Mental Snot: A California Yankee in Lord Bath's Court

Jan 31, 2002

A California Yankee in Lord Bath's Court - Part IV

Turns out that Westminster Abbey was a mere block away from my current tavern of iniquity, and as luck would have it I walked in just in time for the start of a new tour group. The group was much smaller than the one in the Tower so I decided to go with it instead of the audio tour. It turned out to be a very fortunate decision, since this was one of the best tours in one of the most amazing buildings I have ever had the pleasure of going on/being in. (Sadly, they don't allow photographs to be taken inside the building,)

**Westminster Abbey. Click for a closer view.**

The Abbey was built around Edward the Confessor, a (now long dead) King of England back when the country was still Catholic. After he died, people went to pray at his tomb and stories spread that these people would be healed of any illnesses. The Catholic Church then decided to canonize him.

And there he was, entombed at the Westminster Abbey. And if you were a king or queen, where would you want to be buried when you died? Well as close as possible to a bona fide saint, of course.

There we were, gathered around the crypt of a dead king, surrounded by about nine other decomposing kings and queens in their ornate final resting places. And we’re not talking figurehead royalty like the kind they have living wealthy, tax-free lives now over at Buckingham Palace. No, these were monarchs from when it really meant something, like abuses of power frequently followed by a violent death. There was major dead juju in this room.

The Abbey was one of the few buildings that managed to survive the schism between the Catholic Church and the Church of England many years later, even though many of the local saints’ final resting places had been destroyed due to the subsequent fighting (Northern Ireland, anyone?). The reason for the tomb (and surrounding church) of Saint Edward surviving was relatively simple -- the Anglicans were okay with disturbing dead saints, but NO ONE messed with a dead king.

So for those of us living at the start of a new millennium, that means we get to see the building in its original splendor, and it is a wonderful trip to take.

The gothic architecture is stunning, and the sheer number of entombed kings and queens in the building is staggering. And in addition to dead royalty, the building guards the corpses of the likes of Handel, Charles Darwin, Isaac Newton, Charles Dickens, Geoffrey Chaucer, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Rudyard Kipling, Laurence Olivier... and so many more. There were so many dead people there that you literally could not help walking over their graves. (To this day, the only grave that you are not allowed to walk over -- that even the Queen will step around -- is the grave of the unknown soldier, right inside the main entrance to the church.)

My favorite burial story has to be that of Ben Johnson, a playwright and contemporary of Shakespeare’s. [Willy has a memorial there, but as he had “Cursed be he who moves my bones” (or something like that) inscribed on his headstone, no one has dared move his body from his Stratford-upon-Avon final resting ditch.]

Anyway, I’ve said for years that if we as a civilization insist on continuing to bury people, then we may as well bury them vertically. The dead folks won’t care, and we’d be able to fit three or four people in the same space that we currently reserve for just one person. Land conservation, a clever idea if I say so myself.

Well, good old Ben Johnson somehow talked or bought his way into being buried at the Abbey, but was only given a two-foot squared space. So the story goes they buried him vertically.

More recently, when work had to be done on that section of flooring, they found the top of a human skull that still had some of his trademarked red hair left, right where Ben was buried. And yup -- he was buried upright! Rock on, Ben.

Covet Gardens

Later on that evening, I met John Berlyne face to face.

This requires some more background, and I’ll try to be brief once again. Some years ago, my business partner and I optioned a book by the mega-talented author Tim Powers. I got a hold of Tim through John, who runs Tim’s official website and who lives in London, where several of Tim’s books have taken place (even though Tim himself has never been to London).

John and I have kept in touch via e-mail for the past few years, so we decided to finally meet face to face for some pints and conversation. We met under the awning of St. Paul’s church, a significant location for fans of Tim’s latest book, DECLARE. Gaby met up with us soon after, and several hours later we were all pretty drunk, hanging out at a nearby pub.

[Interjection -- after all these years, I have finally learned where “pubs” got their name. In London, “pub” is short for “public house” -- that is, a bar where the public is allowed entry. Other clubs and bars require a membership (usually included in a cover charge), and they are allowed to serve alcohol til later in the night, as pubs have a fairly early last call.]

Where was I... oh, yes. Since John had introduced us to Tim, last year we sent him a copy of our script once we had a solid draft as a thank-you, in addition to being a great way to get his opinion on it. And in the event that we ever make the film, the script will become a collector’s item.

Well, John had brought the script with him to the bar, and he then informed me that I was to autograph it. I have never autographed anything before in my life, and I’ll tell you something right now -- I felt like a fraud for doing it, and I let John know that. I mean, the thing hasn’t even been made! It’s just a script for an unmade film.

**My First Autograph. (Sucker!)**

But he insisted, and I signed away while Gaby took some pictures on his digital camera. I include the pictures here for your perusal, and if I look drunk in them... well, it’s because I was. As was John, as was Gaby. And I have to be honest and say it shows on all our faces. *grin.*

**Gaby, John and I... Wasted!**

Wednesday:

This was it. My final day. First thing the next morning I was off back to the place where the North American continent dumps its pollution into the Pacific Ocean. Home, semi-sweet-with-a-slightly-bitter-aftertaste-home.

My day was spent first wandering around Picadilly Circus, then meeting Gaby, Phillipa and Sasha for a matinee theater show, followed by dinner at another friend’s house and a trip home to pack. A wonderful end to an amazing week filled with old and new friends and... well, 12 pages of heavily condensed experiences to add to my website.

Til next time...