The weather has been glorious. Everything seems beautiful. I would probably find the tarmac to be unique and the garbage cans clever were I to pay them any attention, in weather as beautiful as this. People always groan about the weather here, but I am deceived into loving the place because of days like today and yesterday, (and fingers crossed, tomorrow and the day after as well).
Eileen Donan Castle has occupied its spot on the hill for more time than is fully known (ie, it has prehistoric stones left on the site, and then a couple of layers for the current buildings. Though in great ruin and disrepair, it was bought by a Mr.McRae _______ and his family in 1913 and for the following 20 years or so, built up and repaired. It is now a headquarters to the McRae Clan. It's location is spectacular, surrounded by waters that are tidal - sometimes accessible by land, and at other times, only accessible by the bridge leading to it.
Today we visited Stirling Castle, and again the sun shone. Bright and warm. I even managed to get down to just my t-shirt! It made the green lawns look even brighter, and the trees offering shade seemed to actually serve a purpose! Stirling castle was a royal home for centuries, and wasn't really meant to be a strong hold for fighting, but was positioned in a stategic place...sort of in the middle of Scotland's narrowest part of land. The Stuarts lived there, and there are major restoration works taking place on the palace/residential buildings at the moment. It will look amazing as they cover up all the stones with the lime wash, tinted in the same colours as they were originally. It is hard to imagine an old castle without it's stones showing - and yet, the majority of castles were probably once rendered in something...
We learnt more in our journey to understanding the positions of Englishmen, Scots and Jacobites, and the conflicts they had. Unfortunately there is still way much to learn, so I shan't attempt a definition as it would most likely be wrong! The kids most thoroughly enjoyed watching 'two of Cromwell's men' (with disticnctively Glaswegian accents)explaining how the seige went on the castle, when highlanders were the ones defending it, and also how to load and fire their muskets.
We repeated our never-to-be-repeated act of not having accommodation pre-booked, and headed to Oban. This time there was a lot less stress, as the first place we went to gave us a room - on the top floor- of course....it is always the top floor, which is good for the view, but not great for the lugging of heavy cases. It was a great big old house, on the end of the Esplanade. Even though it was part of a terrace building, it was still huge. Lots of rooms, at least 26, and a grand old drawing room downstairs, across the hall from the shared kitchen. All the front rooms look out into the bay. This is especially picturesque on a morning like this morning, where the waters are calm and still, and there are rows of sail boats, anchored in harbour.
We met a couple from Queensland, who have both left their jobs and are traveling the world for a year. What amazing places they have seen and been to. The man is calling it his midlife crisis...that's as may be...but what a way to have it.
Eliza's foot is getting better. She can walk most normally on it again, but it is still very tender.
On our last night in Plockton, we had dinner with Ailsa and Forbes, as they are holidaying near by. The good bye at the end of the evening was quite sad, and I had to focus on the possibility of them visiting us in Oz someday, as opposed to the likelihood of it being a long time, if not forever, before we see them again. Add this to the farewells at Bonar Bridge, and it starts to feel like things are coming to an end. However, we are now back at Innerleithen, enjoying the generosity of yet another of Cat and Stu's rellies (Stu's Mum and Dad this time). The focus will be on a good week, with lots to see and do...Edinburgh for example, and Melrose Abbey. Goodbyes will be dealt with later!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Speed, Bonnie Boat, like a bird on the wing
We have braved the midgies and visited Skye. Pleasantly, the midgies were no bother, and we were able to fully appreciate the scenery that is Skye.
The homes on Skye are distinctive in character, white, with slate rooves, with two or three ‘attic’ windows looking out from them. A little portico poking out around the front door. Most quaint. They are not so much concentrated onto road sides, as scattered over the hillsides. (Mainly around the township areas….other areas are quite bare of people and signs of them) There are craggy, smooth topped mountains, and a couple of quite sharp peaks in one spot, creating a landscape quite similar to those we encountered higher up on the west coast. The sea side is rather mighty looking – especially on a day like today where there have been wind warnings, as it is a stormy blue, with choppy waters wearing little white caps. Dark, ominous rocks poke their heads up amongst the waters, threatening boats but inviting birds.
Hours in a car do not rate highly on the kids lists of fun things to do, and I confess that today they missed much of the scenery by having their heads down, drawing on notebooks, to pass the time. Sam particularly was disgusted with himself (and us – because of course, it was our fault for not telling him, ‘Look now’) when he missed the Skye bridge going into Skye, and then again on our way out.
We did let the kids out at a playground at around midday, to stretch their legs before lunch. This ended badly, when Sam jumped off the seesaw without warning, with Eliza on the other end. Her poor left foot caught the impact as she came slamming down on top of it. There was screaming, followed by the usual debate that parents everywhere agonize over…do we find a hospital…do we let it go for a bit. I suppose that given our circumstances it isn’t surprising that we decided to let it slide a bit. (I should add that there were no visual signs of breakage at this point). She has continued to nurse it for the rest of the day, but I did see here walk towards some toys with nothing more than a slight limp mid arvo, and this evening she is walking on it again, albeit very gingerly. I think we shall be okay.
Whilst on Skye we visited the ancestral home of the McLeod Clan, in Dunvegan. I saw the vest of Bonnie Prince Charlie, which was good because I had been hanging out for some evidence of his fleeting visit. (We had stopped at the cemetery where Flora McDonald’s remains reside, and I was still missing some lines from the first verse, and chorus of the Skye Boat Song.) The gardens at Dunvegan are beautiful. Delightful. Waterfalls, wooden bridges, highly manicured garden beds and all enjoyed without being rained on.
We also popped into Skye’s only Whiskey distillery where two things happened. I found the words to the Skye boat song in a cabinet (unfortunately they were obscured with other bits of info) so I couldn’t quite make them all out. The other thing that I learnt was that I hate Whiskey. I took the little sampler thinking that perhaps my taste buds may have matured and a little sip of whiskey may prove enjoyable, but, er no. My taste buds have not matured enough that they enjoy the taste of acids, textas or petroleum products – guess I don’t need to worry about developing any nasty alchohol habits any time soon!
Flora MacDonald, by the way, was made famous when she smuggled Bonnie Prince Charlie from the mainland, to Skye, dressed as her handmaiden. He had been on the run since his defeat at Culloden, three months earlier, and from Skye escaped to France. Flora as captured and taken back to London as a prisoner, but her fame as a heroine spread quickly and all sorts wanted to visit her. Eventually she was released, returned to Scotland and married. She had five sons, and two daughters…and then emigrated to America, where her husband and her became caught up in the war of Independence. Her husband and sons fought. Husband was taken prisoner. She returned to Scotland to visit, and on the way home, was attacked by pirates and during the skirmish broke her arm which plagued her for the rest of her life. The amazing thing is that her husband and her were re-united in Scotland, and stayed and lived til old age. (Sadly, minus two sons, whose lives the war had claimed) She was such an inspirational woman, it is enough to make me like the name Flora!
We will head south tomorrow, visiting Eileen Doonan Castle, and Loch Ness on the way down, possibly staying at Oban or somewhere geographically similar. That will leave Tuesday to visit Stirling Castle, on our way back to Innerleithen. Then there will be only one week remaining before we leave Scotland, for ever. Gulp.
The homes on Skye are distinctive in character, white, with slate rooves, with two or three ‘attic’ windows looking out from them. A little portico poking out around the front door. Most quaint. They are not so much concentrated onto road sides, as scattered over the hillsides. (Mainly around the township areas….other areas are quite bare of people and signs of them) There are craggy, smooth topped mountains, and a couple of quite sharp peaks in one spot, creating a landscape quite similar to those we encountered higher up on the west coast. The sea side is rather mighty looking – especially on a day like today where there have been wind warnings, as it is a stormy blue, with choppy waters wearing little white caps. Dark, ominous rocks poke their heads up amongst the waters, threatening boats but inviting birds.
Hours in a car do not rate highly on the kids lists of fun things to do, and I confess that today they missed much of the scenery by having their heads down, drawing on notebooks, to pass the time. Sam particularly was disgusted with himself (and us – because of course, it was our fault for not telling him, ‘Look now’) when he missed the Skye bridge going into Skye, and then again on our way out.
We did let the kids out at a playground at around midday, to stretch their legs before lunch. This ended badly, when Sam jumped off the seesaw without warning, with Eliza on the other end. Her poor left foot caught the impact as she came slamming down on top of it. There was screaming, followed by the usual debate that parents everywhere agonize over…do we find a hospital…do we let it go for a bit. I suppose that given our circumstances it isn’t surprising that we decided to let it slide a bit. (I should add that there were no visual signs of breakage at this point). She has continued to nurse it for the rest of the day, but I did see here walk towards some toys with nothing more than a slight limp mid arvo, and this evening she is walking on it again, albeit very gingerly. I think we shall be okay.
Whilst on Skye we visited the ancestral home of the McLeod Clan, in Dunvegan. I saw the vest of Bonnie Prince Charlie, which was good because I had been hanging out for some evidence of his fleeting visit. (We had stopped at the cemetery where Flora McDonald’s remains reside, and I was still missing some lines from the first verse, and chorus of the Skye Boat Song.) The gardens at Dunvegan are beautiful. Delightful. Waterfalls, wooden bridges, highly manicured garden beds and all enjoyed without being rained on.
We also popped into Skye’s only Whiskey distillery where two things happened. I found the words to the Skye boat song in a cabinet (unfortunately they were obscured with other bits of info) so I couldn’t quite make them all out. The other thing that I learnt was that I hate Whiskey. I took the little sampler thinking that perhaps my taste buds may have matured and a little sip of whiskey may prove enjoyable, but, er no. My taste buds have not matured enough that they enjoy the taste of acids, textas or petroleum products – guess I don’t need to worry about developing any nasty alchohol habits any time soon!
Flora MacDonald, by the way, was made famous when she smuggled Bonnie Prince Charlie from the mainland, to Skye, dressed as her handmaiden. He had been on the run since his defeat at Culloden, three months earlier, and from Skye escaped to France. Flora as captured and taken back to London as a prisoner, but her fame as a heroine spread quickly and all sorts wanted to visit her. Eventually she was released, returned to Scotland and married. She had five sons, and two daughters…and then emigrated to America, where her husband and her became caught up in the war of Independence. Her husband and sons fought. Husband was taken prisoner. She returned to Scotland to visit, and on the way home, was attacked by pirates and during the skirmish broke her arm which plagued her for the rest of her life. The amazing thing is that her husband and her were re-united in Scotland, and stayed and lived til old age. (Sadly, minus two sons, whose lives the war had claimed) She was such an inspirational woman, it is enough to make me like the name Flora!
We will head south tomorrow, visiting Eileen Doonan Castle, and Loch Ness on the way down, possibly staying at Oban or somewhere geographically similar. That will leave Tuesday to visit Stirling Castle, on our way back to Innerleithen. Then there will be only one week remaining before we leave Scotland, for ever. Gulp.
Friday, August 27, 2010
See the Scenery
See the Scenery
It occurred to me last night, as I lay in the hostel listening to revelers leave the bar, that I had done a very poor job as an artist – that is, that I hadn’t painted any scenes for you. So here goes.
The Orkney Islands are devoid of trees. I don’t know if it ever had them or not (what did the place look like, back when it had a Mediterranean climate??), or whether the weather is simply too unkind, either way, the view is one of green hills, that somehow manage to not look desolate. There are little crofts that are scattered over the island, abandoned and slowly falling to decay…..even they don’t look desolate….more intriguing, or quaint, or romantic…..but not desolate. This may also be attributed for the lovely weather we scored. By lovely, I mean that we never got caught in a heavy downpour, and that on more than a few occasions we had the sun actually shine on us. The wind was chilly when it blew, but we were even lucky enough to not have as much of that as we are lead to believe is common on the islands.
I also need to paint grass for you. It would be such a shame, if when I spoke of ‘grass’ - be it here, in the Borders, or even back in England- you pictured buffalo grass, or some kind of cooch. Firstly, paint it green. Not a washed out lime, but a full of energy dark green, then add sheen. It is shiny. Glossy. Chances are that it has, after all, been washed by rain rather recently, so it looks shiny clean. Now add about six inches to the length of lawn. There seems to be two kinds, one a flat, narrow blade, and the other, like super fine, non-pointy pine needles. Both reach a height where they bow down under their own weight making a very inviting sort of cover. But wait there’s more…even when there is not more….Firstly, there is usually a whole ‘nother layer beneath the long grass, that is made up of mosses, tiny ground covers, and a blend of other friendly weeds, like clover, dandelion etc. This adds a sponge like layer, that means when you walk on the grass, it is like walking on a gym mat, and when sitting on it, like plonking yourself on a cushion…a damp one, I grant you….but a cushion non the less. The interesting thing is that when there is NOT a layer of ground cover underneath, and you can just see the dark dirt underfoot; it is still springy. It is as if all of the centuries of plant matter, growing and then dying, and all of the water, constantly soaking into it, has created one big sponge. I suppose this is worse in the hills, but I can’t think of anywhere that we have walked, where this hasn’t been the case. In fact, in the hills, you are more likely than not to get wet shoes or feet, because the ground is so water logged, that when you step on the grass, your foot sinks deep into water-logged soil.
