First to London and crossing Waterloo Bridge.
A bright clear morning. Thence to Russell Squarewhere a London pigeon wandered by a green door.
The Foundling Museum was fascinating and a mixture of happy and sad. What stories here. What names!
Each one an invitation to imagine their tale.Such bleak little black beds. A menu rather heavy on bread and milk – in the days when so many children had nothing. Babies held by older foundlings on their christening day.
A dancing sprite on Oxford Street
And flowers at Liberty ‘s.