Below are the reflections of the students and faculty on the Lewis & Clark College London Humanities Program in fall 2018.  Fifteen students were enrolled in the program from early September through mid December during which time they completed a semester at Queen Mary, University of London, and lived in Mile End.
 Claes van Visscher, Panorama of London, 1616

History in Our Time: Loss, Remembrance, Resilience

16 December — The 2018 Lewis & Clark London humanities program is drawing to a close. The students have been submitting final projects and taking their exams this past week while preparing to move out of the residences in Mile End that have been their home for the past three months. Our farewell dinner on Saturday was the last time we were together as a group before everyone departs. Some of us are headed straight home while others, myself included, have further travel still ahead of us. In any event, our London experience is coming to an end. I feel fortunate to have become acquainted with the wonderful people whose support, expertise, hard work and good cheer enriched our program in so many ways. Among them are Eddie and Donna Stiven in Glenelg, Ceri Bevan and his staff in the QMUL Global Opportunities Office, our London guide Caroline Piper, and the staff of Lewis & Clark’s Overseas Programs. Mostly I am grateful for the fifteen students whose enthusiasm, sensitivity, curiosity, adventurousness, diligence, and humor have taught me as much about London as I could have possibly taught them.

As I prepare to leave, I find it difficult to sum up my experience of living in London again after all these years. Indeed, it feels like it was only yesterday when I welcomed fifteen newly-arrived students to my flat in Whitechapel on a warm and sunny Sunday in September. And yet, so much has happened in the intervening time to open my eyes to the history and present reality of this great city that has been my home at various times and which has excited my imagination like no other for most of my life. To be honest, I feel like I am leaving too soon, though I suppose that is always how I’ve felt whenever I leave London.

A recurring theme for me during these past months has been loss, remembrance, and resilience. Much of this surrounded the lead-up to Remembrance Day on November 11th, which this year marked the 100th anniversary of the armistice that ended the First World War. The usual British rituals of poppy wreaths and lapel pins and the ubiquitous phrase “Lest We Forget” were weighted with the additional significance of the centenary of the end of “the War to End All Wars,” a phrase that today seems bitterly ironic given the events of the century that followed but which was not so at the time.

Looking back, it seemed the First World War was always with us this semester. Almost every town square and church we visited had a Great War memorial with the names of the fallen dutifully recorded. “Their Name Liveth For Evermore.” Beyond this, my own travels in October took me to the French-Belgian border region and the most notorious battlefields of the war. I journeyed there mainly to see the memorials at such places as Thiepval, Pozières, Beaumont-Hamel, and Arras. The most moving, though, was the Canadian National Memorial at Vimy Ridge, a towering marble sculpture rising from the site of one of the costliest battles of the war for the Canadian forces. This astonishing monument—a hallowed pilgrimage site for Canadians—is a sight I will not soon forget. Back in London, the remembrance of the First World War culminated in our group attending the wreath-laying ceremony at the Cenotaph on November 11th in which we braved the crowds to witness this most solemn of British public rituals. Several of students in earlier blog posts have commented on the impression left on them by this historic occasion.

As I reflect on it, traumatic loss and the determination to build something new and better from the ashes of the old and the mistakes of the past is a story many times told throughout the long history of London. The dreadful plagues and fires that ravaged the city in centuries past, and that claimed the lives of so many of its residents, were often followed by major improvements in urban planning and civil society. Today, the City of London bears no sign of the inferno that incinerated almost the entire area—except for a giant Doric column, Christopher Wren’s 1677 Monument to the Great Fire. Likewise, sections of the East End destroyed by the Blitz in the Second World War retain little evidence of that ordeal except for occasional memorials tucked away here and there. This year’s armistice centenary has been a salient reminder that the end of living memory marks an important milestone in patterns of historical remembrance… and forgetting.

This last point was made clear to me a week ago when I took my students on the final site visit of our history course, London Through the Ages. We went to my old neighborhood of Notting Hill, a place that seems appropriate to return to in this concluding blog entry since I wrote about it in my first entry shortly after arriving in London in September. Our excursion included a visit to the Al-Manaar Muslim Cultural Heritage Centre after which we walked to the unofficial memorial to the Grenfell Fire.