Before catching the ferry, we drove through Kirkwall, and stopped quickly at the cathederal. Unfortunately, this is a picture I just can not paint for you. I have neither the education nor the vocabulary to do it. Suffice to say it was impressive without being grandiose. It was provincial looking, but in no way simplistic. It was highly detailed craftsmanship, but not intricately fussy.
The ferry ride was most enjoyable as we lunched on board on our sandwiches, and tried the smoked cheese on oat crackers that we had purchased in Orkney, and tried the yummy rose lemonade.
I was most impressed that we met our agenda of visiting both the Castle of Mey, and Mary-Anne’s cottage. I may have mentioned that the Castle of Mey was the Queen Mother’s personal residence – bought specifically by her, when the place was on a waiting list to be knocked down. Rumor has it that it cost her 100 pounds, the price that the wrecking was due to cost. There is no proof of that but it makes an interesting story. The place has been left as it was when she lived there. Including her coat and hat on the downstairs chair, and her hob nail gum boots. Apparently Charles and Camilla were there only a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know how they normally live, but I shouldn’t be surprised if to them, Mey feels like slumming it. It feels a bit old. Normal really. Far too normal for a royal residence. Haha! Normal for a castle? I don’t know what I am going by as it has been ages since I lived in a castle. Ha! I simply mean that there are cement floors in some parts, and paint that is cracking and peeling. There is a sort of coldness and oldness in the furnishings which I don’t imagine the royal family to be used to. But maybe they are. Maybe everyone has a grandma’s house to visit, that feels like this one. I suppose when you look at it that way, it is exactly how the Queen Mum’s residence should be. Had a lovely guide there, by the way. Full of first hand info.
Mary-Anne’s cottage was the extreme other end of the social scale, as it was a crofter’s cottage that had remained fairly unchanged for the last 150 years. She had inherited it from her Dad, and even though she married and had a child, she didn’t like change, therefore, a visit is mostly a step back into the not-so-distant past. (Reminded me strongly of Petticoat lane, crossed with the sheds at Dergholm). Shane and I were a little on edge because the kids were allowed to touch things, and one is just waiting for the moment when something that has survived 150 years of farming life, and a decade of tourist visits, is destroyed in one foul moment, at the hands of one of your children. The worst that happened was when Sam and Lilli ran up to the quite large pile of peat, piled pyramid style on the front lawn. Sam grabbed a block on the corner, about half way up and gave it a little wiggle. By coincidence I looked up at that moment, and can vouch for him, that it really was no more than a little tap…..but down she came. Peat tumbled on top of peat and the lovely neat tower lost its corner, down the slope of the lawn. Ooops! How I wish we could have seen Sam’s face. I imagine that his eyes opened as wide as they could possibly go, while his mouth dropped open in horror. He froze, and must have been waiting for the peat to stop, and his parents to start. All he got was a mild sort of tut tut, and was made to help put things as right as we could.
We stopped the night at Durness, in a nice little b and b where they let us all squeeze in together. The cooked breakfast was a welcome start to the day, and we have since then been traveling. We visited the Smoo Cave (in Durness) which was speccy in its location and lay out. It has a gaping huge mouth, looking out into a bay. Running into the back of the cave is a water fall, whose waters pool in the cave, and then run out in a stream, across the rocks and out into the bay. We sat in a rubber dingy and had a little look around. The cavern is basically underneath one of the hills which make up the highlands, and so the water that runs down into it, is very brown in colour, the result of having filtered its way through so much peat. Apparently it is this ‘Peaty’ water that makes Whisky so good…
Cocoa Mountain also made it onto our visit list, as part of an artistic community in Durness. The Village was not pretty, but the people who choose to live there, an eclectic and talented bunch. We ended our tour at the Cocoa Mountain shop, if for no other reason than that they had soy milk. That is a big deal here. Fortunately, coffee shops haven’t been a big part of our travels, but had they been, I would be really sick of black tea by now…
The rest is scenery. Driving around and oohing and aahing at the achingly beautiful scenery. People kept telling us that the West Coast is their favourite part of Scotland. That its coastline is rugged and wild. The Highlands stunning. On our way north, I confess that I didn’t really expect too much. ‘People’ were right though. It surprises me that hills where trees refuse to grow can be so lovely to look at, but they are. There is a sort of greyness to it all. Rock exposed along the tops and in various places on the slopes, and where there is not rock, the dull purple of heather, and above it all, cloudy skies. But somehow this is beautiful….and then the sun comes out and POW, it takes your breath away. The colours brighten. The loch that seconds ago made a still mirror of silver, becomes a vibrant reflection in technicolour. Or choppy grey waters become a deep, dark blue. There is so much water everywhere that I frequently do not know if I am looking at a loch or a firth. The roads are winding their way amongst it all, like a show ride through God’s best theme park…only there are no tracks keeping your car on the path, and when one comes the other way, you need to make a spot to squeeze past one another….maybe He could work on that!
Tonight we are back in Bonar Bridge, and tomorrow we head to somewhere near Skye. It will be a day of more driving and looking, as opposed to getting out and doing. The kids probably don’t enjoy this as much, but in fairness are traveling really well – I just wish we had a cassette other than the Goon Show to listen to – perhaps a second hand shop may be worth a visit some time soon. I guess I will write when we have braved the midges on Skye, to tell you about that. Midges are awful by the way. Truly awful. You could simply suck them up your nose they are so small, light and thick in the air. Worse than mozzies. At least you can have a good go at smacking a mozzie out of its existence, but midgies…it is like trying to swat a spec of dust, whilst you are standing in a dust storm. I think the best plan is to just turn and run, but don’t scream or you will end up swallowing a good few dozen.
It occurred to me last night, as I lay in the hostel listening to revelers leave the bar, that I had done a very poor job as an artist – that is, that I hadn’t painted any scenes for you. So here goes.
The Orkney Islands are devoid of trees. I don’t know if it ever had them or not (what did the place look like, back when it had a Mediterranean climate??), or whether the weather is simply too unkind, either way, the view is one of green hills, that somehow manage to not look desolate. There are little crofts that are scattered over the island, abandoned and slowly falling to decay…..even they don’t look desolate….more intriguing, or quaint, or romantic…..but not desolate. This may also be attributed for the lovely weather we scored. By lovely, I mean that we never got caught in a heavy downpour, and that on more than a few occasions we had the sun actually shine on us. The wind was chilly when it blew, but we were even lucky enough to not have as much of that as we are lead to believe is common on the islands.
I also need to paint grass for you. It would be such a shame, if when I spoke of ‘grass’ - be it here, in the Borders, or even back in England- you pictured buffalo grass, or some kind of cooch. Firstly, paint it green. Not a washed out lime, but a full of energy dark green, then add sheen. It is shiny. Glossy. Chances are that it has, after all, been washed by rain rather recently, so it looks shiny clean. Now add about six inches to the length of lawn. There seems to be two kinds, one a flat, narrow blade, and the other, like super fine, non-pointy pine needles. Both reach a height where they bow down under their own weight making a very inviting sort of cover. But wait there’s more…even when there is not more….Firstly, there is usually a whole ‘nother layer beneath the long grass, that is made up of mosses, tiny ground covers, and a blend of other friendly weeds, like clover, dandelion etc. This adds a sponge like layer, that means when you walk on the grass, it is like walking on a gym mat, and when sitting on it, like plonking yourself on a cushion…a damp one, I grant you….but a cushion non the less. The interesting thing is that when there is NOT a layer of ground cover underneath, and you can just see the dark dirt underfoot; it is still springy. It is as if all of the centuries of plant matter, growing and then dying, and all of the water, constantly soaking into it, has created one big sponge. I suppose this is worse in the hills, but I can’t think of anywhere that we have walked, where this hasn’t been the case. In fact, in the hills, you are more likely than not to get wet shoes or feet, because the ground is so water logged, that when you step on the grass, your foot sinks deep into water-logged soil.
Before catching the ferry, we drove through Kirkwall, and stopped quickly at the cathederal. Unfortunately, this is a picture I just can not paint for you. I have neither the education nor the vocabulary to do it. Suffice to say it was impressive without being grandiose. It was provincial looking, but in no way simplistic. It was highly detailed craftsmanship, but not intricately fussy.
The ferry ride was most enjoyable as we lunched on board on our sandwiches, and tried the smoked cheese on oat crackers that we had purchased in Orkney, and tried the yummy rose lemonade.
I was most impressed that we met our agenda of visiting both the Castle of Mey, and Mary-Anne’s cottage. I may have mentioned that the Castle of Mey was the Queen Mother’s personal residence – bought specifically by her, when the place was on a waiting list to be knocked down. Rumor has it that it cost her 100 pounds, the price that the wrecking was due to cost. There is no proof of that but it makes an interesting story. The place has been left as it was when she lived there. Including her coat and hat on the downstairs chair, and her hob nail gum boots. Apparently Charles and Camilla were there only a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know how they normally live, but I shouldn’t be surprised if to them, Mey feels like slumming it. It feels a bit old. Normal really. Far too normal for a royal residence. Haha! Normal for a castle? I don’t know what I am going by as it has been ages since I lived in a castle. Ha! I simply mean that there are cement floors in some parts, and paint that is cracking and peeling. There is a sort of coldness and oldness in the furnishings which I don’t imagine the royal family to be used to. But maybe they are. Maybe everyone has a grandma’s house to visit, that feels like this one. I suppose when you look at it that way, it is exactly how the Queen Mum’s residence should be. Had a lovely guide there, by the way. Full of first hand info.
Mary-Anne’s cottage was the extreme other end of the social scale, as it was a crofter’s cottage that had remained fairly unchanged for the last 150 years. She had inherited it from her Dad, and even though she married and had a child, she didn’t like change, therefore, a visit is mostly a step back into the not-so-distant past. (Reminded me strongly of Petticoat lane, crossed with the sheds at Dergholm). Shane and I were a little on edge because the kids were allowed to touch things, and one is just waiting for the moment when something that has survived 150 years of farming life, and a decade of tourist visits, is destroyed in one foul moment, at the hands of one of your children. The worst that happened was when Sam and Lilli ran up to the quite large pile of peat, piled pyramid style on the front lawn. Sam grabbed a block on the corner, about half way up and gave it a little wiggle. By coincidence I looked up at that moment, and can vouch for him, that it really was no more than a little tap…..but down she came. Peat tumbled on top of peat and the lovely neat tower lost its corner, down the slope of the lawn. Ooops! How I wish we could have seen Sam’s face. I imagine that his eyes opened as wide as they could possibly go, while his mouth dropped open in horror. He froze, and must have been waiting for the peat to stop, and his parents to start. All he got was a mild sort of tut tut, and was made to help put things as right as we could.
We stopped the night at Durness, in a nice little b and b where they let us all squeeze in together. The cooked breakfast was a welcome start to the day, and we have since then been traveling. We visited the Smoo Cave (in Durness) which was speccy in its location and lay out. It has a gaping huge mouth, looking out into a bay. Running into the back of the cave is a water fall, whose waters pool in the cave, and then run out in a stream, across the rocks and out into the bay. We sat in a rubber dingy and had a little look around. The cavern is basically underneath one of the hills which make up the highlands, and so the water that runs down into it, is very brown in colour, the result of having filtered its way through so much peat. Apparently it is this ‘Peaty’ water that makes Whisky so good…
Cocoa Mountain also made it onto our visit list, as part of an artistic community in Durness. The Village was not pretty, but the people who choose to live there, an eclectic and talented bunch. We ended our tour at the Cocoa Mountain shop, if for no other reason than that they had soy milk. That is a big deal here. Fortunately, coffee shops haven’t been a big part of our travels, but had they been, I would be really sick of black tea by now…
The rest is scenery. Driving around and oohing and aahing at the achingly beautiful scenery. People kept telling us that the West Coast is their favourite part of Scotland. That its coastline is rugged and wild. The Highlands stunning. On our way north, I confess that I didn’t really expect too much. ‘People’ were right though. It surprises me that hills where trees refuse to grow can be so lovely to look at, but they are. There is a sort of greyness to it all. Rock exposed along the tops and in various places on the slopes, and where there is not rock, the dull purple of heather, and above it all, cloudy skies. But somehow this is beautiful….and then the sun comes out and POW, it takes your breath away. The colours brighten. The loch that seconds ago made a still mirror of silver, becomes a vibrant reflection in technicolour. Or choppy grey waters become a deep, dark blue. There is so much water everywhere that I frequently do not know if I am looking at a loch or a firth. The roads are winding their way amongst it all, like a show ride through God’s best theme park…only there are no tracks keeping your car on the path, and when one comes the other way, you need to make a spot to squeeze past one another….maybe He could work on that!
