It is difficult, here in the UK, to go very far without stumbling upon an ancient door.
People still live in old houses, and use the traditional churches . And they so often have those doors which make us marvel; because they’re tiny.
People in those times, I conclude, must have been little too.
So the cathedral spires, which have dominated cities throughout Europe for centuries, must have been utterly arresting for folks centuries ago.
Imagine, when all the other buildings in the city were squat wattle-and-daub two storey affairs with creaking floors; when even the impenetrable city walls were squat and thick, build for sturdiness, a statement of invincibility rather than immortality.
But as carts rolled ponderously through the gates, gaining access to the small world within, the towering spire of the cathedral would dominate their line of sight.
Imagine entering the French city of Chartres, from as early as the 11th century, and beholding a pyramid spire stretching 105 metres into the sky. Anyone who could construct that could surely guarantee immortality.
It was designed to inspire awe. The builders would tell you they built it for God. But its spire gave the Church both perspective and status. It must have been a powerful tool in keeping the peasant masses in thrall to their religious leaders.
Height is a great humbler.
Look at the Tower of Babel. After the flood, the old texts say, everyone spoke the same language.
And they decided they would build a great tower with its top in the heavens: so they’d have a bit of control, just in case they should get scattered again.
A tower that tall, in the heavens? It gave man far too much power. Whatever they wanted they would be able to do: nothing would be withheld from them.
Rather than knock the whole sorry structure down God was canny. He gave them all different languages and confounded communications. The whole thing quickly became a shambles. The people left off building, because no-one could understand a thing anyone else was saying.
Communications were the reason behind the building of another tower: one which eclipsed St Paul’s Cathedral’s domination of the London skyline.
Finally, a building with its top in the heavens would unite the nations and their communication systems: not using God and his like, but rather the power of the microwave.
These short waves are useful things: they transmit data like telephone calls, pictures and television signals, but they needed a line of sight to do so.
A smaller steel lattice tower had been built in the 1940s in Camden’s Cleveland Street on the roof of a telephone exchange. But it couldn’t carry the signals of London in the swinging sixties.
The tower that could was the Post Office Tower.
A stunning sight: it was concrete clad in glass. It needed to be tall and thin to accomodate the aerials. The first sixteen floors were given over to machinery and power generation, and above that were 35 metres dedicated to microwave dishes.
Then came six floors of offices and suites; and finally, that famous cantilevered section with a revolving restaurant.
It was the General Post Office Tower: these days its the British Telecom Tower. Microwaves have been long overtaken by modern technology.
Lamentably, it’s not open to the public.
But Phil’s job was an open sesame which, today, took him inside and upwards.
The lift was just, he said, like Charlie’s great glass elevator: all silver walls and clever angles and almost irresistible buttons. And when it moved, the machinery without sounded like a stiff wind.
It shot up to the 34th floor. “You are now travelling,” an atomated voice informed him, “at 1400 feet a minute.”
Nothing prepared him for the view when the doors opened: he gazed straight from the lift, which was set at the core of the building, out through the glass onto London, laid out before him.
The revolving section was motionless when Phil arrived: and then there was a ‘clunk’ and it moved imperceptibly, changing the scenery of one of the greatest city of the world to the wonder of all.
In one view, he could see Big Ben, Westminster Bridge, Harrods and Battersea Power Station. The only people who get to see that, normally, are pilots and Peter Pan.
He could see courtyards he had never dreamt existed and a church which had been excavated all the way down past the crypt, fenced away from the prying eyes of the general public.
Here, one saw London with the eyes of a god; here, all languages were as nothing to the power of modern communication.
A great modern secular structure has dwarfed the cathedrals that dominated our real and spiritual landscapes for so long.
Now there’s a modern metaphor for you.
Kate Shrewsday 
They don’t make ’em like that anymore 😦
They don’t… I’d love to see it opened to the public, but I think security concerns did away with that long ago….
Wow, just reading this is breath-taking, Kate! What an experience for Phil…thank you both for sharing 🙂 Our lazy champagne spin on the London eye comes to mind, which was pretty impressive too, albeit in apalling winter weather!