On June 14th, 2017, Grenfell Tower, an apartment block that had originally been designed as low-income public housing, caught fire shortly after midnight and flames consumed the upper stories of the building within minutes. In total, 72 people died in the incident, the worst residential fire in Britain since the end of the Second World War. This catastrophe was all the more tragic for having been entirely preventable. For years, tenants had complained to the property management about the numerous fire hazards in the building but were ignored. In the immediate aftermath of the fire, the rage of the local community could barely be contained. The fact the victims were largely low-income and immigrant members of what has become a rapidly gentrifying area of the richest borough in London was not lost on local residents.

The Grenfell fire galvanized the local community. Many religious congregations, such as Al-Manaar, played a vital leadership role in providing aid and comfort to the survivors and bereaved families. Grenfell United was established to provide long-term support to the survivors of the fire and to lobby for a thorough investigation and accountability for this disaster. As I shared with my students, the Grenfell tragedy had a very personal effect on me since Notting Hill had once been my home as a graduate student and, in fact, the flat I lived in is less than half a kilometer from the tower. During our visit the students and I met with the executive director of Al-Manaar and the chair of Grenfell United. Both of these individuals emerged as leaders in the hours and days after the fire and have worked tirelessly for the community since then. Our visit ended at the memorial itself, a heart-wrenching shrine that has grown along the wooden wall surrounding the tower, which is now a large-scale construction site.

As I took in the memorial I was immediately struck by the awareness that I was looking at something I had seen only weeks earlier in forests and fields of Vimy Ridge, or least something uncannily similar. It was a monument of remembrance for a tragic loss of life. Perhaps all the more poignant since in each case—Vimy and Grenfell—the loss being memorialized was entirely preventable and owed mostly to human cause: one was a willful act of aggression with no regard for the human cost, the other the result of criminal negligence.

In each memorial, the personalized recognition of the fallen appears at eye level. At Vimy, the over eleven thousand names of the missing march uniformly past each other etched in marble in alphabetical order, row after row and panel after panel. At Grenfell, handwritten messages to loved ones in multiple languages are mixed spontaneously together and accompanied by photos, drawings, candles, and flowers.

Yet as one steps back, both monuments draw the visitor’s gaze upward toward the heavens. At Vimy, twin pillars of gleaming white soar above the French countryside, visible for miles around, as angels and allegorical figures of human virtues carved exquisitely into marble adorn its heights. At Grenfell, a large green heart and the words “Grenfell Forever in Our Hearts” appear boldly across the top of the tarp stretched over the scaffolding that now enshrouds the charred remains of the tower. At a height of twenty-four stories the message is proclaimed boldly in all directions high above the rowhouses, churches, and shops of Notting Hill and North Kensington.

These two memorials are in many ways the same. They are a balm to assuage the grief of the bereaved, they struggle to give meaning to a senseless tragedy and to waste that owes so much to human failure, they offer tentative hope that a more just and humane reality might emerge from such heartbreaking loss, and they command from on high that the dead not be forgotten.

Before we departed from the memorial, I mentioned to the students that the events and aftermath of Grenfell are too recent for us to think of them historically. Yet after our experience this semester we cannot help but place them in the long narrative of London’s history of loss, remembrance, resilience, and the hope that something good, or at least better, might emerge from the tragedy of the past. This is history in our time and it remains to be seen the place that Grenfell will come to occupy in the great story of London. Lest We Forget.
—David Campion
Left: Canadian National Vimy Memorial, Pas-de-Calais, France.
Right: Grenfell Memorial, Notting Hill, London. Photos by David Campion
Names of the Missing, Canadian National Vimy Memorial. Photo by David Campion
 Grenfell Memorial Wall. Photo by David Campion
 
Pylon Statuary, Canadian National Vimy Memorial. Photo by David Campion
 Grenfell Tower. Photo by David Campion

I’m in Love with the Wyfe of Bath

12 December — Well, away we go.

When this post goes up on the program blog, it’ll be thirteen days until I board my flight back to San Francisco. This past month has gone by especially quickly—probably due in part to the totally-not-depressing seven hours of daylight we’re treated to in December (that is, if the sun bothers to come out at all). I love London, but I loathe sentimentality—mainly because it affects me so much—so I want to avoid waxing poetic about all the things I’ll miss about London for fear of my mascara running while I type this. Let’s change the subject.