Tonight we are back in Bonar Bridge, and tomorrow we head to somewhere near Skye. It will be a day of more driving and looking, as opposed to getting out and doing. The kids probably don’t enjoy this as much, but in fairness are traveling really well – I just wish we had a cassette other than the Goon Show to listen to – perhaps a second hand shop may be worth a visit some time soon. I guess I will write when we have braved the midges on Skye, to tell you about that. Midges are awful by the way. Truly awful. You could simply suck them up your nose they are so small, light and thick in the air. Worse than mozzies. At least you can have a good go at smacking a mozzie out of its existence, but midgies…it is like trying to swat a spec of dust, whilst you are standing in a dust storm. I think the best plan is to just turn and run, but don’t scream or you will end up swallowing a good few dozen.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Orkney Wonders
Okay, so here we are in Scotland, visiting landmarks and buildings, older than the Pyramids of Egypt. Amazing places that give insights into how Stone Age Man lived.
We started our day by letting the kids run around the stones at Stepness. Just as the area around Stonehenge has standing stones around the place, so to do the Orkneys...only some of them are even older than those found at Stonehenge. They are in paddocks, and even in some peoples front yards. They are generally a thinner wedge than the ones in England that we have seen, but still sizable enough when you are standing alongside of them.
Our next stop was the one I was most looking forward to - Skara Brae. The water was once further off than it now is, on the coastline at Skail, and Stone age man, had a settlement there. Thing is, that no one knew that, because sometime between the six hundred years when it was inhabited, and the last few centuries, it had become completely covered in Sand and dirt, and no one knew it was there...until in 1860, when a fierce storm blew madly over the coast, blowing away the sand, so that the Laird of Skail House found a village, amongst the post-storm debris.
The amazing thing was, that there was still the 'furniture' inside the dwellings that were uncovered. We are not talking wicker settees here, but stone shelving, stone beds (minus the fillings and coverings...the only thing that lasts for five thousand years, is rock. Leather and fabrics would have been long ago perished. The houses were set down into the ground, with a hearth at the centre of the dwelling, a set of shelves against on wall, (think two big rocks lying on their sides, with a slab across them, then another two rocks on their sides, with another slab across them). Against the walls, there were two sections where slabs of rock jutted out creating the three more walls needed to make a 'box' for sleeping in. These bed areas had little shelves worked into the stone walls next to them. There was another 'box' like area with an enclosed area of dirt in front of it for I don't know what, along with several smaller 'box' holes in the ground, which I am also at a loss to adequately explain.
You get to walk through a replica of house no.7, but it isn't until you take the walk out to the edge of the sea, and (sticking to the path most strictly) walk amongst rooftops of the actual village that you get a good sense of the lay out of such a village.
A room like the one we walked through, made up 1 individual house and was joined by a network of tunnels to other homes of very similar layout. They are believed to be from the Neolithic Period (the late stone age) but really fascinatingly, they were actually built atop of older ones, with some mild differences in design, eg. the older ones built the sleeping alcoves into the walls, instead of having them jut out into the room. It is always amazing to imagine that people so long ago, already had a history so old that they were building on top of it!
We also went for a wander through Skail House, home of the man who discovered Skara Brae. This was interesting, but nothing 'wowish'. From there we drove to the Brough of Guerney. (Brough is pronounced, 'brock') Again, a fascinating look at the way people would have dwelt, but again, so old that we can only guess at so much stuff...like clothing and diet...as it is pre-history....nothing concrete to go by, just lots of inferences to be made. This reminded me of prefabricated buildings. You know in the city, how they manage to take an empty block and have a massive shed built on it a couple of days later, all with the use of prefabricated, concrete walls, that are shipped in in huge slabs and put together? Well, obviously, they didn't have concrete to make slabs, but they did have slabs of rock - and whilst they didn't come in sizes to order, they did serve as most useful to the builders of the time. A slab serves as a wall, as a barrier, a door, the edges of the bed (as described at Skara Brae) etc. The stone work here is all small stones, that is, they look a lot narrower than the stone work in wall and fences in other areas of Scotland. The centre of the Brough reminds me of a bee hive, sticking up above the ground, with a network of trenches, tunnels and hills, all weaving around it in a way that I am unable to complete the picture of.
We then drove on to the Brough of Birsay, which is on a piece of land which is only accessible when the tide is out. We didn't even visit the Brough, but enjoyed walking around the island, playing on the rocks, watching the ocean on either side of us, and hoping that the seals who were just off shore, would come in and give us a closer look.
Late in the afternoon, we returned to the hostel to do a load of washing, look in the shops along the street and grab some tea (from the chippy, and I add this simply to say that amongst the battered morsels we consumed, there was a slice of black pudding. Shane and I really like it but don't know if we should. Sam and Lilli both ate it without complaint- Eliza screwed up her nose at it though....I wonder when we should tell them what it is...)before heading to a Seven Pm tour of the Maeshowe site.
Lilli was getting herself a bit worried about this, as it is presumed to be a tomb, although no bodies have ever been able to prove this assumption. On the way to our tour, we stopped at the Ring of Brodgar for a quick look. This is the most significant looking of the standing stones, as they make a very large circle on a slight rise. They looked quite spectacular, with the centre of the ring being thick with heather, their purple, added to the stones, with dark green hills in the back ground, really was a sight to behold.
Maeshowe looks from the road, like a hill that shouldn't be there. It is a green mound that stands out for its height, on an otherwise flattish piece of land. Underneath the ground is a stone hut with four walls, which lean in, brick by brick to form a roof (which by now is long gone, and was replaced by a farmer last century, rather poorly I am afraid). There are three little 'L' shaped chambers, and then the low tunnel by which we entered. There were never any treasures found in there, which could be one of two things...one, that there never were any treasures, or two, that the Vikings took them all. And Vikings were most definitely there at some point, as they left their graffitti throughout. Seriously juvenille runes, like, "Eric the Viking wrote this rune this high," and the one above it saying something like, "John the Viking,wrote this higher than Eric the Viking" Apparently there are a lot of crude and crass things there as well, which the guide books do not share.
The Vikings are believed to have spent four days in there at some point, with two stories giving the reason. One being related to the treasure thing, that they came to plunder, and that it took them four days to do it. The other being that they were caught in bad weather and sought refuge within, staying - or being stuck there, for four days.
No one knows. One thing that they do know, is that on Winter Solstice, the sun shines through a wee gap above the original entrance doorway, lighting up the hallway and illuminating the 'tomb' with a lovely red light.
Tomorrow we must leave the island on the midday ferry and hope to do both the Queen Mum's house, "The Castle of Mey" and "Mary-Anne's Cottage" in the few hours left to us in the afternoon, before heading along the north coast, in a westerly direction, towards our next destination. We could have spent quite a bit more time here as there is so much to see, but I guess we have had a good taste of the history that the Orkney Isles offer, and shall have to leave island hopping, and artist trails for another time..or life...
We started our day by letting the kids run around the stones at Stepness. Just as the area around Stonehenge has standing stones around the place, so to do the Orkneys...only some of them are even older than those found at Stonehenge. They are in paddocks, and even in some peoples front yards. They are generally a thinner wedge than the ones in England that we have seen, but still sizable enough when you are standing alongside of them.
Our next stop was the one I was most looking forward to - Skara Brae. The water was once further off than it now is, on the coastline at Skail, and Stone age man, had a settlement there. Thing is, that no one knew that, because sometime between the six hundred years when it was inhabited, and the last few centuries, it had become completely covered in Sand and dirt, and no one knew it was there...until in 1860, when a fierce storm blew madly over the coast, blowing away the sand, so that the Laird of Skail House found a village, amongst the post-storm debris.
The amazing thing was, that there was still the 'furniture' inside the dwellings that were uncovered. We are not talking wicker settees here, but stone shelving, stone beds (minus the fillings and coverings...the only thing that lasts for five thousand years, is rock. Leather and fabrics would have been long ago perished. The houses were set down into the ground, with a hearth at the centre of the dwelling, a set of shelves against on wall, (think two big rocks lying on their sides, with a slab across them, then another two rocks on their sides, with another slab across them). Against the walls, there were two sections where slabs of rock jutted out creating the three more walls needed to make a 'box' for sleeping in. These bed areas had little shelves worked into the stone walls next to them. There was another 'box' like area with an enclosed area of dirt in front of it for I don't know what, along with several smaller 'box' holes in the ground, which I am also at a loss to adequately explain.
You get to walk through a replica of house no.7, but it isn't until you take the walk out to the edge of the sea, and (sticking to the path most strictly) walk amongst rooftops of the actual village that you get a good sense of the lay out of such a village.
A room like the one we walked through, made up 1 individual house and was joined by a network of tunnels to other homes of very similar layout. They are believed to be from the Neolithic Period (the late stone age) but really fascinatingly, they were actually built atop of older ones, with some mild differences in design, eg. the older ones built the sleeping alcoves into the walls, instead of having them jut out into the room. It is always amazing to imagine that people so long ago, already had a history so old that they were building on top of it!
We also went for a wander through Skail House, home of the man who discovered Skara Brae. This was interesting, but nothing 'wowish'. From there we drove to the Brough of Guerney. (Brough is pronounced, 'brock') Again, a fascinating look at the way people would have dwelt, but again, so old that we can only guess at so much stuff...like clothing and diet...as it is pre-history....nothing concrete to go by, just lots of inferences to be made. This reminded me of prefabricated buildings. You know in the city, how they manage to take an empty block and have a massive shed built on it a couple of days later, all with the use of prefabricated, concrete walls, that are shipped in in huge slabs and put together? Well, obviously, they didn't have concrete to make slabs, but they did have slabs of rock - and whilst they didn't come in sizes to order, they did serve as most useful to the builders of the time. A slab serves as a wall, as a barrier, a door, the edges of the bed (as described at Skara Brae) etc. The stone work here is all small stones, that is, they look a lot narrower than the stone work in wall and fences in other areas of Scotland. The centre of the Brough reminds me of a bee hive, sticking up above the ground, with a network of trenches, tunnels and hills, all weaving around it in a way that I am unable to complete the picture of.
We then drove on to the Brough of Birsay, which is on a piece of land which is only accessible when the tide is out. We didn't even visit the Brough, but enjoyed walking around the island, playing on the rocks, watching the ocean on either side of us, and hoping that the seals who were just off shore, would come in and give us a closer look.
Late in the afternoon, we returned to the hostel to do a load of washing, look in the shops along the street and grab some tea (from the chippy, and I add this simply to say that amongst the battered morsels we consumed, there was a slice of black pudding. Shane and I really like it but don't know if we should. Sam and Lilli both ate it without complaint- Eliza screwed up her nose at it though....I wonder when we should tell them what it is...)before heading to a Seven Pm tour of the Maeshowe site.
Lilli was getting herself a bit worried about this, as it is presumed to be a tomb, although no bodies have ever been able to prove this assumption. On the way to our tour, we stopped at the Ring of Brodgar for a quick look. This is the most significant looking of the standing stones, as they make a very large circle on a slight rise. They looked quite spectacular, with the centre of the ring being thick with heather, their purple, added to the stones, with dark green hills in the back ground, really was a sight to behold.
Maeshowe looks from the road, like a hill that shouldn't be there. It is a green mound that stands out for its height, on an otherwise flattish piece of land. Underneath the ground is a stone hut with four walls, which lean in, brick by brick to form a roof (which by now is long gone, and was replaced by a farmer last century, rather poorly I am afraid). There are three little 'L' shaped chambers, and then the low tunnel by which we entered. There were never any treasures found in there, which could be one of two things...one, that there never were any treasures, or two, that the Vikings took them all. And Vikings were most definitely there at some point, as they left their graffitti throughout. Seriously juvenille runes, like, "Eric the Viking wrote this rune this high," and the one above it saying something like, "John the Viking,wrote this higher than Eric the Viking" Apparently there are a lot of crude and crass things there as well, which the guide books do not share.
