Friday, 27 May 1955
After a dismal breakfast of kippers, went to Waterloo Station for the bus to Hampton Court. Turned out to be the wrong bus but we saw the grounds for the 1951 Festival of Britain. Then to Victoria Station and a bus for Hampton Court, a two-story palace which was a gift to Cardinal Wolsey from King Henry VIII. Architect Christopher Wren did the renovations so it’s not too horrible for a Gothic pile of dirty bricks. The grounds are great, beautiful beds of flowers and lovely formal gardens. It has the oldest grape vine in the world, so they say.
Inside, the State chambers are hung with many bad paintings all numbered directly on the canvas. The first thing you see are bright white numerals. There are some Tintorettos and cartoons for paintings by Mantegna. A painter named Ricci must have sold George III a bill of goods. Awful stuff, dirty, badly restored—retouched is the more appropriate term—and terribly hung.
Another big disappointment is Windsor Castle where we had a fast tour through the royal apartment where the rugs were rolled up and the furniture covered. A Van Gogh and a Holbein (Henry VIII) but lots of armor and weapons, nothing for us to get enthusiastic about. At least the paintings were not numbered.
Coldstream Guards are outside stomping their heels.
We escape on a bus that takes forever to get back to Victoria by way of the airport. Dinner with Pat, our Australian nurse friend. Ruth asks her about the heavily made-up younger girls she’s seen with dumpy older men. “Are they all kept?” she asks. “No, dear, they’re whores,” Pat replies.
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