The Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology

You’d think, given all the research I did for Mr. Impossible—not to mention my lifelong fascination with Egyptology—that I would have known all about the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaelogy. But I wrote that book quite a few years ago, when most of my research happened with books, and what was available online, while immensely helpful, wasn’t a fraction of what we find today.

That has to explain why it was such a surprise to discover it—by accident, no less—while looking for another museum around the corner, also part of University College London. The collection includes more than 80,000 objects. We did as much as we could in two phases, before and after lunch, and the boatload of photos below, will, I hope, give you an idea of what’s there.

Amelia Edwards, whose bust and book appear in the photo gallery, was an important source for me. The museum notes, as I realized while writing my book, that her attitude and prejudices reflect her time. This is bound to happen with research. So the trick is to aim for authenticity with hints here and there of the attitudes—because they offer important insights into the times—but to keep the not-so-pleasant stuff subdued. At the same time, I do try not to sound too 21st century, because I don’t want to jar readers out of the world I’ve created. Still, all writers reflect their times. That’s as true of me as it is of Amelia Edwards or any of the numerous other authors whose work I consulted.

As to the artifacts: The museum doesn’t have an elaborate guidebook, so the information is limited to what we (meaning my husband, under my command) could photograph, and I am not an Egyptologist, so I can’t offer further enlightenment. I can tell you one thing: Generally speaking, it’s believed that the shabtis—those little figurines—were meant to serve the deceased in the afterlife.

Again, you will find very brief videos on my Facebook and Instagram Author pages.

The London Transport Museum

Characters have to get from one place to another. In the time of my stories, they could travel on horseback, in a private carriage (or lesser vehicle, like a farm cart), or via public transport. Though I’ve spent time before at the London Transport Museum, I always discover something I’ve missed or forgotten. And this visit offered a fresh opportunity to share a bit of this wonderful museum, and perhaps help readers visualize the world of my stories.

London was a vastly different, and definitely smaller, place then. Kensington was “the Old Court Suburb,” and the Notting Hill of My Inconvenient Duke was rural, with gravel pits and piggeries and brick making. I’m currently staying in Notting Hill, among antique shops and not-inexpensive clothing stores and fine restaurants. The “Porto Bello Lane” of my story is Portobello Road, crowded on market days with dealers and tourists. Shops and housing line the streets.

I can hop on a bus a short walk from my place, while an almost-as-short walk takes me to a Tube Station.

My characters had to travel via other means, but, given the traffic, not necessarily more speedily. Depending on the time of day, I suspect the bus would move only a little more quickly than Blackwood and Alice did.

Some notes about the images:

The museum includes not only prints of construction under way in London, but also scale models. And let us bear in mind that virtually all of this work was done by hand, with a few mechanical devices to help. Artist George Scharf made many drawings of numerous demolition and construction projects in London. It’s the closest we can come to photographs, before photography happened. You can find many of his works in the British Museum’s online collection.

The horse is all-important throughout the Regency and Victorian eras. Although the photograph of the stables is much later than the time of my stories, it gives a sense of the great number of horses needed for the various kinds of transport. Huge stables like these filled vast blocks in and about the coaching inns. At a future date, I hope to show a map of the George Inn, which Alice and Blackwood visit in search of Jonesy . Today, one may see a remnant—a rare example of the galleried coaching inns—and a fraction of what one would have encountered in its heyday.

If you’ve been subscribing to this blog for a while, you’ve probably seen the image of a hackney cabriolet before. When I mention vehicles speeding along the London streets or “occasionally throwing out passengers,” this is the vehicle. It’s a nice model of a single-passenger vehicle, but there were cabs that could hold two people, not very comfortably.

Once again, I have to apologize for the randomness of some of the images. My available technology while traveling is limited, and procedures possible on my laptop are not possible on my tablet. This is why—among other things—the omnibus information and images are not in proper sequence.

The Florence Nightingale Museum

I happened to find myself in London, looking up at a statue of Florence Nightingale on her birthday. At the time, I was on a tour of Ben Franklin’s life in London, of all things. But the Florence Nightingale Museum was on my list of Places to Visit, and two days later, I ventured into the precincts of St. Thomas’s Hospital and thence to the museum.

Like so many of my generation, I first heard of Florence Nightingale in elementary school. It took a few decades for me to realize her significance. Even so, the museum was an eye opener. You can read the Wikipedia article for a detailed account of her life and accomplishments. For now, I’ll simply share some of the museum experience.

Please be aware that I do not have my laptop, but am working with tablet and phone, neither of which is ideal for a blog post, it turns out, which means you may expect workarounds, and maybe not so many links as usual. But since everybody doesn’t get to spend a month in London and be all nerdy history all the time, I hope you’ll enjoy traveling with me, despite the glitches.

Below is a gallery of images from the museum. A couple of notes:

The photograph of Florence Nightingale was taken shortly after her return from the Crimea. She was ill, and had lost so much weight that her parents were horrified. She cut her hair while in the Crimea because it needed too much care—energy she wanted to reserve for her patients…and for dealing with the bureaucracy and the doctors.

By the way, she was quite tall for her time—5’8”—and I hope my metric system readers will be kind enough to translate that into understandable measurements.

The bed is the one she died in. (I may be mistaken, and it may be a reproduction, but I failed to make a note at the time.) Beside it is a phonograph, which allows you to hear a recording of her voice. You can access this recording on the Wikipedia page. The little box at the front of the photo contains a soap with her favorite scent.

I had heard of the chef Alexis Soyer. I hadn’t realized he was also in the Crimea, and made his own major contribution to saving lives.

Many of the placards are posted against what appear to be bandages or hospital dressings, and there is a sound effect meant to indicate rats scurrying through.

The courage of the women who went out to nurse under these nightmarish conditions is beyond my imagining. As to the men: War is hell, as, tragically, we continue to be reminded every day.