The Vikings are believed to have spent four days in there at some point, with two stories giving the reason. One being related to the treasure thing, that they came to plunder, and that it took them four days to do it. The other being that they were caught in bad weather and sought refuge within, staying - or being stuck there, for four days.
No one knows. One thing that they do know, is that on Winter Solstice, the sun shines through a wee gap above the original entrance doorway, lighting up the hallway and illuminating the 'tomb' with a lovely red light.
Tomorrow we must leave the island on the midday ferry and hope to do both the Queen Mum's house, "The Castle of Mey" and "Mary-Anne's Cottage" in the few hours left to us in the afternoon, before heading along the north coast, in a westerly direction, towards our next destination. We could have spent quite a bit more time here as there is so much to see, but I guess we have had a good taste of the history that the Orkney Isles offer, and shall have to leave island hopping, and artist trails for another time..or life...
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
35 and all is well.
Yesterday was my 35th birthday.
I can say it quite calmly.
In fact I have practiced saying it so that I can now get it out without it catching oddly in my throat. "I am thirty-five". Shane jokes that the reason we took this holiday was so that I wouldn't have time to dwell on my birthday, and another year being struck off of the calendar of my life.
I am quite ashamed of being ageist. In fact, ever since I learnt that there was a name for the condition, I have fought wildly against it, and have come to feel quite healthy, fit and strong...and happy about my age. After all, when I look back from my hundreds (you see, I plan to live to the age of 100), I will look back on my thirties as my infanthood. So much to still learn!
I have done some reflecting, however. Mostly on the outcomes to date, of this trip. You see, I thought that this would be a great time to develop some good habits, and work on eradicating some bad ones. For example, I thought this would be a great time for us to take responsibility for our Christian growth as a family - church would be irregular and fellowship fleeting, therefore, we would need to really get ourselves organised....what can I say, other than, HUMPH! Then there are behavious in the kids which I thought we would be able to work on. That was a silly idea really, but I just thought, we will all be together, all the time, so there will be no excuse for not pulling-up all of our socks.
I was also hoping that over the course of our trip, things would magically fall into place for me in the 'who-am-I-where-am-I-what-am-I" department. I say that a little tongue-in-cheek, and a little shamefacedly truthfully. I was reminded at the beginning of the year that when we ask 'Who am I' we are asking the wrong question. And there was evidence enough of that in my own life. We are to ask "Whose am I" and then it all begins to make sense. Problem is, that I know whose I am....I just don't feel peace about anything in particular.
Anyway, as this is a blog and not an online therapy session, I will share my conclusion. And that is...we are who we are. I am who I am. And happiness will not come by trying to change myself, but by learning to accept myself. Urgh. I hate the way that that sounds like something from a self-improvement book. But there you go. Who we were at home, is who we are on the road. Disappointing maybe, but a really interesting thing to learn.
If you are still with me by now....well done...I shall reward your patience with blogging about the trip, instead of my inner tumults.
We are now in the Okney Islands, staying in Stromness in one of the most lovely, homely hostels so far. We left Bonnar Bridge this morning where we had enjoyed the hopitality of Catriona's aunty, Morag, for the last two nights. Whilst there we visited Shin Falls, where we had the privelege of watching Salmon leaping up the falls. Amazing. The fish are programmed, at a certain time of the year to go up the river, from whence they came, to the breeding grounds. This in no mean feat, as you get a real appreciation of when you watch them try, and fail, to clear the water falls. Apparently the poor wee fellows are so exhausted by the time they make it to their destination, that they have only energy left to do the deed....then they die. I guess that might be a nice way to go....don't really know...can't speak on behalf of fish...
We had lunch there as a birthday treat for myself, and enjoyed looking at the Falls of Shin Shop, which is owned by Al Fahed, aka Harrod's fame. He has now sold Harrods, but continues to own this little shop in the middle of seemingly nowhere.
Our time in Cullen ended well. Lilli was taught to play chess by Ollie, the 12 year old son of the Hostel owners. He was a sweety, whose name was actually Owen, spelt the Welsh way, which is Alwyn. Very interesting, as Dad's middle name is Alwyn and he has never liked it - but perhaps if it had been pronounced 'Owen' he may have been fonder of it.
Before leaving Cullen, Eliza found a rock on the beach, covered with sparkling crustaceans of gold. We assured her and the other two, that it was highly unlikely that it would be gold, but we couldn't forsake it, just in case. Problem is, where does one find a geologist, or anyone, for that matter, who could tell us whether we had just found a rock which could pay for our holiday? Ta da! Bonner Bridge. Morag's son who was at home on our arrival is a Geologist! Good job Sandi! I only wish that you could have told us it was real gold, rather than fool's gold.
So - back to today. We drove to John O Groats, if for no other reason than it is a great name for a place, and is the furthermost town of mainland UK. We then drove west for a few miles, until reaching the port for the car ferry, which we caught across to the Orkneys.
From arrival we drove through Kirkwall, to Stromness, stopping on the way, for a gander at the Italian Chapel. This was a typical Nissan Hut, which was part of an Italian Prisoner of War camp during world war II. The Italian prisoners felt the need for somewhere to worship and they took this humble hut and made it into something beautiful. Now, all that is left of the rest of the camp is some stones in the grass, in a fenced off paddock, but the hut is beautifully preserved as the locals promised the prisoners it would be. In fact a team of artists came over from Italy some time ago to retouch the paintwork and keep it in tip top shape, as it has come to be an important place to the Italian people, as well as to the Orkadians. There is a masterfully carved face of Jesus in stone above the entrance, made by an Italian from one of the other camps (there were three separate camps on the Orkneys) whilst from within the camp near Saint Mary's, where the church was built, Dominichio Chiochetti took charge of the painting, and another man (who I apologise for not being able to name) took care of all of the wrought iron work. The end result is humbly beautiful. For the photo that was taken of the chapel on its completion, they hung a cardboard bell in the iron steeple, making all look complete and neat as a pin. In time that was replaced by a real one, from a ship in the area.
Tomorrow we are off to visit Skara Brae. Some of the oldest settlements of man, in all of Western Europe, are here, in the Orkney Islands. I can't wait to wander around them and see for myself, how people lived, before we started to record history. For all you Jean M. Auel fans out there - I reckon this will be how Ayla lived...soooooo interesting.
Tell you more when I know more.
I can say it quite calmly.
In fact I have practiced saying it so that I can now get it out without it catching oddly in my throat. "I am thirty-five". Shane jokes that the reason we took this holiday was so that I wouldn't have time to dwell on my birthday, and another year being struck off of the calendar of my life.
I am quite ashamed of being ageist. In fact, ever since I learnt that there was a name for the condition, I have fought wildly against it, and have come to feel quite healthy, fit and strong...and happy about my age. After all, when I look back from my hundreds (you see, I plan to live to the age of 100), I will look back on my thirties as my infanthood. So much to still learn!
I have done some reflecting, however. Mostly on the outcomes to date, of this trip. You see, I thought that this would be a great time to develop some good habits, and work on eradicating some bad ones. For example, I thought this would be a great time for us to take responsibility for our Christian growth as a family - church would be irregular and fellowship fleeting, therefore, we would need to really get ourselves organised....what can I say, other than, HUMPH! Then there are behavious in the kids which I thought we would be able to work on. That was a silly idea really, but I just thought, we will all be together, all the time, so there will be no excuse for not pulling-up all of our socks.
I was also hoping that over the course of our trip, things would magically fall into place for me in the 'who-am-I-where-am-I-what-am-I" department. I say that a little tongue-in-cheek, and a little shamefacedly truthfully. I was reminded at the beginning of the year that when we ask 'Who am I' we are asking the wrong question. And there was evidence enough of that in my own life. We are to ask "Whose am I" and then it all begins to make sense. Problem is, that I know whose I am....I just don't feel peace about anything in particular.
Anyway, as this is a blog and not an online therapy session, I will share my conclusion. And that is...we are who we are. I am who I am. And happiness will not come by trying to change myself, but by learning to accept myself. Urgh. I hate the way that that sounds like something from a self-improvement book. But there you go. Who we were at home, is who we are on the road. Disappointing maybe, but a really interesting thing to learn.
If you are still with me by now....well done...I shall reward your patience with blogging about the trip, instead of my inner tumults.
We are now in the Okney Islands, staying in Stromness in one of the most lovely, homely hostels so far. We left Bonnar Bridge this morning where we had enjoyed the hopitality of Catriona's aunty, Morag, for the last two nights. Whilst there we visited Shin Falls, where we had the privelege of watching Salmon leaping up the falls. Amazing. The fish are programmed, at a certain time of the year to go up the river, from whence they came, to the breeding grounds. This in no mean feat, as you get a real appreciation of when you watch them try, and fail, to clear the water falls. Apparently the poor wee fellows are so exhausted by the time they make it to their destination, that they have only energy left to do the deed....then they die. I guess that might be a nice way to go....don't really know...can't speak on behalf of fish...
We had lunch there as a birthday treat for myself, and enjoyed looking at the Falls of Shin Shop, which is owned by Al Fahed, aka Harrod's fame. He has now sold Harrods, but continues to own this little shop in the middle of seemingly nowhere.
Our time in Cullen ended well. Lilli was taught to play chess by Ollie, the 12 year old son of the Hostel owners. He was a sweety, whose name was actually Owen, spelt the Welsh way, which is Alwyn. Very interesting, as Dad's middle name is Alwyn and he has never liked it - but perhaps if it had been pronounced 'Owen' he may have been fonder of it.
Before leaving Cullen, Eliza found a rock on the beach, covered with sparkling crustaceans of gold. We assured her and the other two, that it was highly unlikely that it would be gold, but we couldn't forsake it, just in case. Problem is, where does one find a geologist, or anyone, for that matter, who could tell us whether we had just found a rock which could pay for our holiday? Ta da! Bonner Bridge. Morag's son who was at home on our arrival is a Geologist! Good job Sandi! I only wish that you could have told us it was real gold, rather than fool's gold.
So - back to today. We drove to John O Groats, if for no other reason than it is a great name for a place, and is the furthermost town of mainland UK. We then drove west for a few miles, until reaching the port for the car ferry, which we caught across to the Orkneys.
From arrival we drove through Kirkwall, to Stromness, stopping on the way, for a gander at the Italian Chapel. This was a typical Nissan Hut, which was part of an Italian Prisoner of War camp during world war II. The Italian prisoners felt the need for somewhere to worship and they took this humble hut and made it into something beautiful. Now, all that is left of the rest of the camp is some stones in the grass, in a fenced off paddock, but the hut is beautifully preserved as the locals promised the prisoners it would be. In fact a team of artists came over from Italy some time ago to retouch the paintwork and keep it in tip top shape, as it has come to be an important place to the Italian people, as well as to the Orkadians. There is a masterfully carved face of Jesus in stone above the entrance, made by an Italian from one of the other camps (there were three separate camps on the Orkneys) whilst from within the camp near Saint Mary's, where the church was built, Dominichio Chiochetti took charge of the painting, and another man (who I apologise for not being able to name) took care of all of the wrought iron work. The end result is humbly beautiful. For the photo that was taken of the chapel on its completion, they hung a cardboard bell in the iron steeple, making all look complete and neat as a pin. In time that was replaced by a real one, from a ship in the area.
Tomorrow we are off to visit Skara Brae. Some of the oldest settlements of man, in all of Western Europe, are here, in the Orkney Islands. I can't wait to wander around them and see for myself, how people lived, before we started to record history. For all you Jean M. Auel fans out there - I reckon this will be how Ayla lived...soooooo interesting.
Tell you more when I know more.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Swimming At The Beach, In Scotland
I felt that the above should be the title of this post, as it is highly likely that it doesn't happen very often. I should also add, in a vein of honesty, that at no point did real, full body immersion, swimming take place. However, there was wading, and sitting in the waves, and by the time we came home there was sand in all of the customary cracks and crevices of the children, hence, I claim the right to refer to it as 'swimming'. The wind was gusty, but it was warm. Mild may be more accurate - but the temperature over all was very warm and so we made the most of it while we could. This was made all the easier by the location of our new Hostel, which is right beside the harbour! A harbour that has sand, of all the novelties!!
