We left the rental condo at 8:30 and drove northeast through Missouri, eating lunch at Culver’s in Jefferson City.
In the afternoon we stopped at Westminster College in Fulton to see America’s National Churchill Museum. In March, 1946, the college asked Churchill to speak. President Truman, who was from Missouri, urged Churchill to accept, and so he did. His speech warned of the “iron curtain” descending across Europe as Russia dominated the countries it had overrun during WWII.
The museum is housed underneath a 17th-century London church called St. Mary the Virgin, Aldermanbury. It was designed by famous British architect Sir Christopher Wren, but after being seriously damaged in the blitz, the British were going to tear it down. Instead, it was dismantled and brought to central Missouri.
We asked, and a young man escorted us upstairs into the restored church, which was beautiful. Wren insisted on clear windows instead of stained glass to let in light.
The museum would have been better if it included more artifacts rather than just signboards to read, but it was about half a mile off our route and worth the time it took. It also featured a special exhibit on Blenheim, the estate of the Duke of Marlborough, where Churchill (a relative of the Duke) was born.
It was about another hour to Hannibal. After much discussion, we settled on a Best Western near the historic downtown area. But when we arrived, a busload of seniors had just finished checking in and all that was left were king suites for $200+ a night. When I said that was too much, the lady behind the desk called the Lighthouse Inn just up the street and then sent us there. We knew nothing about it, but on blind faith booked a room for $158. It was a weird place, right next door to a weed-covered abandoned building and just down from the Happy Stay Inn where the lady at the Best Western said we “don’t want to go.” Check-in was mostly on-line. The lady in the office who checked us in was leaving at 6:00 p.m. We ended up in a suite with two large rooms and a bath, hard, ugly furniture, and no decoration except a full-wall mural of the Golden Gate Bridge in the bedroom.
We ate supper at the Mark Twain Dinette, which served Maid-Rite loose meat sandwiches. Think sloppy joe without the sauce. They were mediocre, but the onion rings and house root beer were very good. I felt pretty sick during the night, and I suspect this may be my last loose meat sandwich.
Back at our weird hotel, we watched an old, awful Loretta Young movie on TV and tried to ignore the guys who pulled up in their loud car and had a shouting and swearing fest in the room below us. But we survived the night and woke in the morning none the worse for wear.