Night at the Abbey

It was late in the night when the regular Londoners and revellers had hit the bed that I decided to step out of the hotel and take the night Tube. As I came out of the station, the tall, dark and imposing figure of the Big Ben caught my eye. It looked quite magnificent against the shimmering moonlight. I made my way to a wall near the Abbey which I had surveyed during the day and done a whole lot of ‘googling’ on the internet on being denied the ticket into the Westminster. I knew the exact number of Bobbies posted around the place and their shift changing times…. That’s the power of the net… it takes you inside the web and tells you where the spiders sit in prey. I jumped over the small wall and found my way to the west side door that I knew would not be locked for this is the place from where the choir would walk out after hours of practice which would induce laziness and over confidence and, more often than not, this entrance key would just lie hanging from the massive brass lock. With no one in sight I turned the key and, to my delight, it turned a couple of times silently and the door opened up. But the moment I put my first foot inside, the gong went bonkers… it was the Ben telling the world it was midnight with its twelve strokes, each of which  felt like bullets piercing my body… I knew death was near. The BB stopped and I walked into the majestic Westminster Abbey…unescorted, unannounced and unpaid, of course, for a tour that I could not miss having come here after a gap of seventeen long years.

The place looked so awe-inspiring. It was huge…bigger than anything I had seen before… it was exquisitely laid out without being loud and pompous…and it was completely lit up but silent. The foundations of the Westminster Abbey were laid in seventh century AD but it was around the turn of the millennium in the reign of King Edward that a stone church was built. Monastic Churches in those days were often called ‘minsters’. Since it was on the West side, and to distinguish it from St.Paul’s Cathedral which was further down the banks of the Thames on the east side, the place got its name. However, most of the church as we see today was built on the orders of King Henry III between 1245-72. Burial in the Abbey was initially restricted to the royalty and some of the aristocracy but by the eighteenth century it became the place for burial of the great and famous. There are about 600 tombs, memorials and monuments with over 3000 people interred or commemorated in the church and cloisters. ‘Among the kings’ was also the grave of the Unknown Soldier from the First World War and the Royal Air Force Memorial Chapel  is dedicated in memory of the men who lost their lives in the World War II. 

The Abbey has been described as a living church since God is worshipped daily through the four to five services on its precincts and has enjoyed a unique status granted to it in 1560 by a charter of Queen Elizabeth I under which the Dean and Chapter are directly answerable to the monarch. Over the centuries, the Abbey has stood witness to several coronations, royal weddings and funerals apart from services to mark significant occasions. I shall not go into further details but let you see the place with my eyes for there is too much history and too many details in every inch of this massive place. The next few days would be very busy ones at the Abbey for they planned to keep Queen Elizabeth II in state for five days and a huge crowd was expected to come and pay respects to the much loved monarch. No wonder I did not get tickets and had to find my own sly way of getting in.

All was good and as per plan till I saw a Bobby with a map in  hand who looked more like the Paddington Bear. He seemed to be following someone…did he know I was inside? Was the invisibility cloak, that my daughter had given me, giving me away? I realized that I should go elsewhere and explore the main sanctum sanctorum may be at a later time and so I walked down a staircase which was not showing on the map on my wrist…. that’s technology for you!

There was a lot of commotion down below. Who were these strange looking people here walking and talking. I took a few bold steps and went closer to see the name tag of the man with the white beard….Geoffrey Chaucer (1343-1400).Should I ask him for an autographed copy of  'The Canterbury Tales'? Better not- it my give me away. Had I come into the Poets’ Corner?  