We are in Cullen Harbour Hostel, in Cullen. Ever heard of Cullen Skink? Well that is from here. Last night we were in a guest house / hotel in Carnoustie. We had to separate into two rooms, which was fine, and breakfast was included, so we lingered over that for an hour, and at ten am I was not my usual hungry self. It meant that a lunch of carrot sticks and apples was all that was needed by us all. (and so as to dispel any air of puritanical achievement, there were crisps, shortbread and french fancies all enjoyed at later times in the day.) After our noodle dinner, we went for a stroll and found a truly excellent playground on the foreshore. I think that Shane and I laughed and enjoyed ourselves as much as the kids! Seriously cool, and took some convincing this morning that the rain and the drive ahead made it not a possible spot to re-visit.
We followed the coast up to Aberdeen and then headed inland, via Huntly, to get to Cullen. Huntly Castle was somewhere that my friend and I had stopped and looked at 13 years ago when we went on our four day fly-around-Scotland trip (no, we didn't really fly - we drove) Do you remember that, Sandi? I loved it at the time, and enjoyed it just as much today as the sun shone down in warmth, making the green hills, tall trees and rushing stream even more enchanting than I recalled. It is a great castle to visit, as there are more internal walls intact on the inside, than one often finds at such an old place. It was first built up in the 12th Century by the Lord of Fife. Later it was inhabited by the Gordon family for ever so long, until the mid 17th Century when cruel treatment and political unrest saw them leave the place forever. Walking around and reading the info available, one gets a pretty good idea of how such a place may have looked.
Another bonus was the discovery that our English Heritage Card, will be honored at all Historical Scotland sites.
After writing the last blog, it occurred to me that I can not do real justice to the people that we are seeing and the kindnesses that they are showing us. Each person has their own story in my life, and I can't possibly recount them all - nor do I know that they would actually want me to... so if you are mentioned here....please do NOT feel glossed over....the personal exchanges that pass between us all are the most special moments of all; scenery comes second.
G'bye the noo.
We are in Cullen Harbour Hostel, in Cullen. Ever heard of Cullen Skink? Well that is from here. Last night we were in a guest house / hotel in Carnoustie. We had to separate into two rooms, which was fine, and breakfast was included, so we lingered over that for an hour, and at ten am I was not my usual hungry self. It meant that a lunch of carrot sticks and apples was all that was needed by us all. (and so as to dispel any air of puritanical achievement, there were crisps, shortbread and french fancies all enjoyed at later times in the day.) After our noodle dinner, we went for a stroll and found a truly excellent playground on the foreshore. I think that Shane and I laughed and enjoyed ourselves as much as the kids! Seriously cool, and took some convincing this morning that the rain and the drive ahead made it not a possible spot to re-visit.
We followed the coast up to Aberdeen and then headed inland, via Huntly, to get to Cullen. Huntly Castle was somewhere that my friend and I had stopped and looked at 13 years ago when we went on our four day fly-around-Scotland trip (no, we didn't really fly - we drove) Do you remember that, Sandi? I loved it at the time, and enjoyed it just as much today as the sun shone down in warmth, making the green hills, tall trees and rushing stream even more enchanting than I recalled. It is a great castle to visit, as there are more internal walls intact on the inside, than one often finds at such an old place. It was first built up in the 12th Century by the Lord of Fife. Later it was inhabited by the Gordon family for ever so long, until the mid 17th Century when cruel treatment and political unrest saw them leave the place forever. Walking around and reading the info available, one gets a pretty good idea of how such a place may have looked.
Another bonus was the discovery that our English Heritage Card, will be honored at all Historical Scotland sites.
After writing the last blog, it occurred to me that I can not do real justice to the people that we are seeing and the kindnesses that they are showing us. Each person has their own story in my life, and I can't possibly recount them all - nor do I know that they would actually want me to... so if you are mentioned here....please do NOT feel glossed over....the personal exchanges that pass between us all are the most special moments of all; scenery comes second.
G'bye the noo.
I blinked, a week went by…
Last Friday we had a picnic lunch in a park with Lee-anne, before waving her off to Essex for the weekend. In the afternoon we took a drive to ______ Pass, North East of Ambleside, where we fulfilled our promise to the kids, that we would climb a mountain. We parked by a roadside ‘Free House’, in the carpark where many people stop to take walks up into the hills. We chose the side of the road where the hill did not look as high – our very reasonable logic being that we had a three year old in our midst, and the clouds that the cold winds were bringing along, were very grey and threatening. I stuffed my parka pockets with a bottle of water and some afternoon tea, and off we went. We fully expected to get drenched, but were very pleased…..like, VERY pleased, that we didn’t. We did get wicked winds making us unsteady on our feet at the top of the summit, but that was more exhilarating than alarming, and the view was brilliant. We sheltered under an overhanging rock to eat our fare, and even managed a few moments of silence, to listen to the noise of the wind, whipping the grasses together, and to think of home and all those we love. On arriving back at the car we all felt thoroughly alive, and the warm stillness inside the car was felt as a great luxury. Life can be so simple and so wonderful…. Makes me wonder why we haven’t climbed more mountains, taken in more views, and sat in silence in the country more often?
Saturday was bump out, and a bigger task than usual, due to having actually unpacked suitcases for the first time, and over the course of the week, spreading out like so much ivy. We hit the road soon after ten am and kissed the Lakes District goodbye with our eyes. Wishing like blazes that you had a photographic memory to tuck it all away in, and hoping fervently that one day you may be able to return and stay for longer. Every town is full of ‘walking’ shops… and every laneway, road and park, is full of walkers, er, walking. One day, I would like to join them and just walk around the country side until I can’t just picture the area, but can smell it and feel it too.
Our plan was to visit Birdoswald Roman fort, followed by Chester Fort, both in Hadrian’s wall, on our way to Scotland. It is without doubt a fascinating place to visit, and the achievement of the three regiments of Roman Soldiers who built (the majority) of the wall in under three years, is remarkable. (for those who aren’t familiar with Hadrians wall, it covers the land from the east coast to the west coast of England, right at the tippy top, only a couple of districts away from what is now Scotland. It sort of marked the edge of the Roman Empire’s lands – which were phenomenally large. The wall had forts built into it every mile (I think) where soldiers were posted to maintain control and order. The wall was in use more or less until the Roman Empire collapsed, and then certain areas were still inhabited….like Birdoswald, right up until the early 1900s.)
I really can not tell if it was the grey skies and occasional showers that dampened the mood, or whether there was too much of the same here, or whether I simply had ants in my pants because I was desperate to get into Scotland. Whatever it was, by the time we had finished our visit and eaten our sandwiches in the carpark (it was a really nice car park) we were all happy to make our way onwards, leaving Chester Fort to another day -or not. The drive was rather longer than I had anticipated, so I was glad that we hadn’t lingered any longer on touristy things...(or maybe it was those ants in my pants again). We stopped and took an obligatory photo at the Scotland / England border, and my heart began to feel a little lighter.
After loving the Lakes District so wholeheartedly, I confess that I was worried I would find Scotland to be secondary in beauty. That maybe my mind had built it up to be more that it could possibly be. But it is not so. I am the first to admit though, that objectivity is not something I can claim to have. You see, I am in love. I don’t know why and I wonder at it constantly. Maybe it is simply because of its beauty and magnificence (which, if I am making an attempt at objectivity, I would have to say does not surpass the Lakes District). Maybe it is because of the past that it represents to me – memories of independence, freedom and adventure. Or maybe it is the new present, spending precious time with precious people, and sharing it all with my very own family. I don’t really know. All I can say is that as we drive along the roadways, the entire time there is a gnawing at my heart. Like something is being turned over and over that needs to be resolved, and it feels akin to yearning, but for, I know not what. When we are out of the vehicle surveying the scene, I am breathing deep with not just my nose, but my eyes and flesh as well. Why do I feel such belonging to a country that isn’t even my own? It makes me feel downright disloyal, and yet I love our Australia as much as the fiercest patriot. So you see, love-sick. Love-sick, with Scotland!
Samuel and Nathan (or Nethan, as Sam can not stop calling him – I think it is because to his ear, that is what Cat and Stu are saying) were dressed as a pirate and fireman respectively, within about two minutes of our arrival at Innerleithen. A back yard to play in was considered a form of bliss by the kids (and consequently the parents, also). We formed a plan of attack for the following day and set about getting five excited children to sleep, which was not highly successful, but eventually worked.
Sunday bloomed into a fine specimen of a day, and we took a packed lunch up to the top of a hill, referred to as ‘the tower’, and all ate there. The sun cast its magic onto every blade of grass, every tree and the very view itself. We were warm, even hot at points and we couldn’t believe our luck. We kept telling the kids to enjoy the sunshine immensely as we may not get to see it again for the rest of our trip! I got stung by a bee on the thumb, and had midgies attempt to nibble us, and Sam had an attack of the stinging nettles, and yet nothing deterred the mood of the outing. Fantastic. Innerleithen was laid out below us, with the village of Walkerburn alongside. Getting the kids to keep going was sometimes a bit of a tire, …in fairness, I should be specific, because they were all great, except for Eliza who behaved as one struggling to cope…which is probably and adequate explanation really. She was outdone by the little legs on one year old Laila, who waddled along in trooper fashion, between bouts of being carried.
An old friend from the castle came by in the afternoon, Alison, bringing her two lovely kids, Ewan and Olivia. (more blondies, seriously, the kids all looked like cousins, not strangers from opposite ends of the earth) There was more happy playing in the back yard as new friends were made, and we old friends caught up. As the afternoon neared its end, we fulfilled a promise to the kids, and drove out of town, to a point where they could wade in the river. They all ended up building a damn across the width of the stream – and by all, I mean Stu and Shane as well, for what boy can resist an attempt at changing, or at least controlling, an element of nature? We went home to a succulent Roast Beef (by now, it is almost official that the Fulwoods are addicted to roast beef with gravy and Yorkshire puds), followed by Golden Syrup Dumplings (something that the Ormistons hadn’t tried, and which it therefore, seemed a necessity to provide them with). It barely needs saying, that Sunday, was a beautiful, golden memory kind of day, where you don’t need the benefit of hindsight to know that everything was perfect.
Monday saw us visit Peebles. Aaahh. The nostalgia. So familiar and yet so unknown at the the same time. We had morning tea with Agnes. A super sweet woman who is now in her retirement, who I knew from my days at the Castle. Her and Cat keep in touch and the timing just worked out well for me to tag along on a pre-planned visit. Lunch in the park by the Tweed. Separate ways for a while, and then Cat and I headed into Galashiels, whilst the blokes looked after the kids and helped build a new fence in the back yard. By the time we returned, the blokes had not only done the above, but also fed and bathed the kids, and we were in time to be shown to our seats, in the back yard, to watch the ‘circus’ which the kids had prepared for us. Circus is a pretty good description actually. There were clowns and games and even a programme for us to keep track of things with. It was about then that I asked Cat if the swarming things EVERYWHERE, like bits of ash floating in the air, were midgies. To which she replied yes. Man oh man. Freaky. They seriously are thick in the air, and so it pays to stay well covered.
Tuesday we left Innerleithen, to go to Broughton, where Cat’s mum and dad live. The afternoon was passed at Doug and Morags’ with the kids meeting three more children to play with, these ones with a bit of DNA in common. Seriously, it is really hard to name the relationship for the kids, I think they must be third cousins or something like that. It was really cool seeing D and M again, and meeting (and re-meeting) all of their children. We were lucky enough to stay for dinner and we left there having had a really lovely time, and having been made to feel really welcome.
Wednesday was Stobo day. We took the kids out to see where Mummy used to work, and on Teresa’s invitation, were able to share lunch with her… and then Yvonne joined us…which was a most excellent bonus, and we even had the pleasure of Mr Winyard’s company. There was much laughter and pleasure at the reunion. Neither woman looked any older, which I thought pretty impressive given the years that have slid by. We were given a tour of the new part of the castle, and of the Cashmere Suite, all of which you can probably find on line if you were to look up ‘Stobo Castle’. Teresa most generously invited us to hers if we needed somewhere to stay and again, we left the visit feeling really, really lucky. What a buzz it is catching up with great people from your past, and both parties deriving real joy from it.
Today we have departed from Hotel Fordyce, where the service is second to none, and the rooms such that you wonder if perhaps you should stop touring, and just stay… (which they have incidentally offered as an option) But no. The North of the country calls. Begging a visit. We are on our way. Drove through the kingdom of Fife today which I have been chomping at the bit to see. But enough. Enough. Your eyes are tired and so are my hands. Enough, and goodnight.
