I’ve been reading (for about a decade -it’s a long book!) Peter Ackroyd’s London: A Biography. In a chapter titled “Loud and Everlasting” he writes this about the sound of London:
London has always been characterised by the noise that is an aspect of its noisomeness. It is part of its unnaturalness, too, like the roaring of some monstrous creature. But it is also a token of its energy and of its power.
From its earliest foundation London rang with the hammer of artisans and the cries of tradesmen; it produced more noise than any other part of the country, and in certain quarters, like those of the smiths and barrel-makers, the clamour was almost insupportable. But there were other noises. In the early medieval city, the clatter of manufacturing trades and crafts would have been accompanied by the sound of bells, among them secular bells, church bells, convent bells, the bell of the curfew and the bell of the watchman.
These days the sounds in London are those of multitudinous languages being spoken. I don’t think I hear the same language twice in a row walking down a street. Each passing conversation is in a different tongue than the one before. Carol Hinderlie is in New York City right now, and she asked me if London had more languages than New York. They are both amazing in the rich diversity of culture and sound that come at you from every direction. But I’d put my money on London.
On Tuesday my day began by going to a shop called Selvedge. I had seen their beautiful magazine about textile craft a few years ago, and am on their email list. I enjoy this list because of the wonderful way they show the artisan textile workers of England and beyond. It is beautiful stuff. They have a little shop in front of their office, so I set off to see it. The journey took me to a new part of London for me called Archway. It’s in the northeast corner of the Borough of Islington in northeast London. From the Archway Underground Station I walked up the Archway Road; a nice, hilly route! The Archway Road is part of the A1, the major non-motorway road to The North. I love how the English designate general direction. You’re either going to The North, The South, The East, or The West - always with the article capitalized. I expect it comes from being an island - not much left after you go any direction!
I arrived at the shop and it is delightfully funky, looking like an old-fashioned place to buy sewing notions and cotton. And that’s a lot of what they sell in the shop, much of it restored antique fabric. I found a lovely, very plain, table runner to buy. When I left there I decided to take the bus. The store had been at the crest of the long hill, and as I turned to down the road I was amazed at the view before me. It must be the best view of central London anywhere, maybe even better than Hampstead Heath: St. Paul’s, the Pickled Gherkin, the new, spiky building they’ve nicknamed The Shard, and everything else in their shadows. Wowie.
The bus took me to Soho, my next stop for the day. I decided on this trip to check out the Dorothy L. Sayers London sites. At the end of her life, she was a churchwarden at St. Anne’s in Soho. It was at St. Anne’s that she delivered some of the speeches that became her classic essays, and she invited T.S. Eliot, C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams and others to speak at St. Anne’s. This was all during the war, and the gatherings became important focal points for the larger community, words of thought and hope and intelligence in an unbelievably difficult war. The sanctuary and whole back half of St. Anne’s was bombed, and the building (what was left of it) was used as a community social service place for many years after. In 1991 it was refurbished and consecrated as a worshiping place once again. Sayers remains are under the tower, in the front of the building that wasn’t bombed. The new church is a little hard to see from its Dean Street address, tucked in between the restaurants, theatres, and sex shops that make up Soho. When I finally found it, I walked into a small enclosed corridor and then into a beautiful small chapel. The priest appeared, and I said, “I understand Dorothy L. Sayers is around here somewhere.” He laughed, and said he’d be happy to show it to me, but it would be in half an hour as there was to be Eucharist at 1:05. I said I’d be happy to stay. It was a lovely congregation, about 10 of us. Two were classic: Betty and Jean. Betty was losing it a bit and kept talking out loud, and Jean kept telling her to be quiet, also rather loudly. But once the liturgy began, all was serene. He had a good, brief sermon on last Sunday’s gospel, and we stood round in a circle to receive. After the service, he attended to Betty and Jean and the others, cleaned up the space, and then took me to the tower and DLS. The Sayers Society had put up a new plaque on the 50th anniversary of her death in 2007. It’s in a room used for lots of other things - sleeping bags all around, and a work project. Perfect.
Although he had another appointment to keep, we talked for some time. He is a second career person, after a first career as a puppeteer! The parish of St. Anne’s has a widely various ministry, as you might expect from its location. But he was having fun and getting oriented in his first full-time position. He told me about one of his predecessors who almost ran the place into the ground - certainly ran out most of the parishioners. He said one current member, an American, described it this way (all done in a spot-on American accent by the priest): “We were on the train to Aberystwyth and he was taking us to Penzance. We would have been fine going to Penzance if he’d told us where we were going and why, but he was off to Penzance and we were still on the train to Aberystwyth.”
The liturgy at the Eucharist was Common Worship: Rite One, and one of the options for the prayer after communion was this: Father of all, we give you thanks and praise, that when we were still far off you met us in your Son and brought us home. Dying and living, he declared your love, gave us grace, and opened the gate of glory. May we who share Christ's body live his risen life; we who drink his cup bring life to others; we whom the Spirit lights give light to the world. Keep us firm in the hope you have set before us, so we and all your children shall be free, and the whole earth live to praise your name; through Christ our Lord. Amen. It wasn’t used, but its beginning reference to the Prodigal Son reminded me of the quote from Sayers I have probably used most often through the years: God, like the father in the Prodigal Son, can see repentance coming a long way off, and is there to meet it. It was wonderful to meet sisters and brothers who still gather around such grace at St. Anne’s Soho.
I went from there to see the house where Sayers lived in the 1920's. It was up towards Russell Square, not far from the Inns of Court. So after I took pictures of the blue plaque at 23-24 Great James Street, I had a quiet walk through Gray’s Inn, and then back to the Tube and to the flat. I went out later to buy drain cleaner for the kitchen (downside of renting a flat), and for Indian and a G and T (very good!). A day full of London sounds, from buses and church bells and Betty and Jean, to the sweet voices of all the children who play in many languages in the neighborhood. 15, 596 steps.
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