Yes, so it seemed and all the famous poets and authors seemed to have come alive at that moment, all unaware of the presence of an intruder hidden beneath a cloak of invisibility. One gentleman called George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) got the whole lot of poets together, all standing in three tiers and as he waved his baton, the song came alive…

She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain when, she comes
She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain when, she comes

She’ll be ridin’ six white horse when, she comes
She’ll be ridin’ six white horse when, she comes

And we’ll all go out to greet her when she comes
Yeah, we’ll all go out to greet her when she comes

Then we’ll all eat purple pizza when she comes
We’ll all eat purple pizza when she comes

And we’ll all read books together when she comes
Oh, we’ll all read books together when she comes

And she’ll get to sleep with grandma when she comes
Oh, she’ll get to sleep with grandma when she comes

Stop…stop…shouted two other men. One of them, called Charles Dickens, said, This can’t be sung at all…. Firstly what’s a pizza and do you think there is something called a purple pizza? You just can’t ask the royalty to eat such horrendous stuff! Secondly, she always wanted to lie down beside her man… so no sleeping with grandma…it must be with Prince Philip, someone who’s been a part of her long journey. Of course she will have grandmas, great-grandmas and great- great -grandpas all sleeping here but she should be placed next to Philly.

I still feel we should have a more classical way to receive Her Majesty when she enters our chambers. I can still write a play and all of you can enact and we shall also have a few songs, if that makes you happy. I could ask the people from the Globe to bring the props and costumes and we can present a Broadway musical as they now call it. I have even thought of a name…Lizzy Dizzy and the last lines would be…Et Tu George, then fall Mama!”

There are no marks to guess who this was…William Shakespeare. A small group comprising of Jane Austen, the Bronte Sisters, Henry James and Lewis Carroll seemed to agree with the Bard.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we know she is arriving tomorrow with all the fanfare and show but it is likely that she may not reach our enclosure, said Rudyard Kipling. Seems the Masters at the entrance have  other plans.

What plans…Who are these so-called Masters?

Dr. David Livingstone is all set to welcome her with a short speech...Queen Majesty, I presume.

Charles Darwin has planned her passage on an old turtle which he had got from Galapagos. He wants her to take it easy after having played the Game of Thrones for over seventy years. It is time for Her Majesty to sit back and enjoy.

And then there is Sir Isaac Newton but there is nothing new about the gentleman. He has decided to share with Her Majesty the Fourth Law of Motion that he has just discovered. The new law states that, “For all motion, you always need a ‘Spare’". I still don’t know what he means but he’s a learned man and I am sure she will understand his words and the formula for a happy family.

Finally, there is Stephen Hawking who now wants to present her with his Not So Brief History of Time. Not to forget the Old Man Churchill who has recovered well and wants her to sit on the Coronation Chair one last time to check if it is strong enough to bear King Charles’ weight. The son has had a long wait and put on some extra pounds in the meantime.

In short, by the time she gets in here, we may be all tired and bored and may be the Bard’s musical would have taken shape by then.

Just when so much was happening right before my eyes and I had begun to enjoy the company of the greats, I made the mortal mistake of removing the invisibility cloak a bit from over my head. A strong arm gripped my neck from behind…. Got you bugger. I have been following you since you entered the Abbey on this ‘Marauder’s Map’ that catches every movement of intruders. You know what fate awaits you?

No Sir… I beg of you to let go of me.

No way… you shall meet the fate of Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658) who in the name of Reformation overthrew the monarchy and established the republican regime here for a short while. Cromwell was initially buried here but not for long. In 1661, after the Restoration of the Monarchy, his body was removed from the grave and hung from the gallows at Tyburn, London. Thou shalt meet the same fate…hung upside down from the arms of the Big Ben and made to move for hours and days together till the vultures get their feast.

Mahatma Gandhi is standing outside and I am sure he will fight my case.

Good Luck Mate…in you go…out you go! Any last wish?

A plate of the finest Fish and Chips, Sir.

Granted. Enjoy!

I woke up from my reverie on my hotel bed, sweating profusely, my blanket thrown aside and the huge pillow smothering my face. Checked the time... Oh I must have a quick breakfast and make a dash for the Westminster Abbey. The online ticket showed the guided tour started at 9.30 AM sharp.

SS