Saturday was bump out, and a bigger task than usual, due to having actually unpacked suitcases for the first time, and over the course of the week, spreading out like so much ivy. We hit the road soon after ten am and kissed the Lakes District goodbye with our eyes. Wishing like blazes that you had a photographic memory to tuck it all away in, and hoping fervently that one day you may be able to return and stay for longer. Every town is full of ‘walking’ shops… and every laneway, road and park, is full of walkers, er, walking. One day, I would like to join them and just walk around the country side until I can’t just picture the area, but can smell it and feel it too.
Our plan was to visit Birdoswald Roman fort, followed by Chester Fort, both in Hadrian’s wall, on our way to Scotland. It is without doubt a fascinating place to visit, and the achievement of the three regiments of Roman Soldiers who built (the majority) of the wall in under three years, is remarkable. (for those who aren’t familiar with Hadrians wall, it covers the land from the east coast to the west coast of England, right at the tippy top, only a couple of districts away from what is now Scotland. It sort of marked the edge of the Roman Empire’s lands – which were phenomenally large. The wall had forts built into it every mile (I think) where soldiers were posted to maintain control and order. The wall was in use more or less until the Roman Empire collapsed, and then certain areas were still inhabited….like Birdoswald, right up until the early 1900s.)
I really can not tell if it was the grey skies and occasional showers that dampened the mood, or whether there was too much of the same here, or whether I simply had ants in my pants because I was desperate to get into Scotland. Whatever it was, by the time we had finished our visit and eaten our sandwiches in the carpark (it was a really nice car park) we were all happy to make our way onwards, leaving Chester Fort to another day -or not. The drive was rather longer than I had anticipated, so I was glad that we hadn’t lingered any longer on touristy things...(or maybe it was those ants in my pants again). We stopped and took an obligatory photo at the Scotland / England border, and my heart began to feel a little lighter.
After loving the Lakes District so wholeheartedly, I confess that I was worried I would find Scotland to be secondary in beauty. That maybe my mind had built it up to be more that it could possibly be. But it is not so. I am the first to admit though, that objectivity is not something I can claim to have. You see, I am in love. I don’t know why and I wonder at it constantly. Maybe it is simply because of its beauty and magnificence (which, if I am making an attempt at objectivity, I would have to say does not surpass the Lakes District). Maybe it is because of the past that it represents to me – memories of independence, freedom and adventure. Or maybe it is the new present, spending precious time with precious people, and sharing it all with my very own family. I don’t really know. All I can say is that as we drive along the roadways, the entire time there is a gnawing at my heart. Like something is being turned over and over that needs to be resolved, and it feels akin to yearning, but for, I know not what. When we are out of the vehicle surveying the scene, I am breathing deep with not just my nose, but my eyes and flesh as well. Why do I feel such belonging to a country that isn’t even my own? It makes me feel downright disloyal, and yet I love our Australia as much as the fiercest patriot. So you see, love-sick. Love-sick, with Scotland!
Samuel and Nathan (or Nethan, as Sam can not stop calling him – I think it is because to his ear, that is what Cat and Stu are saying) were dressed as a pirate and fireman respectively, within about two minutes of our arrival at Innerleithen. A back yard to play in was considered a form of bliss by the kids (and consequently the parents, also). We formed a plan of attack for the following day and set about getting five excited children to sleep, which was not highly successful, but eventually worked.
Sunday bloomed into a fine specimen of a day, and we took a packed lunch up to the top of a hill, referred to as ‘the tower’, and all ate there. The sun cast its magic onto every blade of grass, every tree and the very view itself. We were warm, even hot at points and we couldn’t believe our luck. We kept telling the kids to enjoy the sunshine immensely as we may not get to see it again for the rest of our trip! I got stung by a bee on the thumb, and had midgies attempt to nibble us, and Sam had an attack of the stinging nettles, and yet nothing deterred the mood of the outing. Fantastic. Innerleithen was laid out below us, with the village of Walkerburn alongside. Getting the kids to keep going was sometimes a bit of a tire, …in fairness, I should be specific, because they were all great, except for Eliza who behaved as one struggling to cope…which is probably and adequate explanation really. She was outdone by the little legs on one year old Laila, who waddled along in trooper fashion, between bouts of being carried.
An old friend from the castle came by in the afternoon, Alison, bringing her two lovely kids, Ewan and Olivia. (more blondies, seriously, the kids all looked like cousins, not strangers from opposite ends of the earth) There was more happy playing in the back yard as new friends were made, and we old friends caught up. As the afternoon neared its end, we fulfilled a promise to the kids, and drove out of town, to a point where they could wade in the river. They all ended up building a damn across the width of the stream – and by all, I mean Stu and Shane as well, for what boy can resist an attempt at changing, or at least controlling, an element of nature? We went home to a succulent Roast Beef (by now, it is almost official that the Fulwoods are addicted to roast beef with gravy and Yorkshire puds), followed by Golden Syrup Dumplings (something that the Ormistons hadn’t tried, and which it therefore, seemed a necessity to provide them with). It barely needs saying, that Sunday, was a beautiful, golden memory kind of day, where you don’t need the benefit of hindsight to know that everything was perfect.
Monday saw us visit Peebles. Aaahh. The nostalgia. So familiar and yet so unknown at the the same time. We had morning tea with Agnes. A super sweet woman who is now in her retirement, who I knew from my days at the Castle. Her and Cat keep in touch and the timing just worked out well for me to tag along on a pre-planned visit. Lunch in the park by the Tweed. Separate ways for a while, and then Cat and I headed into Galashiels, whilst the blokes looked after the kids and helped build a new fence in the back yard. By the time we returned, the blokes had not only done the above, but also fed and bathed the kids, and we were in time to be shown to our seats, in the back yard, to watch the ‘circus’ which the kids had prepared for us. Circus is a pretty good description actually. There were clowns and games and even a programme for us to keep track of things with. It was about then that I asked Cat if the swarming things EVERYWHERE, like bits of ash floating in the air, were midgies. To which she replied yes. Man oh man. Freaky. They seriously are thick in the air, and so it pays to stay well covered.
Tuesday we left Innerleithen, to go to Broughton, where Cat’s mum and dad live. The afternoon was passed at Doug and Morags’ with the kids meeting three more children to play with, these ones with a bit of DNA in common. Seriously, it is really hard to name the relationship for the kids, I think they must be third cousins or something like that. It was really cool seeing D and M again, and meeting (and re-meeting) all of their children. We were lucky enough to stay for dinner and we left there having had a really lovely time, and having been made to feel really welcome.
Wednesday was Stobo day. We took the kids out to see where Mummy used to work, and on Teresa’s invitation, were able to share lunch with her… and then Yvonne joined us…which was a most excellent bonus, and we even had the pleasure of Mr Winyard’s company. There was much laughter and pleasure at the reunion. Neither woman looked any older, which I thought pretty impressive given the years that have slid by. We were given a tour of the new part of the castle, and of the Cashmere Suite, all of which you can probably find on line if you were to look up ‘Stobo Castle’. Teresa most generously invited us to hers if we needed somewhere to stay and again, we left the visit feeling really, really lucky. What a buzz it is catching up with great people from your past, and both parties deriving real joy from it.
Today we have departed from Hotel Fordyce, where the service is second to none, and the rooms such that you wonder if perhaps you should stop touring, and just stay… (which they have incidentally offered as an option) But no. The North of the country calls. Begging a visit. We are on our way. Drove through the kingdom of Fife today which I have been chomping at the bit to see. But enough. Enough. Your eyes are tired and so are my hands. Enough, and goodnight.
Tick. Tick. Tick. 12th August, 2010
Hill Top Farm, done. Tick! Beatrix Potter Gallery, done. Tick! The World of Beatrix Potter, done. Tick! Boat ride on Lake Windemere, done. Tick! Steam train, done. Tick! Bobbin Factory, done. Tick! Deepest Lake, (Wast) done. Tick! Quality cousin time, done. Tick!
If only I could always be so concise…
Now that I look above, I am little surprised at feeling a bit weary. Today especially was long as we went out driving at nearly midday, and didn’t get home until about a quarter to eight. So much for getting the kids to bed at seven tonight!! (they have started sleeping in – a sure sign that they are not getting enough sleep, and a bad start to a day which you want to get lots done in.)
Hill Top was lovely, but not as atmospheric as I had anticipated. Perhaps it is the inability to immerse oneself, when one is also trying to watch three children, and prevent them from falling through thinly glassed display cases, sitting on antique chairs, and swinging on barrier chains. But gorgeous? The whole area is stunning and there is little wonder that Beatrix (and probably the majority of visitors to the area – including yours truly) fell in love with the lakes district, and her little farm there.
The gallery was where her husband’s solicitors offices had once been. (inHawkshead). The World of Beatrix Potter (in Bowness) is shamelessly a tourist attraction, and a very well done one at that. Models mostly, of all of her stories. The kids loved them, and we adults were pretty impressed as well. That was all done on the Tuesday, all of us going to Near-Sawrey and Hawkshead and then after our return to Windemere, Lee-anne accompanying us to the W. of BP. The other two were making use of the local launderette and because I can’t check my last post, I don’t know whether I wrote about my experiences there or not. Suffice to say the prices are highway robbery!
Yesterday we caught the boat cruise to Lakeside, where we then jumped on a steam train, to Haverthwaite. We probably should have checked out where to go from there, as we set off on foot expecting to find a nice little local somewhere for a lunch. Ha ha ha ha. Two hours later, and a wander through a couple of tiny hamlets, a substantial forest, under roads and over rivers, and finally along the verge of a very busy road, we made our way back to the station and caught the train back to Lakeside. Where we had a two thirty lunch…. Without complaint though really. Being lost in the English countryside is a rather pleasant experience….I just wish we knew where we had been!
Today we sadly farewelled Katie and Kylie, off and on their way to Scotland. It was really special spending time together this week, if not a little surreal at times. (just the fact that we were all so far from home.) After they left, the rest of us piled into the car (I sat in the back with Lilli on my lap, belt over us both) and headed off on the drive I began by mentioning. The bobbin mill was really interesting and we had a half hour tour and demonstration of how things worked. Two things of interest were 1) to switch off the machines at the end of the day, they had to slip the belt off of the working wheel which spun their machine, eg, the belt driving the lathe, and it would be slipped alongside to a free-spinning wheel, thus allowing the machine to stop. This belt changing was called, ‘knocking the belt off’….or ‘Knocking -off’. That is where we have borrowed the expression from in our daily lives when we talk about ‘knocking off,’ or ‘knock-off time.’ 2) All bobbins (of all sizes) had to be polished before leaving the mill, and this was mostly done in a rotating drum with balls of wax, taking about an hour. However, the large bobbins which were especially made for the carpet factories, had to be lacquered, not waxed, and this was done with a mixture containing Metholated Spirits. This mix had highly intoxicating fumes, and was consequently only allowed to be carried out in the last hour of the day, on a Friday. And this was called….quick, see if you can figure it out…. “Happy Hour”. Again, it is an expression we are all very familiar with. And now we know where it came from.
Tomorrow is another sad farewell as we pop Lee-anne on the train, off for her last two weeks in the UK. Actually, the cousin farewells are more fond than sad, as I know that I will definitely see them again, one soon, and one eventually, but definitely again. It is actually Lee-anne’s birthday tomorrow, and as last night was our last night all together we had cake for desert, and then there was a card and choccies from Katie this morning, so we figure that by tomorrow, Lee-anne is up to day three in her b’day celebrations. After she is gone we will be off to see a couple of last things in the district – don’t know what yet – and then it will be back here to pack and prepare for an early departure on Saturday. We are heading to Scotland, with plans to visit a couple of the forts, in Hadrian’s wall along the way.
Guess it could be Saturday by the time this gets posted. Oh well. Better late than never. Bye now.
If only I could always be so concise…
Now that I look above, I am little surprised at feeling a bit weary. Today especially was long as we went out driving at nearly midday, and didn’t get home until about a quarter to eight. So much for getting the kids to bed at seven tonight!! (they have started sleeping in – a sure sign that they are not getting enough sleep, and a bad start to a day which you want to get lots done in.)
Hill Top was lovely, but not as atmospheric as I had anticipated. Perhaps it is the inability to immerse oneself, when one is also trying to watch three children, and prevent them from falling through thinly glassed display cases, sitting on antique chairs, and swinging on barrier chains. But gorgeous? The whole area is stunning and there is little wonder that Beatrix (and probably the majority of visitors to the area – including yours truly) fell in love with the lakes district, and her little farm there.
The gallery was where her husband’s solicitors offices had once been. (inHawkshead). The World of Beatrix Potter (in Bowness) is shamelessly a tourist attraction, and a very well done one at that. Models mostly, of all of her stories. The kids loved them, and we adults were pretty impressed as well. That was all done on the Tuesday, all of us going to Near-Sawrey and Hawkshead and then after our return to Windemere, Lee-anne accompanying us to the W. of BP. The other two were making use of the local launderette and because I can’t check my last post, I don’t know whether I wrote about my experiences there or not. Suffice to say the prices are highway robbery!
