A Capital Weekend

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It started well, with the train to London running on time. Even better, the news came through that the tubes weren’t going to be on strike over our weekend. We arrived late Friday evening at our small hotel, Melrose house, where Anastasia and Olena were delighted with their traditional bedroom and large Edwardian bathroom.

Saturday morning began with a real English breakfast, which we don’t have at home. Our son Martin brought grandson Sam to the station where we caught an Overground train into the city. Sam (6) and Olena (9) made their first introductions by swinging around the poles in the middle of the carriages. There followed two crowded Underground journeys, and somehow we avoided either having our ribs crushed or being separated from each other before arriving at South Kensington. During our journey, we learnt off by heart that we had to Mind the Gap.

Anastasia is taller than us, and wondered why – unlike in Paris – London tube trains have curved roofs so that people like her need to stoop. I suppose it’s ‘cos our tubes run through circular tunnels?

The Natural History Museum proved a treasure trove for a family outing. This wonderful building is capable of absorbing hordes of families in its huge display areas, as once was the blue whale whose skeleton is suspended across the entrance hall. Olena has studied volcanoes at school, so we went to learn more about them and about earthquakes. We stood, together, on a piece of flooring constructed as an earthquake simulator, accompanied by scary, creaky sounds! Having survived this ordeal, we explored the dinosaur hall with its lifelike replicas. Sam is no longer terrified of the T-Rex which snarls, roars and stamps its feet – but, he now realises, never comes closer.

Another uncomfortable double tube journey took us to Westminster where we boarded a Thames Riverboat bound for Greenwich. It poured with rain, but we enjoyed the boatman’s spiel as he introduced us to the fine buildings on both riverbanks in a London accent. We just about had time to explore Greenwich market before it closed, catching the docklands railway then a bus back to Martin and Rachel’s, where we shared a simple but delightful meal.

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On Sunday we followed the same route into the city, this time joining a walking tour to see the Changing of the Guard. Our guide, John, knew when and how to position ourselves to best see this spectacle. Fortunately he was 6 ft 6 and easy to spot amongst the madding crowd. Sam stuck close by him, his head reaching up to  John’s waist, and struck up his usual chatty dialogue. I was mesmerised by the horses, with their perfectly uniform, glossy coats, mounted by smart guardsmen (who, we were reassured, are ‘real soldiers’! We were told it was best not to test this out…).

Lunch was at the crypt at St. Martin-in-the-Fields. They didn’t have anything suitable for Sam, but he didn’t fare badly, enjoying his lunch of apple crumble and custard…

We’d had plans for another cultural experience, but decided instead to visit the children’s play area at Jubilee Gardens on the South Bank. Olena and Sam scrambled about amongst the large circular logged climbing frame, each making new friends of their own age. Meanwhile we three adults treated ourselves to a sit down. Just as we felt things were drawing to a natural end, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder and became aware of a child’s arm rubbing against my back. And who should be there but Grace (2), whom Martin had brought to search for Grandpa Jane – or was it Grandma John? It wasn’t long before Olena was guiding Grace around the edge of the playground, and finally all three children ended up romping on the grass.

After an enjoyable light meal at the nearby market, it was time to return to King’s Cross for our train home. Martin decided we’d go via a water feature situated beside Queen Elizabeth Hall. What I didn’t expect was that Sam would end up taking most of his clothes off and splashing around with hosts of other children. Of course, in a more muted way, Olena joined in, too!

Somehow the children managed to dry off sufficiently to start the journey home. We were, by this time, seriously concerned about missing the train, which would have been such a shame after a weekend in London that had shown Britain at its best.

We need not have worried. In true less-than-proud-to-be-British fashion, we had an hour to spare. Our train was cancelled! This wasn’t announced over the loudspeaker, which concentrated instead on a more important matter. It said that if we saw anything that didn’t look right, we should see it, say it, so they could sort it. And we could ring or text 61016.

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I think we achieved our objectives, and made some marvellous memories.