“What a beautiful day!” Betty cried, taking her seat on the bus a little later. “I do wish it wouldn’t always be so windy, though! I almost lost my hat then!”
“As you stay longer in London, you’ll notice that a really clear day is almost always a very windy one as well. We Londoners have to accept the two together,” Mrs. Pitt told the visitors.
Leaving Trafalgar Square, the bus carried them by Charing Cross Station, in front of which is a copy of the old Charing Cross. Edward I, when his queen, Eleanor of Castile, died, put up many crosses in her memory, each one marking a spot where her body was set down during its journey to Westminster Abbey for burial. A little farther along, the bus passed the odd little church of St. Mary-le-Strand, which is on an “island” in the middle of that wide street and its great busy, hurrying traffic. It is good to remember that on that very spot, the maypole once stood. Narrow side streets lead off the Strand, and looking down them one may see the river, and understand why the street was so named. It originally ran along by the bank of the Thames, and the splendid houses of the nobles lined the way.
“These fine stone buildings on our left are the new Law Courts, and the griffin in the center of the street marks the position of old Temple Bar. There! We’ve passed it, and now we are in Fleet Street. Temple Bar was the entrance to the ‘City,’ you know. To this day the King cannot proceed into the ‘City’ without being first received at Temple Bar, by the Lord Mayor. At one time, the city of London comprised a small area (two and a quarter miles from end to end), and was inclosed by walls and entered by gates. Originally there were but four gates,—Aldgate, Aldersgate, Ludgate, and Bridgegate. Think what a small city it was then! It is curious to know that in spite of that, there were then one hundred and three churches in London. The real center of life for centuries was at ‘Chepe,’ or Cheapside, as it is now called. You’ll see it later.”
“The King cannot proceed into the ‘City’ without being first received at Temple Bar by the Lord Mayor.”—Page [68].
Betty had been looking eagerly, even while she listened to what Mrs. Pitt was saying. Her eyes now rested upon an old church, over the door of which stood a queer, blackened statue of a queen.
“The church is St. Dunstan’s,” responded Mrs. Pitt again. “That old statue of Queen Elizabeth is one of the few things which escaped the great fire in the reign of Charles II. The figure once stood on the ancient Lud Gate of the city. They say that it was in the church-yard of St. Dunstan’s that John Milton sold his wonderful poem of ‘Paradise Lost’ for five pounds.”
“Let’s see,—that would be twenty-five dollars, wouldn’t it? I haven’t your English money clear in my mind yet,” John confided to Philip. “I can’t somehow feel that it’s real money unless it’s in dollars and cents.”