You think he can beat Tyson?"
"I think so. Tyson gets more of the publicity.i think that will motivate Lewis."
I could see the perspiration on his face.
"London usually doesn't have this kind of heat."said the bartender.
"Do you remember Henry Cooper?"I asked him.
The old guy gave a little chuckle.The first time I saw him lighten up a little.
"Why of course.We'll always remember when he knocked Ali on his arse."
"If Dundee hadn't have slit Ali's glove and the knockdown would have happened at the beginning of the round...who knows?"I said trying to reach out.
"Come on Yank,"he said gruffly."You don't believe that do you?"
"No. I guess I don't,"I answered meekly.
"We didn't take it too hard. We're kind of accustomed to losing. It gives us an opportunity to show how good sports we are,"he remarked with a laugh.
"You know when the ref stopped the fight with Ol' Henery bleeding all over the place and Ol' Henery giving it a kick.Sure he was disappointed,but he was a good sport about it all," I said getting a little emotional.
"That was Cooper.A real gentleman."
"He'll always have a place in my heart.After that fight he won me over."
The bartender drew me another draft. I started to pull my money out.
"It's on me mate,"he said. "Welcome to England."
The bartender went over to some people sitting at the other end of the bar. I found a nice soft easy chair with a little table next to it.An elderly woman sat down at a table across from were I was sitting.She had on a pair of horn rimmed glasses.Her thin brown hair was parted down the middle.She wore a plain tan dress and brown shoes.Her face was kind and simple. Very little make up. She looked older than she probably was. Her voice was light and her eyes a soft brown. She sat with her hands folded on her lap.
"I heard you talking,"she said."You're from America?"
"Yes I am."
"On holiday?"
"Yes."
She went on to tell me about her son ,that was her only child ,was living in Philadelphia and was studying at a music conservatory and wanted to eventually play with the Philadelphia Orchestra.She told me she worked as a clerk for a barrister and that she rode the tube everyday and after work would come to the pub and share her day's experiences with her friends. That evening I was her friend.i asked if I could buy her a drink,but she said that she only would drink a glass of sherry after finishing work and then go to her flat to watch her favorite English soap operas.The sun was setting and the bartender began shutting off the lights.
"I guess he's closing up,"I said. "I was just getting started."
"Well, if you're looking to stay up late you'll have to go to Covent Garden,but that's quite far from here,"she said as she picked up her things to leave.
I got up too and made my way past the immovable Scotty dog. As the night became darker,I thought i'd meander around before returning to the hotel.All the pubs were closing down for the day. The stores were all shut. The streets turned in no particular pattern. I walked kind of aimlessly.I was thinking about what London was really like,but I could only draw from my impressions that I'd seen in the United States. But as I looked from side to side I felt very comfortable. This was how I imagined it would be. The cobblestone streets. The fog would be coming in. There would be old Winnie,the Queen passing by soon.We were cousins,the English and Americans. We spoke the same language.They were our allies.I felt at home.The similarities were obvious.England would always be our best friend.
As I continued my walk ,not having any idea where I was nor did I care,i saw a dark figure of a man walking towards me..He was wearing a long coat and had a fedora pulled down over his eyes. I stepped to the side to let him pass,but he shadowed my steps so that he was in front of me when we met. I stopped and looked at him. He lifted his face. It was shady and secretive and he wore a beard. He reached inside his coat. I stepped up to him closer,real close,clenched my hands into tight fists and looked into his eyes. He lowered his head and started to move. I kept my ground. He walked around me. I never took my eyes off him as he continued down the street. As he disappeared ,I let out a breath of relief.
I continued walking,but now I was trying to find my way back to the hotel. As I briskly paced, I saw a sign above a shop door. It read."Ye Old London Barber Shoppe."I stopped and peered through the window. There was one barber's chair,an old one.A white towel folded neatly over the chair's arm,a razor strop hanging down from the other arm. In back of the chair were shaving mugs and straight razors inside a glass all set on a table. A large mirror hung on the wall above the the chair. I could see a picture of an image inside a large frame beside the mirror. I squinted real hard to see who it was.Maybe it was old Winnie.Maybe a king,a famous general like Montgomery or Montbatten.Maybe it was Henry Cooper or even Lennox Lewis.A Beatle?Finally,my eyes adjusted.The image was coming in.Yes,I could see it clearly now. It was John Wayne! I laughed a little and shook my head. See,I told you England is our best friend.
https://imgur.com/2jXwOks
The Cockpit Pub. I don't know who those people are,but the faces seem familiar
https://imgur.com/DVDPiih
Inside a nice place to end the day
https://imgur.com/8tKSsAE
Muhammad Ali