Yesterday we caught the boat cruise to Lakeside, where we then jumped on a steam train, to Haverthwaite. We probably should have checked out where to go from there, as we set off on foot expecting to find a nice little local somewhere for a lunch. Ha ha ha ha. Two hours later, and a wander through a couple of tiny hamlets, a substantial forest, under roads and over rivers, and finally along the verge of a very busy road, we made our way back to the station and caught the train back to Lakeside. Where we had a two thirty lunch…. Without complaint though really. Being lost in the English countryside is a rather pleasant experience….I just wish we knew where we had been!
Today we sadly farewelled Katie and Kylie, off and on their way to Scotland. It was really special spending time together this week, if not a little surreal at times. (just the fact that we were all so far from home.) After they left, the rest of us piled into the car (I sat in the back with Lilli on my lap, belt over us both) and headed off on the drive I began by mentioning. The bobbin mill was really interesting and we had a half hour tour and demonstration of how things worked. Two things of interest were 1) to switch off the machines at the end of the day, they had to slip the belt off of the working wheel which spun their machine, eg, the belt driving the lathe, and it would be slipped alongside to a free-spinning wheel, thus allowing the machine to stop. This belt changing was called, ‘knocking the belt off’….or ‘Knocking -off’. That is where we have borrowed the expression from in our daily lives when we talk about ‘knocking off,’ or ‘knock-off time.’ 2) All bobbins (of all sizes) had to be polished before leaving the mill, and this was mostly done in a rotating drum with balls of wax, taking about an hour. However, the large bobbins which were especially made for the carpet factories, had to be lacquered, not waxed, and this was done with a mixture containing Metholated Spirits. This mix had highly intoxicating fumes, and was consequently only allowed to be carried out in the last hour of the day, on a Friday. And this was called….quick, see if you can figure it out…. “Happy Hour”. Again, it is an expression we are all very familiar with. And now we know where it came from.
Tomorrow is another sad farewell as we pop Lee-anne on the train, off for her last two weeks in the UK. Actually, the cousin farewells are more fond than sad, as I know that I will definitely see them again, one soon, and one eventually, but definitely again. It is actually Lee-anne’s birthday tomorrow, and as last night was our last night all together we had cake for desert, and then there was a card and choccies from Katie this morning, so we figure that by tomorrow, Lee-anne is up to day three in her b’day celebrations. After she is gone we will be off to see a couple of last things in the district – don’t know what yet – and then it will be back here to pack and prepare for an early departure on Saturday. We are heading to Scotland, with plans to visit a couple of the forts, in Hadrian’s wall along the way.
Guess it could be Saturday by the time this gets posted. Oh well. Better late than never. Bye now.
Monday, August 9, 2010
I Am In Beatrix Potter Heaven
Our day began with a drive around at about ten to ten a.m. looking for a church to attend. We found one that seemed like ours at home, but would have had to kill time until eleven. Then we saw people going into an old church down the road, and joined in with them. I was a bit panicked when the Minister suggested that those of us with children may like to take advantage of the crèche, where the kids would not be heard, but we would still be able to hear them. A stark contrast to home, so the kids were told in very firm whispers that there was to be no talking. Eliza seems to struggle with this concept. She starts to ask a question, so you put your finger over her lips and whisper to her that she will have to ask you later. You remove your finger and she picks up where she left off. As for Sam, well, those of you that know him would also know that quiet is not a volume he is familiar with - but in his defense he was really good and kept busy with his pencils.
What is it with the pencils. I mean, why do we give out activity packs to kids when they enter a service these days when there is not going to be any Sunday School? At what point did we decide that children were incapable of sitting quietly for an hour? I mean, i am not saying that your average three year old would find it easy...but maybe that is because it is never expected of them. Reflect with me- do you think that Jesus and his mates were handed some paprus when they entered the Synagogue and told to doodle while the Rabbi taught??!! I don't think so! In fact by the time they were 12 they had to know the Talmud by heart....and our kids struggle to remember the Lords Prayer! When did we decide that kids were dumb? is that why we have stopped trying to teach them things - NO. I think that we are afraid of putting them off of God or something! Meanwhile we struggle into church laden with museli bars and biscuits, pencils and toys,...and therein lies the dumbness. I wonder if I will manage it all any differently?
The service was very formal, and all from an order of service. It would be an interesting parenting exercise, if I had to stay in that environment – no yelling. Mmmm. The kids would probably like to try it. The prayers are of course heartfelt if you make them so, and the sermon relevant and interesting, and yet, it really wasn’t until nearly the end when they left the liturgy and invited some people up to share a notice, and look at pictures that the kids had coloured in, that I breathed out and relaxed a bit. The lady behind us was talking to Eliza and seemed very excited when she said to me, “Your daughter says you are from Australia, Is that right?” When I replied that yes it was, and answered her next question, that we lived in Adelaide, she was most excited to say that her daughter lived in Adelaide. She and her husband had emigrated a few years back. They live at Somerton park, so a familiar part of the woods. Such a small world, it is almost cramped.
Now, to those of you who don’t know – I am a huge Beatrix Potter fan. Need proof? Eliza’s middle name is Beatrix and it isn’t a family name; catch my drift. In fact, I learnt today that Beatrix’s real name is Helen, which is extra lovely, as that is the name of my mother. Eliza is most obviously and derivative of Elizabeth, which is Shane’s Mum’s name, and now there is a link to Helen, my mum, as well. Is there? Maybe not. Maybe this is stretching it. It will mean as much to me, anyway.
When Lilli was born we decorated the nursery in blue and yellow, with Peter Rabbit stickers on the walls, and fabric in the wardrobe, change table and windows. Oh how I wish I could have visited here, then, where today, in Bowness alone, we found four shops stocking the brand. I could have had a peter Rabbit guard around the light switch, Peter Rabbit name plaque on the door, Jemima Puddleduck rug on the floor, Miss Tiggywinkle Clock, and Jeremy fisher cushions. There are book marks, place mats, cutlery, bowls, cups and plates, smocks, bags and books. Key rings, soft toys, fabrics, rugs and outfits. Oh my. It is delightful. Her Illustrations are by far her magic. The stories she told are secondary to her drawings, and in fact were often only put together to accompany her pictures. She was a talented artist already at age eight. She was also a clever marketer, patenting the Peter Rabbit doll, board games, slippers herself, back in the early 1900’s. As well as that, she was a passionate conservationist, and the National Trust were left about 1400 Hectares of Lakes District land on her death, with numerous farms included.
Tomorrow we pick up my cousin Lee-anne, from the train station. She will be coming up from London. Meanwhile, another cousin, Katie, is heading to Scotland with her traveling buddy, Kylie. We will all converge on Windemere together, and I look very much forward to visiting the sights with them. On the cards will be the Beatrix Potter Gallery, and her home at Hill Top Farm. We are also looking into the prices involved with hiring our own boat, in order to spend a day out on the lake. Reception here is not good, so the entries may come in bursts as I write and save them, and then publish when I can.
What is it with the pencils. I mean, why do we give out activity packs to kids when they enter a service these days when there is not going to be any Sunday School? At what point did we decide that children were incapable of sitting quietly for an hour? I mean, i am not saying that your average three year old would find it easy...but maybe that is because it is never expected of them. Reflect with me- do you think that Jesus and his mates were handed some paprus when they entered the Synagogue and told to doodle while the Rabbi taught??!! I don't think so! In fact by the time they were 12 they had to know the Talmud by heart....and our kids struggle to remember the Lords Prayer! When did we decide that kids were dumb? is that why we have stopped trying to teach them things - NO. I think that we are afraid of putting them off of God or something! Meanwhile we struggle into church laden with museli bars and biscuits, pencils and toys,...and therein lies the dumbness. I wonder if I will manage it all any differently?
The service was very formal, and all from an order of service. It would be an interesting parenting exercise, if I had to stay in that environment – no yelling. Mmmm. The kids would probably like to try it. The prayers are of course heartfelt if you make them so, and the sermon relevant and interesting, and yet, it really wasn’t until nearly the end when they left the liturgy and invited some people up to share a notice, and look at pictures that the kids had coloured in, that I breathed out and relaxed a bit. The lady behind us was talking to Eliza and seemed very excited when she said to me, “Your daughter says you are from Australia, Is that right?” When I replied that yes it was, and answered her next question, that we lived in Adelaide, she was most excited to say that her daughter lived in Adelaide. She and her husband had emigrated a few years back. They live at Somerton park, so a familiar part of the woods. Such a small world, it is almost cramped.
Now, to those of you who don’t know – I am a huge Beatrix Potter fan. Need proof? Eliza’s middle name is Beatrix and it isn’t a family name; catch my drift. In fact, I learnt today that Beatrix’s real name is Helen, which is extra lovely, as that is the name of my mother. Eliza is most obviously and derivative of Elizabeth, which is Shane’s Mum’s name, and now there is a link to Helen, my mum, as well. Is there? Maybe not. Maybe this is stretching it. It will mean as much to me, anyway.
When Lilli was born we decorated the nursery in blue and yellow, with Peter Rabbit stickers on the walls, and fabric in the wardrobe, change table and windows. Oh how I wish I could have visited here, then, where today, in Bowness alone, we found four shops stocking the brand. I could have had a peter Rabbit guard around the light switch, Peter Rabbit name plaque on the door, Jemima Puddleduck rug on the floor, Miss Tiggywinkle Clock, and Jeremy fisher cushions. There are book marks, place mats, cutlery, bowls, cups and plates, smocks, bags and books. Key rings, soft toys, fabrics, rugs and outfits. Oh my. It is delightful. Her Illustrations are by far her magic. The stories she told are secondary to her drawings, and in fact were often only put together to accompany her pictures. She was a talented artist already at age eight. She was also a clever marketer, patenting the Peter Rabbit doll, board games, slippers herself, back in the early 1900’s. As well as that, she was a passionate conservationist, and the National Trust were left about 1400 Hectares of Lakes District land on her death, with numerous farms included.
Tomorrow we pick up my cousin Lee-anne, from the train station. She will be coming up from London. Meanwhile, another cousin, Katie, is heading to Scotland with her traveling buddy, Kylie. We will all converge on Windemere together, and I look very much forward to visiting the sights with them. On the cards will be the Beatrix Potter Gallery, and her home at Hill Top Farm. We are also looking into the prices involved with hiring our own boat, in order to spend a day out on the lake. Reception here is not good, so the entries may come in bursts as I write and save them, and then publish when I can.
Bronte World, I mean, Haworth.
7th August, 2010
Our time in Chester was well spent, and quickly. Wednesday was the park and tiny train, with lots of very cute squirrels to be fed, and Thursday was a long and rewarding day at the Zoo. Chester Zoo’s reputation is well earned, as being very good. You can’t be fundamentally opposed to the keeping of animals in cages, when you see just how many species have been rescued from extinction by the existence of Zoos – Chester being no exception. To be honest, the delights of Chester, were secondary to the delights of being with the Ormistons. It probably wouldn’t have mattered where we were –it was good. On our last morning I commented to Stuart how true friendship was when one person looked at something, made a face and pointed, and the other friend nodded their head and said emphatically, “I know.” He pondered that for a moment and then added that another true sign was when you could spend time apart, and then catch up as though not a minute was lost. I guess that sums up Chester. The pick-up from where we left off, seven years ago…and it really is almost to the day, as their wedding anniversary is tomorrow (the eighth,) and it was for their wedding that we were last time over.
I guess that a few things happened emotionally when we arrived in Chester. There was a major gear shift in the momentum. We shifted down a gear from exploring mode, to catching-up mode, whilst still trying to see all that we could. Then there was the joy at the reunion. Then there was the knowledge somewhere in the back of one’s mind that this was somehow the pivotal point in the trip, and that we were now on the downhill side of the slope, and our trip now had less ahead of it than behind it. Finally there was the thought that keeps wanting to make itself heard (but I keep shoving it down, as it will only ruin the present), that in a few weeks time I will have to say goodbye to these dear friends again. It isn’t as hard saying good-bye to our precious rellies, because seeing them again is a given…. But friends in Scotland?!? There are no givens – just hopes and plans to see one another again, but we can be certain that it won’t be while our children are still this little..see….now I am misting up….time to squash it again.