My first and only love, as I’m sure I’ve brought up many a time, is cheese. And yes, I know several of my classmates have written about food in their blog entries, but I’d feel incomplete if I didn’t pen this love letter to London’s fromageries. Step aside, Paris: the UK is coming for your cheesy crown, and I’ve travelled to cheese shops all over London to prove it.

Borough Market (London Bridge)—I think this was the first cheese nirvana I stumbled upon here in London, but I can’t be sure. I can’t count how many cheese vendors make Borough Market their home, but they’re all equally friendly and willing to let you try every cheese they have for sale. My “gold star award” goes to the Bath Soft Cheese Co. They make appearances at most London farmer’s markets (including Marylebone below) so you’re bound to catch them somewhere. Their Wyfe of Bath makes my heart sing, and their Bath Blue actually won Supreme Champion at the 2014 World Cheese Awards. Go on a Thursday or Friday when the full market is open– Saturday is painfully crowded and limits one’s cheese sampling potential.

Whole Foods (High Street Kensington)—An unconventional choice for this post, since we have Whole Foods in spades back in Portland, but I’m mentioning this location because they have a room called “The Cheese Room” and every time I’ve gone, they’ve had samples of everything from smoked gouda to a camembert you can just shovel onto crackers for free, folks! For free! Visit with caution—you never know if/how much cheese will be out on any given day. The bar was set high for me a few weeks ago when I tried at least eight different cheeses, and nothing has been the same for me since. I urge you to complete the bourgeoisie Whole Foods experience with a walk around Kensington Gardens.

Marylebone Farmer’s Market (Bond Street)—Out of all the weekend markets I’ve been to save maybe Broadway Market up by Victoria Park, I like this one the best. Maybe it’s the quiet neighborhood, maybe it’s the cheese. It’s probably a bit of both. I’ve noticed that most of the cheese I get to eat when I come here on Sundays (between 10am and 2pm) are goat cheese. Between three vendors, you can try what feels like twenty different types of goat cheese, if that’s your thing. It isn’t for everybody, but I don’t discriminate in my love for cheese. If you’re hungry for more, I urge you to pay a visit to La Fromagerie, one of the most authentic looking cheese shops in London. I’ve visited once before, but I haven’t been able to try their cheeses yet. Don’t worry—I’m planning a visit when my mom arrives. I’ll report back.

This entry is getting painfully long, so I’ll end it here. By the time this post is up, I’ll probably have gone to Wednesday’s Evening of Cheese at Borough Market as my reward for getting through our final exam—I’m sure it’ll be legen-dairy.

...Sorry. 
—Hannah Unkrich

Unreal City

7 December — As my time in London draws to a close, I find myself much in the same boat as I was when I first came here: sick, tired, and missing home. In the four months we have been here, however, I have had the opportunity not only to explore the city, but to grow an understanding of its history which I have never had in any other place.

Recently I have been devoting much of my time to my research paper, the topic of which is Shakespeare’s Richard III. In it, I am exploring the historical differences between Shakespeare’s account and the real king, and what kind of political environment might have prompted Shakespeare to make these changes in the first place. As I pore over editions of books printed in the 1800’s (which I feel like I almost shouldn’t be allowed to touch), which themselves were originally written during the 16th century about a 15th century king, I feel a profound sense of connection between the city as King Richard knew it and the city I know today. It is incredible to me that we are as far away in time from our first president as Elizabeth I was to Richard II, and Richard II was to William the Conqueror, and William was to the founding of London itself. The monarchy is almost as old as the city, and that kind of continuity (despite its many changes) is a stunning feat, one which I have no context for. It is mind-blowing that Queen Elizabeth II, who seems ancient to me, sat on a chair that is 700 years old, a chair that every monarch has sat on since at least Henry IV. It is incredible that one can walk past Traitor's Gate at the Tower of London, where Elizabeth I, Anne Boleyn, and Sir Thomas More once entered the White Tower, where some seventy years earlier two young Princes disappeared from view.

