In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

To Americans, London is not a real place. Of course, we know and acknowledge it as the British capital and as a world metropolis. But really, it is a city of legend and myth. Paddington Bear waits at his eponymous railway station, as Sherlock Holmes sits and smokes his pipe and ponders his latest mystery over at 221B Baker Street. Soccer hooligans roam the streets, causing trouble regardless of whether Arsenal or Chelsea won. Harry Potter soars over London Bridge (which Tower Bridge is often mistakenly called, since why would London Bridge now be in Arizona) fighting the Death Eaters, narrowly avoiding a mid-air collision with his literary forerunner, Peter Pan. After dark, watch your wallet, or the Artful Dodger may try to pick your pocket. And should you stumble out of a pub too late at night in the wrong part of town, Jack the Ripper may be lying in wait. I traveled to that storybook city, landing at Heathrow Airport in a pre-dawn, jet-lagged haze. No matter whether the flight originates in Asia or North America, it always seems to arrive very early in the morning, after a multi-hour journey. The traveler is then greeted by an immigration official who grills him or her about the reasons for visiting the UK, employment status, and, for third-country visitors— people arriving from a country different from the embarkation point of their flight and who are not resident in the UK—additional questions may relate to any number of topics that will allow the official to establish whether their intentions are legitimate. After this morning pick-me-up, the passenger collects baggage and then likely boards the Heathrow Express train. Head still spinning from a long flight, western London whirrs by in the pre-dawn, finally depositing the new arrival at Paddington Station. Chapter 11 London and Portsmouth 112 Poseidon I was excited to be in London again. Having visited now and then since the early 1990s, it had become my favorite city in the world. Pulling my suitcase behind me, I walked to my hotel in the quiet, residential Bayswater area not far from the station, for a brief rest, a quick shower, and a full day planned at the National Archives. Despite being the repository for much of the physical history of the UK, the National Archives does not receive the huge number of visitors that London’s other major museums do. The archives are away from the city center in Kew, so going from Bayswater felt very much like backtracking to the airport. Walking from Kew Gardens Underground station to the archives, one weaves through a pleasant neighborhood that otherwise would get very little foot traffic. The tranquility of this quarter is disturbed only by one thing: About every ninety seconds, a commercial airliner on final approach to Heathrow roars overhead. Although the planes do not pass over the archives building, I pondered the wisdom of putting the storehouse for the nation’s most important official documents so close to the flight path of one of the world’s busiest airports. Opened in 1977, the National Archives campus recalls other publicly funded European facilities from the same era. Passing through the simple metal gate that serves as the entrance, the visitor is greeted by a large reflecting pool, frequently occupied by ducks. Upon arriving at the archives, visitors who intend to access any of the research areas are directed either to the lockers, where they can store a bag or other items, or to registration to obtain a reader’s ticket. A reader’s ticket requires identification with a photograph and valid signature, and a separate proof of address. This kind of access to the National Archives, especially because it is offered on the same basis to UK citizens and non-citizens alike, is the hallmark of freedom of information and an open society. I was frankly stunned that, as a non-UK national, I could so freely obtain and examine original Royal Navy files, at my leisure, without additional supervision from archives staff. I am still amazed by this relatively unrestricted admission into a primary document storage area. After getting my ticket, actually more an ID card, I beeped into the reading room, carrying only a standard clear plastic bag with archivesapproved materials: a pencil (no pens allowed), a small notebook, and a digital camera to photograph pages from the documents I had requested. Seated throughout the room, which overlooks a lawn...

Share