When on work assignments, I’d often write journals, hoping to share with friends and family later on in life.
At the end of an assignment in the Arabian Peninsula, my departure took me via London. Having seen recent, disturbing reports from there, I thought you would like to read my personal impressions and interactions as I returned to the United States in 2015.
London, 2015:
The cab driver said, “I’m sure Dallas is a fine city. But I’ve travelled much, and I’m even what most would call ‘a right winger’, but, to me, London is the best city in the world.'”
You do not have to agree with him, but you certainly can understand his sentiment. We can at least agree that London is a fine city, whose Christian capital has endured far longer than I would have estimated. I cannot imagine it can last much longer, absent another Reformation. But, for now, if you gave me a choice between Dubai, New York, Singapore, and London, I’d go for London.
I’ll have more about my conversations with two cab drivers further below.
Visiting the famous Burlington Arcade I saw that several stores had “disappeared”, including Pickett, the fine leather goods store. However, I was happy to learn that Pickett had merely moved outside, between the Arcade and Regent Street. I bought a portfolio there. The one that Arthur Andersen had given me finally bit the dust after 33 years of service. Good things, if cared for properly, will last half a lifetime, or more.
Regent Street is known as a “shoppers paradise.” Since I am not a shopper, it’s not paradise to me, but it is a nice street to walk and observe peoples from all over the world and laugh at little children tugging at their parents to get out of Burberry’s and go to Hamley’s.
Hamley’s, founded in 1760, is five stories of toys. Being Saturday, it was pandemonium. On the fourth story they had “snack bars” of cotton candy, sweets, chocolates, shakes — just the sort of thing to keep the little kiddies quiet for Mommy and Daddy. It was a circus: vendors loudly proclaiming the wonders of their flying machines, magic lights, boomerangs, plush animals. They should have filmed Jingle All The Way here.
One major disappointment, though not surprising: almost everything was made in China. Even the London double decker toys and the England history toys and the die cast English vehicles. I saw a few things made in Belgium and one thing made in France. But nothing made in England. Of course, I did not check “everything” (I would have still been there!); but it was sad. What? Westerners can’t make toys anymore?
When you say “Let’s go to the food court” to an American, they’ll imagine you mean the Dallas Galleria, or, when in Puerto Rico, the Plaza Las Americas. However, to a European, “Food Court” conjures up a completely different scene. I had a light lunch at a sidewalk cafe in a food court off Regent Street: caprese salad with homemade bread dipped in olive oil.
And there is Berkeley Square, dating back to the 1700’s. Used to be only residential. Today only one residential block remains and it’s not cheap but flats rarely come up for sale anyway. No, I didn’t hear a nightingale, but I’m sure it sang in Berkeley Square, because Nat King Cole heard it there once.
The cab driver who drove me to London Center was of Indian heritage. We talked about how quickly subsequent generations forget their own history. His children know nothing about “the largest migration in history”, which occurred a mere 70 years ago, at the time of the partition of India. He said that about 130 million migrated from India to Pakistan or vice-versa. In addition, many hundreds of thousands, if not millions, left the sub-continent altogether. Including his own parents, who came to London, where he was born.
“And about 10 million were slaughtered,” I added.
“No,” he corrected me, “20 million.”
I do not know if his figures are correct; but I do know that is an ugly part of modern history of which we hear very little. It is also a blot on British colonial (mis)government. There was no need to succumb so quickly and so pathetically to calls (including calls from the U.S., I might add) for “de-colonization now!” But they supinely did so. And now they are criticized for mismanagement of the event. You never win in these situations.
But, back to London. The cab driver went on to tell me how the younger generations simply do not care. They’ll take fish and chips over Asian spice; English over Urdu; hip-hop over Punjabi; etc.
That last one is truly tragic. But I understood where he was coming from and sympathized with him.
“Even I myself have begun forgetting my history; not to mention my descendants. They forget their religion, their history, their food — now it’s fish and chips and Irish beef.”
As we drove by the Ritz, I noted, “I understand that Prime Minister Thatcher lived here towards the end of her life.”
“Yes she spent the last 6 months of her life here. She died here. But she was content. Many of her friends would come and visit her. She was content. She and Ronald Reagan were the best political partnership in our time.”
I also spoke with the cab driver who took me back out to the hotel in Terminal 5 at the end of my visit.
He too said, “Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher were the best partnership ever. And George W. Bush and Tony Blair were a disaster from which we still cannot recover.”
He buys his shoes at Church’s, although he did not know they had been acquired by Prada. I warned him the shoes were now looking more and more “ritzy.” He was disappointed. He has been married 29 years and still uses the Church shoes he bought for his wedding day. “I always wait for a sale. Sometimes a GBP300 pair of shoes is down to GBP 90!” That’s about $480 down to about $234.
He’s been driving a cab for 29 years.
He owns a house in Cyprus (in addition to his home in London); he buys his shoes at Church’s; he visits Cyprus 3 or 4 times a year. And he has 4 grown children; all doing him proud. Yes, he and his wife are thrifty and his children too.
Earlier, upon arrival in early morning, I had breakfast at the Heathrow Terminal 5 lounge. Then I did a bit of work in the business lounge area and once again saw the TV preachers on screen. Their hair styles were cute and their smiles were sweet and, depending on their audience, one wore a neat leather jacket, like Marlon Brando in The Wild One, and another looked like he had just stepped out of Saks Fifth Avenue. The musicians gave the impression they were performing on some night show.
I remembered that as I pondered my conversations with the cab drivers.
The mass migration facilitated by our politicians, both in Europe as well as in the United States, can overwhelm and transform us negatively. But it need not be so.
The Church, the masculine Church, can also make it a great and grand opportunity, much as the Puritans did when the Crown was sending its criminal element to our shores. Our fathers would meet them at the docks and instruct them in the Bible and in colonial laws.
If later generations forget where they came from, as the cab driver said, then why can’t the Church tell them where they can head to, in Christ? We possess a great arsenal. We must use it to advance God’s Kingdom. And, simultaneously, we would be defending our own culture and country while also helping those who arrive.
Interestingly, both cab drivers I interacted with, one of Indian descent, the other, Anglo, had similar outlooks. Decent outlooks. I would proudly call either a friend and wish I had had more time with each.
I enjoyed dinner at La Belle Epoque, a fine restaurant at the hotel. It was not as expensive as others, but, again, we must note that elegance is not “ritziness.” It is simplicity; it is as little clutter as possible, even on the dishes.
Regent Street, London, 2015
Hamley’s, London, 2015
Food Court off Regent Street, London, 2015
Berkeley Square, London, 2015
Pickett, Outside Burlington Arcade, London, 2015