The London Eye is a great vantage point – I loved seeing the Houses of Parliament tiny beneath me!
A very lucky experience for Phil. We have a copy-cat tower here in Johannesburg, on a smaller scale. Sadly, it too is closed to the public. I am curious about the excavated church …
We were, too, Cindy. a little research, I think….
I love panoramic views where you feel on top of the world – lucky Phil, and a wonderful history lesson from you Kate leading up to it. Hope you saw my message about room 90 – it is in the British Museum not the V & A!
Yes, thanks, Rosemary – i just thought that as we were in London for the V&A we might as well go a bit further in, to the British Museum, to take in Room 90 – think Maddie would love this. Such a beautiful art form…and a brand new artist to learn about too in Mary Delaney.
Lucky Phil! Hope he took his camera. ‘…a church which had been excavated all the way down past the crypt…’ I wonder why? And hidden from prying eyes?
Just the usual towering billboards I think, Denise: but I will be doing a little research to find out which church it was. Of to Google Earth…..
The cathedral or the dictator of our contemporary technopolis is the clock. It rules all.
I totally agree, Carl.
Just catching up a bit while the little miss is till asleep. Grandparenting is – GRAND – and what to my wondering eyes do I see, but, this wonderful post, Kate. What an exicitng ride up for Phil. I’d take that over an amusement park ride any ol’ day.
I was wondering about the church as well as adeeyoyo. Hm?
Now, Penny, I’m honoured: I know all too well how precious the time when they are napping can be. An eye in a delightful storm. That you spent some of it reading this, well, that’s above and beyond the call of duty.
So: I assume you must be Kezzie-sitting….what precious (if exhausting) times….
Lucky Phil. I agree with you and so many of the other commenters. There’s nothing quite like ascending to the heavens in a building and observing the world from a different perspective.
That church deserves some additional inspection. 🙂
It’s on my list, Andra: Google Earth, locate and then maybe get permission to visit and photograph. Project!
Thanks for sharing Peter Pan’s view of London! 😀
You’re welcome, Nancy. My next project is to get an invite myself….
What in his job took him there? I’m intrigued
Just a right royal jolly, Pseu 😀 Some people get all the perks, don’t they?
What a great experience…and so well written, Kate! I really appreciate your style and gift.
Thank you, Amy 🙂 I loved your latest post on the place of experience. The sculptures were rather beautiful.
Wow – it must be an amazing view from up there, Kate and a butterflies-in-the-stomach ride to the top
It must, mustn’t it BB? Time for me to cadge an invitation, I think…
Sounds wonderful. Of course, the response from modern technology would be, ‘Why all the trouble of going up the tower when you can Google Earth London and have the same thing going for you?
Google Earth don’t feed you free dinner, Col 😀
I managed to visit the tower before it was closed. I wish I could do it again – it was an amazing experience. I love the Eye, but going up and down isn’t quite the same as going round.
It made quite an impression on Phil, Nuvofelt. These visits of his happen perennially from here on, so I’m hoping to cadge an invite myself one of these days…
The tower of Babel was just a project with all sections outsourced and no overall architect
Have you seen Breugel’s tower? it bears your hypothesis out rather well: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Brueghel-tower-of-babel.jpg
The tower in Sydney was opento the public when I was there the last time. it is fun to look round from above. I felt a little like a city pigeon
😀 What a lovely comparison…
Ah, wow!
I’ve always been a reluctant climber, afraid of heights. But on a retreat during my college years I persuaded myself to climb a rather diminutive lookout tower. And I climbed it again, and again. Funny, though; my favorite memory of it is not the sweep of autumnal countryside it revealed in the daytime, but instead the night climb I made, when the top of the tower was so wrapped in fog that I could not see beyond the railings.
Oh, the drama! I can so understand that: because you knew what was beyond, and because of water droplets suspended in air you could not see a thing. Wonderful.
Wow! What a marvel the tower must be! I got a little vertigo reading about it, lol.
Sadly I would never have the nerve to go up so high lol, theres somewhere in America I think that has a glass floor high up, wuldn’t have the wherewithall to wlak on that either!
I bet the view was amazing though