Kynance Mews (19 January)

Since today was the second-last late opening at the V&A before the Volume installation ends, we decided to head down for another evening of yummy French-press coffee (complete with mellow piano in the lovely café),

and the hypnotic sounds and lights in the enclosed garden space.
On our way to the V&A, I noticed this booth in the tube station—since most of the bad-news magnets were in the booth rather than on the signs in the station, it meant that our journey was a smooth one.
Although the night was warm for January, skaters were still getting their taste of winter at the Natural History Museum (across the street from the V&A). The skating didn’t look too ideal though, with a third of the rink closed off due to melting and the remainder with a substantial pool of water on the skating surface. Still, the people looked like they were enjoying themselves, so who am I to complain for them?
After we left the V&A at closing, we went in search of a blue-plaque address that I had heard was nearby. As we wandered in what we thought was the general direction of our destination, we came across the most amazing discovery.
This short street, ending in a cul-de-sac, was an oasis in the middle of the wide, grand streets of South Kensington and Knightsbridge. The lane’s arched entrance compelled us to cross busy Gloucester Road to investigate, and what we found turned out to be one of our favourite London streets so far, maybe because it was so unexpected, so out-of-place . . . Walking through the arch transported us from the nearby Natural History Museum, Science Museum, V&A, Royal Albert Hall, and Kensington Gardens to a quiet, beautiful, enclave of village charm and tranquillity.


We peered into some well-lit living rooms, imagined the lives of the people who lived there, and were tempted to say to the one man we saw loading packages from his car into his house, “We love your street!” but kept politely quiet. Cobbled, winding steps up to a church, a plaque proclaiming some hanging flowers as the winners of a “garden box award,” and these little guardians over a window were some of the quaint treasures of the Mews.
Back on track, we wandered down Hyde Park Gate, which turned out to be laden with blue plaques. Toward the end of the cul-de-sac was the trio that I wanted to see. I felt a bit self-conscious staring at the house, since a woman was sitting, facing out of her window just to the left of the plaques, so I moved until I was out of her field of vision before snapping these photos.

Coming from a city like Vancouver, with comparatively little history in relation to London, the thought of living in the house where Virginia Woolf was born seems impossible to me. And yet, here was this woman, just living her life, talking on the phone, typing on her laptop, with family photos on her mantel and a quiet Friday night at home. How does she give directions to her friends when she has them over for tea or dinner? “Yes, well, I’m on Hyde Park Gate—just keep going down the street until you come to the only house with three blue plaques.” Bob wondered if there was a house in London with four blue plaques—we shall keep you posted as to what we find!