Hampton Court Palace, England
May 9, 2007
Children storybooks illustrate stories of kings, queens living happily ever after in their castles. I too grew up reading and listening to those tales. What I didn’t know was that my dream actually came true when I visited London, England few years back. My trip turned even more adventurous when I knew… sshhh.. Go on read my adventure
“Noooo! yelled Catherine Howard, the fifth queen of King Henry VIII as soldiers dragged her to the dungeon. Beheaded on the charges of adultery at the Tower of London in 1542, many say they can still hear her screaming in the corridors today.”
This documentary was a dramatized version of the actual events in history. The narrator of the program did a fine job of creating a sense of eeriness and managed to raise the hair at the back of my neck. I promised myself that some day I would be at Hampton Court, England.
Two years later, an opportunity pounded on my door, and rolled the red carpet for my visit to the United Kingdom. The well-planned, magnificent city of London had a wonderful way of making tourists feel comfortable. Detailed bus routes, metro maps and helpful passer-byes made a single girl’s travel easy.
The next day, I took a train from the Waterloo station to visit the architectural marvel of the Tudor age – Hampton Court Palace. Seated alone at the window seat of the empty train compartment I thought, “Is it going to be as spooky as the documentary? Will shadows and ghostly images get captured when I take photographs?”
I diverted my attention to the travel brochure, “Thomas Wolsey had bought the site in 1514 on the river Thames to build his home. But his dreams remained incomplete when it was taken over by Henry VIII. Then started the re-building process. Wolsey’s 280 rooms were given new styles and the palace was extended to create more kitchens, library, towers to suit the needs of Henry VIII and his six wives.”
“Last stop, Hampton Court,” announced the train driver.
Five minutes walk from the station and I was at the castle gates, buying my ticket. “I’m here, I’m here,” said my heart leaping and dancing around in my chest.With a skip in my stride, I eagerly walked towards the entrance. Suddenly, the weather changed from a bright, sunny morning to a grey, cloudy sky. Strong winds blew, to welcome me and I bowed my head, accepting the greeting, trying to shield my eyes from watering. Snarling gargoyles carrying royal emblems stood guard at the doorway, watching with piercing eyes as I took their pictures and entered the main courtyard.
The 500 years of royal history was divided into various sections and the best way to explore it was to use the audio guide, available in six different languages. It’s a portable CD player with headphones. Each room had a specific number which had to be fed in the machine and played. A friendly voice explained the history relating to that area.Before I started my exploration from the centre courtyard, my eyes couldn’t stop wandering to the gilded clock on the tower. In 1540, Nicholas Oursian crafted this magnificent astronomical timepiece which shows the hours, days of the week, the month, the time of high tide, the phases of the moon, and the zodiac signs.“Was that made of real gold?” I thought.
People dressed in period costumes posed with the tourists, recreating the feeling of the gone era. The Tudor Kitchen seemed like a good place to start. A replica of the kitchen was placed in the centre of a room to explain to the visitors how the 3000 square feet area was compartmentalized to accommodate 200 cooks and helpers who prepared meals for over 800 people. Spotlights highlighted each section like the Spicery, the cellars, the meat-boiling area and confectionary while the audio guide explained how the work was smoothly carried out daily. After this introduction, I started my walk through the kitchen where taxidermies of pigs, lambs, peacocks were artistically placed to capture the essence of their lifestyle.
The State rooms were next. The Great Hall was the largest room of the palace and its walls were adorned with rich tapestry. It’s so hard to imagine the amount of time, the weavers must have taken to weave something so intricate and so life like. The enormous beam roof was decorated with batches, medals and royal emblems, adding richness to the ambience.The rooms where royalties waited to meet the king had large chandeliers, plush velvet chairs, beautiful Oriental vases and tapestry. My eyes feasted on the fine intricate warp and weft which depicted wars, while others had Greek gods and Angels. Gilded-intricate framework of the paintings, ornate designs on the ceilings are just beyond a common man’s imagination.
“Wow! This is how the kings and queens lived.”
On the way to next section I came across the Chapel Royal where services were being held and it was a Sunday. I bowed my head and quietly left.
A painting workshop was organized for children. The little ones were provided paper and colored pens and they enthusiastically painted emblems of the Kings and made badges out of them. It was a wonderful way to keep the kids entertained and teach them history. Finally, the sign said ‘Haunted Gallery’. It was here Catherine Howard was dragged to her death. Tired with all the excitement, I sat at the window seat of the room and watched the portraits adorning the walls. The attire, jewelry and hairstyles of the Queens in the paintings seemed so realistic. Mesmerized with the mystical voice of the audio guide, I watched the garden outside. As I turned my attention back to the room, I froze.“Those eyes in the painting blinked.” I felt my mouth dry up and I slowly got up from my seat.“Excuse me; did you see the eyes of this Lady shift?” I asked a man, standing in front, pointing to the portrait.
“Sorry, no English,” he replied.
“Maybe I should ask one of the guards in the room. There could be someone else who had experienced this.”
But then I backed out thinking, “They don’t call this gallery haunted for nothing. Anything is possible.”
The Wolsey Closet was another area where many newsletters had reported was supposed to be spooky. It was believed that people had felt something evil and sinister there. I waited for a while hoping to sense the unknown. Instead my stomach growled for attention.
The Tudor dining area had long tables with benches, candles mounted on wooden frames hanging from the ceiling, rustic fireplace and photographs of the palace adorning the white walls. Tourists sat reading brochures of the palace, mothers watching over children and I looked in my bowl of steamy potato soup wondering how mystical this place was.
A tour of the gardens was the next on my agenda. Large statues adorned the place along with orange trees tantalizing my taste buds as I walked to the stairway leading to the vast ornate expanse of lush, green grass.
“I wish I were a shape shifter.”
This term will be familiar to the science fiction fans. It describes those aliens who can change their forms. They can camouflage themselves in a body of an animal or humans to mingle freely without arousing suspicions.
“I would change into a bee and hide in the gardens. When the place closes and all the tourists leave, I could slip into the palace and explore the hidden chambers and look for …. Whoever lives here?”
I laughed at my far-fetched imagination and walked down the garden clicking photographs of the unusual dimensions of trees when I saw a movement in one of the castle’s window. I focused on the zoom lens. My fingers trembled nervously as I watched with baited breath. The curtains shook again. Then I saw a hand. Now it was a slender, fair arm, and as the curtain was pushed aside. There stood a woman dressed in a white-laced blouse. Her long-wavy hair covered her face and I snapped pictures in full speed.
“This could be it. She could be a ….. ghost.”
The woman turned looking at the courtyard and then I saw she had a cell phone to her ear. “Oh! That’s the souvenir shop.”The darkness slowly captured the evening sky and the moon peeped through the clouds. It was time to go. Even though I had toured the whole place, I still wanted to stay. I looked at the palace for one last time and smiled.
“There are no ghosts here. It’s just me and my imagination.” The wind blew; disheveling my hair and I felt a slight tug.
“Ha ha!” I laughed and left to catch the last train to London.
This travelogue has been published by The Travel Rag.
©Nayna, 2007. All Rights Reserved.
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