Featured Post

Time to slay your own dragons, ladies.

Image
My first kiss was an unwanted one. I was seven years old when a boy named David pushed me up against the wall outside our apartment building. Forcing his mouth on mine, his breath, hot and fusty, something sickly sweet like apple juice and milk gone sour in his gut that made me squirm. I don’t remember seeing him as I ran with my brother and the other neighborhood kids through the empty lot next door, scrabbling over the toppled trees, slick with moss, tripping over the bramble of twigs and woodsy decay, but he must have been there, his knees as scratched and muddied as ours, before he caught up with me in the driveway that ran alongside and behind the apartment building. 
As usual I’d tagged along in my older brother’s shadow. Tag, hide and seek, cowboys and indians, the games kids used to play. Outdoors, up and down the streets, no watchful mommies on red alert. Ignoring our mothers’ warnings—don’t go into the woods, don’t go into the woods—we went into the woods, woods that in fact …

Baker Street Station—Sherlock Holmes was there

Baker Street Station
The main thing my husband wanted to see in London was London ... as Sherlock Holmes saw it. So our first move, like any fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's creation was to take a double decker bus to Baker Street. As it turns out I read the map upside down or sideways or maybe it was backwards but we found ourselves in Putney at the bridge. Very much in the wrong direction. Over half an hour by car, which we didn't have. We wound up taking the tube back in the right direction which delivered us to the Baker Street Station. The station is one of the original stations opened when the Metropolitan Railway—the world's first underground railway—was built in 1863.  While we don't immediately think of Sherlock dashing out on the tube, he very well could have and in fact the rail, train etc is alluded to in several dozen Sherlock stories.

The Baker Street station is situated on the very block where Sherlock lived at 221B Baker Street. Or should I say the fictional 221B Baker Street created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for the world famous detective. A purist, my husband would do little more than poke his head in the gift shop of the Sherlock Holmes Museum, reminding me yet again that there was no such place as 221 B Baker Street, it was a creation from the mind of Arthur Conan Doyle. It's his opinion that those who put the place together, selling all kinds of trinkets, were simply making a pile of dough and profiting off Holmes legions of fans. Notice the sign above the shop/museum? The first word is Souvenirs.

My husband at the Baker Street station perhaps pondering the presence of Sherlock Holmes' ghost.
"Come Watson, come! The game is afoot!"


Comments

  1. Wonderful! I think it's great (as in 'amusing') that we make visitor attractions out of fictional happenings. ACD got married down the road from me though - I really should do an article about it one day!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah, he's a bit of the old stick in the mud about it. Yes, Mike, write that article!

      Delete
  2. I got a kick out of the Baker Street station, expecting Sherlock Holmes any minute. But, actually, I was there as part of a tour of the Underground and I learned a lot about the early days of the Tube.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh nice! I think it's one of the loveliest looking ones we saw.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Thanks for stopping by and sharing your comments. Insecure writer at work.

Popular Posts

Dreaming of France: I'll meet you in the garden

As Seen in Britain

Dreaming of France: Guarding the Louvre

A tree is a tree is a tree: finding a passion