Lachlan passed away in January 2010.  As a memorial, this site remains as he left it.
Therefore the information on this site may not be current or accurate and should not be relied upon.
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Welcome to Lachlan Cranswick's Personal Homepage in Melbourne, Australia

Lachlan's London, UK 2002 and 2003 Web Journal

Images of Senate House as viewed from Russell Square - Sort of some more In search of Room 101 in Senate House, London - 18th February 2003

(Senate House is considered to be the architectual inspiration for the four ministries in George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four")

Lachlan's Homepage is at http://lachlan.bluehaze.com.au

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[Back to Lachlan's Homepage] | [What's New]
[Index to Lachlan's London, UK 2001 Web Journal] | [Index to Lachlan's London, UK 2002/2003 Web Journal]
Room 101 - Senate House, London: [1 of 2] | [2 of 2] | More: [3 of 2] | [4 of 2]

Extract from George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four":

Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer; though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste-this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willowherb straggled over the heaps of rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright-lit tableaux, occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.

Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

The Ministry of Truth - Minitrue, in Newspeak - was startingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace three hundred metres into the air. From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans of the Party:

WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.

The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three thousand rooms above ground level. and corresponding ramifications below. Scattered about London there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education and the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv and Miniplenty.

The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a place impossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements, steel doors and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.

Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen.

Image

Description

Map on the board at Russell Square Opening and closing times of Russell Square

  • Map on the board at Russell Square
  • Opening and closing times of Russell Square

Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square

  • Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square
  • Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square

Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square

  • Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square
  • Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square

Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

  • Senate House as viewed from inside Russell Square
  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

Senate House as viewed from Russell Square Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square
  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

Senate House as viewed from Russell Square Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square
  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

Senate House as viewed from Russell Square Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square
  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

London bus 188 Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

  • London bus 188
  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

Senate House as viewed from Russell Square Senate House as viewed from Russell Square

  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square
  • Senate House as viewed from Russell Square


Room 101 - Senate House, London: [1 of 2] | [2 of 2] | More: [3 of 2] | [4 of 2]

Poetry Links and stuff

Past and Present / I Remember, I Remember
(Thomas Hood, 1799-1845)

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor bought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And throught the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir frees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

Upon Westminster Bridge
(Sept. 3, 1802)
(William Wordsworth, 1770-1850)

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Skips, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beatifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at this own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

London, MDCCCII
(William Wordsworth, 1770-1850)

O friend! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being as I am, opprest
to think that now our life is only drest
For show; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook,

Or groom! - We must run glittering like a brook
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest;
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in Nature or in book

Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore:
Plain living and high thinking are no more:

The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.

London
(William Blake, 1757-1827)

I wandered through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.

But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.


Room 101 - Senate House, London: [1 of 2] | [2 of 2] | More: [3 of 2] | [4 of 2]
[Back to Lachlan's Homepage] | [What's New]
[Index to Lachlan's London, UK 2001 Web Journal] | [Index to Lachlan's London, UK 2002/2003 Web Journal]

[Intro - CranClan] . . [Happening Things] . . [The Daresbury Laboratory Web Ring of Life] . . [NCS - Non-Competitive Scrabble] . . [Garden Gnomes of Daresbury Laboratory] . . [Nature and Local UK Things] . . [USA 2001 and LDEO Columbia University] . . [Historical Literature/Poetry] . . [Music] . . [Misc Things] . . [DL SRS Status] . . [Conference and Travel Things] . . [The Wonders of Team Building] . . [Other People's Homepages] . . [Crystallographic Internet Front] . . [While in Melbourne] . . [Semi Relevant Links]
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