One of my less-productive methods of entertainment has been binge-watching Netflix shows, recently Call the Midwife and The Crown. Both are set in the 1950’s and depict some of the same events, but watching both at once presents radically different experiences. Call the Midwife is set in the East End, where we live today, and shows explicitly the shocking poverty that pervaded the area. The Crown feels much more modern, doubtless due to the vastly different economic status of the subjects it portrays. When viewed in conjunction it is quite clear exactly why the reputation of the monarchy struggled.

London’s contradictions have left me reeling. It is both ancient and cutting-edge, hopelessly poor and stunningly wealthy, caught in a constant cycle of rebirth and death. I am excited to return to Portland, with its lack of ancient ruins and its simple 200-year old origins, its slightly more flavorful food and its washers and dryers that actually work, but I have come to love this city, with all of its marvelous imperfections.
—Lexie Boren

Let’s Talk About Food

4 December — It hardly needs to be re-stated that food is one of life’s great pleasures. From Mark Twain to Oscar Wilde, the wisest among us have noticed that an appreciation for food is an appreciation for life. More recently, our own Caroline Wilkes wrote that “My favorite time of day is food time.” She is not alone. For most of us, “food time” is one of the few times that we get to take a deep breath and indulge ourselves. Food is in fact so closely associated with pleasure and comfort that, around the world, the most important holidays are often centered around food. In honor of the winter holidays, our final days eating in the “big city,” and Carolines recent foray into food journalism, I would like to devote this ultimate program blog to eating. For the love of food!

Most contemporary commentators looking into the food world of London have focused their attention on a relatively small number of upscale restaurants in neighborhoods like Soho, Mayfair, and Shoreditch. No longer. I would like to provide a break from these rather stuffy gourmet food explorations and instead use this opportunity to discuss something far more ubiquitous and democratic—chicken. In fact, living in Mile End, there are few things I can speak about more authoritatively. Simply put, it is hard to live in Mile End and not eat a great deal of chicken. Program blogger Noemie Cloutier, a resident of Mile End, commented on this on October 5th when she wrote about the “sheer amount of different chicken restaurants” available in Mile End. What follows is an honest and accessible description of my food experiences eating chicken within 500 feet of the Queen Mary Campus.

This post will focus on the five most visited chicken shops in Mile End; (1) Nando's, (2) Pirri-Pirri, (3) Dixie Chicken, (4) KFC, and (5) Fast Food Corner. Let’s start at the bottom and work our way up. To get it out of the way quickly, the worst chicken in Mile End is served at Nando’s. Controversial, I know, but if you didn’t want controversy you shouldn’t be reading a food blog. Anyways, if you want fast-food quality food at Olive Garden prices then Nando’s is perfect. However, if you prefer your chicken cheap and served in styrofoam, then this place is best avoided. Also, unlike the other chicken joints featured in this article, you can eat Nando’s at the airport. Instead, I highly recommend going to the off-brand Pirri-Pirri restaurant next door to Nando’s. It’s not high quality, and it has the atmosphere of a tanning salon, but at least there you won’t see anyone you know.

Next on the list is Dixie Chicken. This place is just terrible. The crust is not crispy enough, the chicken is not tender enough, and their menu has too many options. A truly great Chicken restaurant doesn’t try to do everything, but rather focuses on the basics. Skip Dixie Chicken entirely. The other chicken shop on the block, KFC, is also disappointing and better avoided. KFC outside of the US is expensive and unexceptional. If you want to eat fried chicken in Mile End, skip Dixie Chicken and KFC and walk yourself over to the Fast Food Corner (FCC). This diamond in the rough always has a three-person line and serves food day and night. While the quality is not the highest, the food is incredibly cheap and is consistently satisfying. More than any of the other chicken option in Mile End, FCC embodies the cheapness, greasiness, and indulgence of fast food chicken culture. FCC inhabits a world of spontaneous cravings and impulsive decisions. Like the sweetest taboos, FCC isn’t rational and isn’t something to tell your friends about.
—Lucas Heilbroner