John Keats' House
“Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee!”
John Keats’ Ode To a Nightingale.
Chaos. That is the nicest way I can describe my attempt to leave Berlin. I had been there for three days and even cut my third day short to get to the airport. Bus – train – Bus I arrived at the bottom of an escalator, glanced up and saw a bundle of people waiting. What are they waiting for? I tried to negotiate around them. No luck. I would have to join them.
Why? To get into the airport! Yep. We had to scan all of our luggage before entering a second “line” to pass through a second security clearance. I use the word line loosely.
Moon over London at 1 a.m.
Hundreds of people circled the entrance. Pushing ensued. I tried to ignore while reading my book, but the man next to me seemed intent on starting a fight with the massive rugby-looking men in front of me.
Just get me back to London. Oh Easy Jet would. Easy Jet was delayed yet again by another two hours. This was becoming a trend.
A trend I was ready to buck as I arrived back in London at 1 a.m. and began my mission to find another excursion for under $100 from London for my Rock Fever Column in The Royal Gazette newspaper. I’m trying to find ten! So far? Stockholm, Sigtuna (both in Sweden), Sacchsenhausen and Berlin (both in Germany).
So after this Schonefeld Airport expenditure I needed something closer to London. Somewhere I had never been in London. Hampstead Heath. Check out my photos for more glimpses of green.
Perfect. This 800 acre Heath is in the heart of Hampstead about a 20 minute tube from central London. Not an airport in sight. Originally Hampstead was a village that eventually became swallowed-up by the giant London metropolis that attracted many writers, artists, architects, musicians and scientists. Some of these included John Keats, Robert Louis Stevenson, painter John Constable, D.H. Lawrence, Karl Marx, Sigmund Freud and John Le Carre. It seemed a no-brainer for the next stop.
Ahhhh! Green. It wasn’t quite a 20 minute Tube ride but it wasn’t bad. After negotiating the Northern Tube Line I followed the signs for my oasis from the chaotic of London. Immediately trees enveloped me and carried me along dirt paths that are better associated with the hiking trails of Patagonia. No wonder so many artists retreated to Hampstead Heath. I meandered until I found myself on the great expanse of Parliament Hill, the highest point on Hampstead Heath. Resting myself under a tree I could watch the silver building tops of the city while comfortably enjoying the sun, grass and fresh air.
Ahhhh, why don’t more Londoners enjoy this? I would be here every day! There is more than fields in the
Sitting in the Heath
Heath however. Jogging trails lead to ponds – one for males and one for females – kite flying and even mansions. I decided to find one of these mansions.
While Londoners seem to enjoy labeling every square metre of the city, the Heath was a jumble of dirt paths with only the path-end delineating where you are going. At the end of the fifth path I tried, I was suddenly struck by a picture from a scene from Victorian days. Kenwood House stretched above a wide green expanse. This home in the northwestern part of the Heath was built as a gentlemen’s home and is now filled with an art collection that includes Rembrandt’s self-portrait and Vermeer’s The Guitar Player. Even better?! Admission is free and during the summer (which I had apparently just missed) there are open-air concerts beside the house’s lake.
This was entirely too much country glamour for this island girl so I decided to explore away from the green expanse that is the Heath to wander through the actual village. A quaint and posh part of London, the hilly and red bricked homes and pubs of Hampstead provide a beautiful neighbourhood to enjoy a beer and watch life go by. I was part of that life going by as I tried to find Fenton House.
Up down and around, I eventually found this home built in 1693 and filled with the likes of Handel’s harpsichord. Or, well, at least a harpsichord from 1612 that he probably played. Unfortunately I wanted to kick myself. I had signed-up with the National Trust in Bermuda only the week before my trip. Of course I left my membership card in Bermuda so while the entrance would have been free it now cost £5.20. Oh well with my day so far only costing the £1.80 for the Tube, I think I could swing it. I was under $100!!! There was really only one other place in Hampstead I had to see.
Odd architecture at 2 Willow Road
Keats’ house. Of course along the way there was the odd place of 2 Willow Road. Why odd? Walk through Hampstead Village. It’s filled with homes from Jane Austen’s novels. But 2 Willow Road, this home of Hungarian architect Erno Goldfinger (yes his surname was Ian Fleming’s inspiration for one of his most famous novels) and his wife Ursala Blackwell, built in 1939 and filled with his furniture, books, modern art collection it is more modern art itself.
I had no desire to enter here so I meandered on further to find the beautiful and garden-entrenched home of John Keats. This timeless and simple home, which now nestles in the village, used to sit on the Heath! He lived here for only two years, but these were some of the most inspired years, writing his most popular poem Ode to a Nightingale here. It was also where he fell in love with Fanny Brawne his neighbour’s daughter. They were engaged, but he died of tuberculosis before they could marry. The home is quaint beyond words and amazing that one of the most famous writers of all time called it home with one of his friends Charles Brown.
Walking away from Keats’ homestead it was time to find some food. Good thing Hampstead is more than just beautifully bricked homes. With the Wells, a stylish gastropub between the High Street and the Heath, I could find yummy food that still fit in the budget. Relaxed from my Berlin fiasco and a day of culture, green and high society it was time for me to head back to the centre of London.
And next week visit Robyn’s Wanderings Wednesdays to return to the battlefields. It’s back into the fray of WWII. To the cliffs of Dover it is!
Robyn's Wanderings 