The Lions in Winter

In January I spent a week in a London.  But this wasn’t just plain old London; it was London in the harshest winter the UK has known in years; and it was magnificent.  Buildings, trees and bushes were all outlined in pristine white against a clear, dark winter sky; the fairy lights on Harrods illuminated deserted Knightsbridge streets; every Brit we encountered complained of the “Arctic cold” (it was -1°C) and assured us we had arrived “at a very bad time.”

Our first morning, we headed for Trafalgar Square to admire the snow bedecking the bronze manes of its four proud lions.  As always, we felt a swelling of colonial pride at the sight of the flapping red and white flags garlanding Canada House on the west side of the square.  What an architectural gem!   What an impressive address!  What fond memories this imposing building held!

I remember travelling in Europe in the 1960’s when such a journey meant that we were isolated from family and home for weeks or even months at a time.  We wouldn’t dare call or cable home unless it was literally a matter of life and death; European newspapers did not cover Canadian events and CNN had not been invented.  What a joy it was in those days to walk up the steps of Canada House and feel we had come home.  We eagerly collected messages from other travelling friends and letters from family and friends written on onion skin paper and folded origami-style into little pale blue square packages that were impossible to open without rendering at least two of the sentences illegible.  The comfortable Library displayed rows of well-thumbed Canadian papers that would bring us up to date on the latest news (latest meaning what had happened up until a mere two weeks previously since the papers, being shipped by sea were invariably out of date by the time they arrived).   The staff went about their business and smiled indulgently as we took turns reading snippets of  ‘news’ and family highlights out loud to each other.  

In more recent years, before cell phones, iPods and free WIFI, Canada House provided a bank of computers for our use.  Visits to London would be punctuated by frequent stops in Trafalgar Square to check our inbox, whip off an email, catch up on the latest news. 

So it was no surprise last month that I automatically wandered over to the familiar front door of Canada House.  The steps were unshovelled and the door was locked tight.  Recalling previous visits when the building was under repair and a rear entrance had been in use, I worked my way to the back door.  The black wrought iron gate was padlocked shut and squinting through the railings I could just make out the message on a piece of white paper taped to the door providing a cell number for deliveries.  There was no sign of life and no other information. 

I have since learned that the government, reversing its decision to close Canada House, had renovated and opened it during the Olympics.  It has subsequently been closed to compete the work.  Wouldn’t you think, since this project is obviously taking several months, that someone would have thought of preparing an official sign instructing visitors – lonely ex-pats, Canadian travellers in need of help, prospective immigrants – where to find Canadian consular services. 

So I walked wistfully away and paid one more visit to Nelson’s rather cold and surprised feline companions then headed off through the snow to acquaint myself with London in winter.

          Trafalgar Square Lion with Canada House in the background.