All Souls Church: It’s England. It’s Sunday. It’s Church of England for me. All Souls Church was nearby (on Regent St.) and I had scouted out the premises the day before. I arrived just as the service began, and the sanctuary was full, so were the balconies. And, this was the third of four services for the day. Big screens were all over (and I am told even in the basement for really busy times); they carried words to the hymns, scripture readings, and notes for the sermon, which was on Revelation (the book we had just covered at my home church in Virginia Beach). Music was provided by a lead guitarist accompanied by a small band. Of course, prayers went up for the newlyweds and for the Queen, and, among others, those who lost their lives in the tornadoes that hit Alabama. I was told this church was almost demolished in the 1960s (though it had just been rebuilt after the war), but then, an energetic minister led the congregation to new heights. All Souls seemed to be the perfect name for this church for there were souls there from all over the world. I sat next to some South Koreans and I could see faces from all over Asia and Africa in the crowd, plus plenty of Brits. They seemed to have lots of activities for everyone all throughout the week. If you are looking for the spirit of place as you travel, try attending the most spiritual of places, churches. They usually provide lots of local insight into what makes a community tick and you get to meet all the locals.
Getting My Ears Lowered: I never get a haircut at home, so I left Virginia Beach with a mane far too shaggy. I was going to carefully select a location and a barber here in London, but Sunday afternoon an opportunity on Oxford Street presented itself. There was Mr. Topper’s (all over London and maybe farther). A chair opened up and into it I hopped. Instead of a Mr. Topper, it was a Ms. Topper who did the deed. “I want to look like a Brit,” I told her. She asked me questions about how I wanted my hair cut, which I couldn’t answer, so I said again that I wanted to look British. I think she finally got it (read: English not native tongue) and to work she got. I got my money’s worth (9L plus tip): short on the sides and spikey ends up top. Now, I can blend in. Haircuts are great souvenirs, perhaps the only souvenir that actually diminishes the weight of the sojourner. This one should get me to the next continent.
Geographically yours,
Getting My Ears Lowered: I never get a haircut at home, so I left Virginia Beach with a mane far too shaggy. I was going to carefully select a location and a barber here in London, but Sunday afternoon an opportunity on Oxford Street presented itself. There was Mr. Topper’s (all over London and maybe farther). A chair opened up and into it I hopped. Instead of a Mr. Topper, it was a Ms. Topper who did the deed. “I want to look like a Brit,” I told her. She asked me questions about how I wanted my hair cut, which I couldn’t answer, so I said again that I wanted to look British. I think she finally got it (read: English not native tongue) and to work she got. I got my money’s worth (9L plus tip): short on the sides and spikey ends up top. Now, I can blend in. Haircuts are great souvenirs, perhaps the only souvenir that actually diminishes the weight of the sojourner. This one should get me to the next continent.
Geographically yours,
D.J.Z.
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