Fifty-fourth Day

London bus and my gorgeous daughter.

What I saw in the museum today.

For my last day in London I could choose wherever I wanted to go.  So I think Stuart was very disappointed when I chose the Victoria and Albert museum.  But I bribed him with the promise of a nice meal.

Luna loved the museum.  Stuart thought that it wouldn't be a good place for babies, but little ones like Lunes enjoy looking at anything really, as long as you make it interesting.  Everything is so new and wonderful to their little brains, which are expanding every day with each fresh experience.  She was enchanted by the jewelry gallery, which is like Aladdin's cave, with low lights and shining gems, silver and gold, everywhere.  She loved the halls where she sang "Hoo! Hoo!" like an owl, savouring the wonderful echoes she created.  She was delighted by the reflections she found on a structure next to a bench.  She fell happily asleep amongst all the nudes in the sculpture gallery. 

While Luna was sleeping Emma and I went around the fashion gallery which displayed clothing through two centuries, and picked out all our favourites, or what we would wear if we were forced to pick from a particular display case.  Emma always makes things into a game, which is why I only really enjoy shopping with her and Jess, never alone. 

Afterwards, when we had laughed and exclaimed at all the weird and wonderful fashions, and the choices we had made, we sat down next to Stuart and the sleeping baby to rest our legs for a while, gazing at the beautiful sculptures all around us.  A little girl went up to a seated figure, its shiny bum right at her eye-level and started examining it minutely, then began stroking the crack with great gusto, until a gallery guard came up to her and told her to stop, walking past us afterwards and raising her eyes in amused horror to the ceiling with the whispered remark, "Kids!"

It is interesting that we walk through art galleries and are able to examine naked figures in the utmost detail, unlike anywhere else.  And of course the majority are women's bodies, although there were a few male nudes in the mix.  But there is something inherently savage about a torso of a woman, it is very beautiful, it is artistic, the angles are exquisite, but violence has been committed, there are no arms and there is no head.  Why?  Where are they?

Earlier I had been suddenly met by a familiar figure, my John the Baptist, who has always reminded me of my husband, and whom I have never seen in real life!   What a pleasure, what a master Rodin was!

Sitting there on the bench I wafted off into daydreams, people flitting in and out of view as they passed by on their way somewhere, hurrying to meet someone, or lingered slowly, examining each sculpture.  And then into my consciousness came an old white-haired lady, her hair coiffed like my mum's, her body solid like hers, gently observing a Rodin dancer, and instantly I ached for my mother who has been gone for eight years now.  And I thought how strange it is that only photographs remain of the person who was Joan Radford.  Of course she is present in the memories of her children and grandchildren, and all her friends who are still around, and in the beautiful things she made, the embroidery, the cross-stitch, the lace.  But all that energy, all that love, all that huge long life, everything beloved about her, is all gone. It is so odd.

And now there is this little Luna who has great-granny Joan's hands, so perhaps there is a little bit of my mother in her great-granddaughter's deft fingers, it may be that a small part of her spirit resides in this new child who is so dear to my heart. 

When Nick and Matthew were about four or five they asked me one day where they had been before they were born, so I turned the question back on them and inquired where they thought they had been.  Being twins they told their ideas together, one adding when the other stopped for breath, and it was a sweet story of flying with the stars, waiting to be born, just drifting around like a dream in the sky.  For all we know, they may be right.