London Diaries: Windsor Castle

It was a beautiful summer’s day in London. August was ripe into its third week, and the sun felt warmer than it had a few days ago. This, I thought happily, is the stuff that the English novelists used to write about in those timeless classics like Pride and Prejudice!

I was lost in the shoppers' heaven aka Oxford Street when my phone rang. It was one of my co-grads, in her usual excited tone telling me (yet again!) about a new plan that been hatched and was to be put into action right then! This is so typical of her- she’s completely impulsive, lazing about on her sofa posing for crazy pictures one minute and planning a trip to someplace the next! This time, it was Windsor Castle. Did I want to go? Of course!

Off I went to the Oxford Circus Tube station to wait for my friends. They arrived soon after, and we left for Paddington, from where we were to get on to a National Rail train to Windsor.

We emerged from the Windsor station, through a row of small shops to the queue for entry to the Castle itself. To say that the castle and the surrounding structures were breathtakingly beautiful is to understate the case. The timing of our visit couldn’t have been more perfect. It was a pleasant day, and the sun bathed us in its warm glow even as the towering structure seemed to speak to us of its hoary magnificence. Fluffy white clouds provided the perfect foil to the benevolent sun, and little tufts of clouds peeked shyly from behind the turrets, like wisps of cotton that had strayed too far in time from a bygone era. The breeze was gentle, and almost imperceptible, as it rocked the bushes and the boughs of the trees in its silent rhythm.

Our first port of call was St. George’s Chapel; which amongst other things, housed stalls for the order of the garter, an order of chivalry stretching back to the Feudal Ages. Quite different from the Bath Abbey, which has a charming small town church flavour; in this chapel, you can almost feel the echoes of regal footsteps.

The feeling of being in a different age was overpowering in its intensity; perhaps more so owing to the fact that I could relate to the place from the classics that belonged to a different age. An age when guests of royalty rode to the Castle, in the horse-drawn carriages that clip-clopped along. An age when the gallant gentlemen, in their immaculate suits would help the ladies down the carriage. And the ladies themselves, in magnificent flowing gowns and fashionable bonnets.

And so we walked along, as would have the lords and ladies of long ago; into the Castle’s staterooms, ballroom after ballroom, chamber after chamber, where spoils of different battles were displayed in all their grandeur.One has to admire the gall of the British, albeit grudgingly; for their conquests ranging from the Eastern lands of China to the heartland of Africa, and their matter-of-fact pride in displaying the war trophies.

Every single item spoke of wealth of grandiose proportions. Even the little princesses’ collection of dolls, at St.Mary’s dollhouse, stunned us in its splendor. These dolls were a tad shy of lifesize, but were sporting designer clothes and jewels!

We were to go to the very, very pretty Moat Garden next, but weren’t able to make it before it closed for the day. We traced our way back, back through time, back from a fairytale age of old English costumes, from those castles steeped in history, each step taking us closer to the hustle and bustle of modern day England, until we found ourselves in the Windsor Royal Shopping Complex, having lunched at a Greek restaurant. We passed through the near empty passageway between row of shops that had already closed for the day, though it was only 7:30 pm! The British storekeepers have an unshakable sense of work-life balance; stores seldom stay open beyond early evening; strange for one accustomed to 11 pm store closures. We walked back through the famous red telephone booths, stealing some photographs of ourselves on the way.

My thoughts wandered once more to the stately maidens and gallant youth of yore, in all their finery, burdened with royal gifts, being borne along sedately back to their homes. As the train vroomed at high speed carrying us back to London, my thoughts shifted several gears, to settle fleetingly on the prospect of the last set of classes in the coming week. As the four of us got down at Canary Wharf, it was close on midnight, there was a nip in the air as we walked briskly down to Fraser Place, to a good night’s sleep!