Day 5: Down the bunker with Winston Churchill

 Our neighbourhood buzzard/vulture began his pre-dawn squarking at 4am today and so we were up and about early, as usual.  I hope he finds love soon and will piss off somewhere else to build a nest.

This morning we visited Winston's Churchill's war offices under Whitehall. It was only coincidence that it happened to be Anzac Day, which is known here as the Battle of Gallipoli and has much less significance than in Australia. That was actually a relief after all the over-egged sentiment and faux patriotism in the Australian build-up to the centenary commemoration, or 'celebration' as some commentators of little brain would have it.  No crass merchandise for sale here either - last week at home I saw "Camp Gallipoli" sweat shirts in Target.  Nothing like making a buck out of a tragic and monumental bloodbath. 

We caught the train to Green Park where, with my slightly                                 

gammy leg and occasional geriatric vertigo, I was much daunted by these escalators up to street level. I felt I was ascending the Matterhorn without a safety harness. Ditto coming down the escalator some hours later.  I watched with envy and fascination as sprightly young things (with people to see and places to be) took the steps three at a time while I gripped the handrails, gritted my teeth and hoped it would all soon be over. What a wimp.










But moving on, Churchill's War Rooms were fascinating -
a huge but claustrophobic labyrinth of underground rooms that housed a large number of both military and civilian staff who worked incredibly long hours for the duration of the war.  They often stayed overnight for months on end, not seeing daylight for the duration. I suspect the female clerical staff were the most put-upon. They worked as long and as hard as anyone else but were paid poorly and shared a dungeon-like dormitory down yet another level at night. Churchill and the military and civilian big wheels had their own rooms but only Churchill had a proper flushing dunny.  And he at least was about and about - his support staff were mostly not so lucky.

When we came out from the War Rooms,
we encountered this London bobby and his automatic         

rifle. Not sure if the monument behind him is
clear, but it commemorates (or celebrates as the Murdoch press might have it) the 2002 Bali bombings.  We think he was there because a march was underway up the road for the centenary of the Battle of Gallipoli.  Also, the Queen was out and about.

We then tried to go another 100 metres along the walkway so we could get a pic of Downing Street but a couple of other bobbies, fortunately not waving machine guns, said nup, it was not going to happen.  So no pic of 10 Downing St.  Ah well. We've all seen it on the telly.




   

                                                                              But we did see a bit of pomp and pageantry, such as these chaps on the left. And the reception person at the War Rooms told us as we were leaving that we had "just missed the Queen outside". 

So it goes without saying that we did not see her passing by.  






The next highlight of the day was a Mr Whippy soft serve ice cream cone with half a Cadbury Flake in it. (2 pounds.) Delicious!  And now over to the Air Commodore (Rtd). 

Yes, it was indeed a day for pomp and ceremony.  Quite unexpected for us in the sense that our destination (the Churchill war rooms) just happens to be in the epicentre of pageantry London-style. Here's a view down the mall towards Buckingham Place.

 

 

No, we didn't do the palace tour, unlike the hordes of tourists from Zagreb, Lodz and Nantes, who are shown here in all their glory (sort of).  By the way, the other reason for all the excitement in this part of London today is that the London marathon is tomorrow and the finish is here (I think).  Anyway, every OB van in Britain is already parked there, so something important must be happening soon.

 

From here on, the day turned decidedly down market, in that we headed for the Oxford Street shoppers' mecca, in search of a satnav, so as not to get lost in the wilds of Shropshire like last time.  You wouldn't think it would be that difficult, but let's just say it took about an hour of tramping Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road (again mingling with half the population of mainland Europe, almost all of whom were seemingly born with a Gauloise in their mouths).  Anyway, persistence eventually paid off, and we now have a satnav, although I can't tell you if it works, because you have to go online to register in order to receive your free instructions.  Talk about progress - you used to buy a product and get instructions inside the box, now you have to get them from the net.  But it's OK, because it's free.  Once you've paid your 69.99 pounds that is. 

 

Tomorrow I might even brace myself and try to download the instructions. Wish me luck.