Yesterday we left Chester around lunch time and drove to Lyme Park. This is the house that was used as Pemberley, in the BBC adaption of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Oooh. And it was lovely. We managed to get through the house itself in two shifts, broken up by the kids making flowers in an activity centre that was soon to close. Unfortunately that took us to closing time, and we didn’t get to wander the grounds, which, by all glimpses and vistas we saw, were magnificent. We drove away with hopes of returning here on our way back through at some stage. After all, I didn’t get to photograph the spot where Mr. Darcy comes upon Miss Bennett, surprising them both. It is hard to weigh out who was more shocked, him, at finding Miss Bennett in his garden, or her, at Mr Darcy being dripping wet. (yes – all you loyalists, I know that that bit wasn’t in the books, but the BBC wanted viewers to swoon…and by all accounts they did…putting Colin Firth on the radar of women everywhere)
Sam cracked up the two National Trust workers that were in the entrance shop, when he pointed to a poster on the wall, depicting three grinning kids, on the lawn in front of the house, and asked, “Is that Mr.Darcy’s children?” It took some explaining to get the kids to understand that Mr.Darcy had NEVER lived there. It was not his house. That in fact Mr.Darcy had never lived anywhere, because Mr Darcy was not real!! I couldn’t tell in the end if they just didn’t get it, or whether they just wanted to pretend it was his house, because he meant more to them than the Legh family did.
Each time we visit a place like this, be it National Trust (of which we are now members) or English Heritage, I am impressed at the child friendliness. They always have activities for the children to do in some manner or another. And each time, I think that this may have been the best, and then we go to the next, and it seems to compete. I guess it comes from the recognition that whether a place is child friendly or not, makes no difference to the fact that parents will bring their kids along….therefore, best to keep them busy. Today, we visited the Parsonage where the Bronte family lived, and it was no exception, with a children’s play area in the room where the most reading was required, complete with Victorian toys and bonnets for dress-ups.
The Bronte family lived in the town of Haworth (where we stayed last night, in the YHA). The town seems like nothing particularly special, until you make your way into the old town, where the streets are still cobbled, and closed neatly in by stone buildings and flower baskets. Shops and pubs that have been there for a couple of hundred years or more. You walk up these streets, past the old, er, actually new church, as it has only been there since after 1879! past the cemetery and you are at the parsonage that was once home to Patrick Bronte and his brood.
I should mention that my favourite romance novel is Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I read it when I was a teenager, and twice more since. Charlotte was one of three sisters who published novels, the other two being Anne and Emily. There were also two older sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, but they sadly died aged 11 and 12. This tragedy occurred after they had spent some time at a charity boarding school for children of the clergy. Charlotte was there with them for a short while before they were sent home in ill health, and it is widely assumed that when one reads of the horrid, awful school in Jane Eyre, that Jane was exiled to, it is painting a picture of life at the Charity school. The sisters died just months apart. Sadly for the family, the one son died when thirty, and then Emily and Anne followed, in their early thirties also, again, only months apart. Their mother had died also in her thirties, while all her children were young, Anne being only a few months old.
Charlotte married when 38, and died when 39. It is believed that she was in the early stages of pregnancy; one of the heart ripping displays was a baby’s cap which a friend had made and gifted to Charlotte before her death. It seemed to me (although it was not clearly said anywhere,) that it was the pregnancy which killed her. I can’t remember the name of it, but some women get so sick in pregnancy that they quite literally can not keep anything down (which Charlotte seemed to be expressing to a friend, in an excerpt from a letter on display). Basically the mother starves to death and dies of exhaustion and malnutrition. Meanwhile, poor old Patrick, the reverend who had taught himself to read, educated himself, written poetry books and constantly encouraged his children’s academic and creative pursuits, outlived them all. The poor, poor fellow. To bury your wife and all six children seems a burden too heavy to bear. But there it is. He did.
At first the women published their novels under pseudonyms, as brothers, in fact. There was so much to learn about this fascinating family, like the fact that originally, Patick’s surname was Brunty. A decent Irish name that he changed whilst at college. I could go on and on….but I have no idea if it is of any interest to you … then again,….I don’t usually let that bother me, do I?
One thing that I will mention, as it hit me like a ton of bricks, is the death that was so much a part of life in bygone eras. As I mentioned, one must go past the cemetery to get to Bronte Parsonage. We actually went in and read a few tombstones. The first one had a sleeping infant statue on it, and within its mound contained three four babies, lost at one year, two years, six weeks and another early age as well. Then the mother and father were buried there as well. There was no mention of other siblings, so I don’t know whether they ever had any that lived. Another grave housed the remains of a man’s seventeen week old baby, then about three months later, his wife. He remarried, and had to bury another two infants, and then his second wife. (there being a gap of several months between the last baby and the mother’s death). It is a very strong surge of grief that grips you when you stand there, reading these bare facts. No details, just the ability to imagine how you would feel…how you would cope… It was therefore of some interest to us that we read in the Parsonage museum that Rev Bronte was part of a committee that put together a report condemning the sanitary conditions of Haworth Village. Factories abounded, and toilets were sparse, with one account saying that there was an average of about one loo to service about twenty two households. You can imagine what the streets were running with… Maybe this is why tombstones like the ones we encountered exist. People didn’t know about germs (in a biological sense), and if my memory serves me correctly, this was an era where breast feeding was often replaced early, with the feeding of mash. My spirit groans at the thought of all of the grief that people endured, through circumstances which were avoidable. I hope that the reunions in heaven wipe away all trace of the deep loss people have felt.
Having written all of this, I feel rather melancholy. Kind of like the feelings at the cemetery have resurfaced in all of their sadness, but I really want to leave you with the fact that the day was wonderful. Haworth delightful. The museum fascinating. All well worth a visit if you are ever around.
Now we are in our house for the next week, in Windemere. Bowness-on-Windemere, to be exact. It isn’t a flash place. The owner had warned us about this. In fact, we let ourselves in at the verandah, and then proceeded to let ourselves into the wrong flat. It was quite funny as Shane stopped us all, told us to shush and backed us all quietly out of the doorway, having spied a pair of slippers in front of a chair. We then took the door to the left and presto. We are in someone’s grandma’s house. At least, that is how it feels. In a very real way, it reminds me of my Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Dergholm. I am sure they must have been decorated in a very similar era. I can’t wait for the morning when I will have porridge for brekky in the kitchen……..Ironically, I will be joined by cousins from that side of the family, this very week, in this very house…I wonder if they will feel it too….
Our time in Chester was well spent, and quickly. Wednesday was the park and tiny train, with lots of very cute squirrels to be fed, and Thursday was a long and rewarding day at the Zoo. Chester Zoo’s reputation is well earned, as being very good. You can’t be fundamentally opposed to the keeping of animals in cages, when you see just how many species have been rescued from extinction by the existence of Zoos – Chester being no exception. To be honest, the delights of Chester, were secondary to the delights of being with the Ormistons. It probably wouldn’t have mattered where we were –it was good. On our last morning I commented to Stuart how true friendship was when one person looked at something, made a face and pointed, and the other friend nodded their head and said emphatically, “I know.” He pondered that for a moment and then added that another true sign was when you could spend time apart, and then catch up as though not a minute was lost. I guess that sums up Chester. The pick-up from where we left off, seven years ago…and it really is almost to the day, as their wedding anniversary is tomorrow (the eighth,) and it was for their wedding that we were last time over.
I guess that a few things happened emotionally when we arrived in Chester. There was a major gear shift in the momentum. We shifted down a gear from exploring mode, to catching-up mode, whilst still trying to see all that we could. Then there was the joy at the reunion. Then there was the knowledge somewhere in the back of one’s mind that this was somehow the pivotal point in the trip, and that we were now on the downhill side of the slope, and our trip now had less ahead of it than behind it. Finally there was the thought that keeps wanting to make itself heard (but I keep shoving it down, as it will only ruin the present), that in a few weeks time I will have to say goodbye to these dear friends again. It isn’t as hard saying good-bye to our precious rellies, because seeing them again is a given…. But friends in Scotland?!? There are no givens – just hopes and plans to see one another again, but we can be certain that it won’t be while our children are still this little..see….now I am misting up….time to squash it again.
Yesterday we left Chester around lunch time and drove to Lyme Park. This is the house that was used as Pemberley, in the BBC adaption of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Oooh. And it was lovely. We managed to get through the house itself in two shifts, broken up by the kids making flowers in an activity centre that was soon to close. Unfortunately that took us to closing time, and we didn’t get to wander the grounds, which, by all glimpses and vistas we saw, were magnificent. We drove away with hopes of returning here on our way back through at some stage. After all, I didn’t get to photograph the spot where Mr. Darcy comes upon Miss Bennett, surprising them both. It is hard to weigh out who was more shocked, him, at finding Miss Bennett in his garden, or her, at Mr Darcy being dripping wet. (yes – all you loyalists, I know that that bit wasn’t in the books, but the BBC wanted viewers to swoon…and by all accounts they did…putting Colin Firth on the radar of women everywhere)
Sam cracked up the two National Trust workers that were in the entrance shop, when he pointed to a poster on the wall, depicting three grinning kids, on the lawn in front of the house, and asked, “Is that Mr.Darcy’s children?” It took some explaining to get the kids to understand that Mr.Darcy had NEVER lived there. It was not his house. That in fact Mr.Darcy had never lived anywhere, because Mr Darcy was not real!! I couldn’t tell in the end if they just didn’t get it, or whether they just wanted to pretend it was his house, because he meant more to them than the Legh family did.
Each time we visit a place like this, be it National Trust (of which we are now members) or English Heritage, I am impressed at the child friendliness. They always have activities for the children to do in some manner or another. And each time, I think that this may have been the best, and then we go to the next, and it seems to compete. I guess it comes from the recognition that whether a place is child friendly or not, makes no difference to the fact that parents will bring their kids along….therefore, best to keep them busy. Today, we visited the Parsonage where the Bronte family lived, and it was no exception, with a children’s play area in the room where the most reading was required, complete with Victorian toys and bonnets for dress-ups.
The Bronte family lived in the town of Haworth (where we stayed last night, in the YHA). The town seems like nothing particularly special, until you make your way into the old town, where the streets are still cobbled, and closed neatly in by stone buildings and flower baskets. Shops and pubs that have been there for a couple of hundred years or more. You walk up these streets, past the old, er, actually new church, as it has only been there since after 1879! past the cemetery and you are at the parsonage that was once home to Patrick Bronte and his brood.
I should mention that my favourite romance novel is Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I read it when I was a teenager, and twice more since. Charlotte was one of three sisters who published novels, the other two being Anne and Emily. There were also two older sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, but they sadly died aged 11 and 12. This tragedy occurred after they had spent some time at a charity boarding school for children of the clergy. Charlotte was there with them for a short while before they were sent home in ill health, and it is widely assumed that when one reads of the horrid, awful school in Jane Eyre, that Jane was exiled to, it is painting a picture of life at the Charity school. The sisters died just months apart. Sadly for the family, the one son died when thirty, and then Emily and Anne followed, in their early thirties also, again, only months apart. Their mother had died also in her thirties, while all her children were young, Anne being only a few months old.
Charlotte married when 38, and died when 39. It is believed that she was in the early stages of pregnancy; one of the heart ripping displays was a baby’s cap which a friend had made and gifted to Charlotte before her death. It seemed to me (although it was not clearly said anywhere,) that it was the pregnancy which killed her. I can’t remember the name of it, but some women get so sick in pregnancy that they quite literally can not keep anything down (which Charlotte seemed to be expressing to a friend, in an excerpt from a letter on display). Basically the mother starves to death and dies of exhaustion and malnutrition. Meanwhile, poor old Patrick, the reverend who had taught himself to read, educated himself, written poetry books and constantly encouraged his children’s academic and creative pursuits, outlived them all. The poor, poor fellow. To bury your wife and all six children seems a burden too heavy to bear. But there it is. He did.
At first the women published their novels under pseudonyms, as brothers, in fact. There was so much to learn about this fascinating family, like the fact that originally, Patick’s surname was Brunty. A decent Irish name that he changed whilst at college. I could go on and on….but I have no idea if it is of any interest to you … then again,….I don’t usually let that bother me, do I?
One thing that I will mention, as it hit me like a ton of bricks, is the death that was so much a part of life in bygone eras. As I mentioned, one must go past the cemetery to get to Bronte Parsonage. We actually went in and read a few tombstones. The first one had a sleeping infant statue on it, and within its mound contained three four babies, lost at one year, two years, six weeks and another early age as well. Then the mother and father were buried there as well. There was no mention of other siblings, so I don’t know whether they ever had any that lived. Another grave housed the remains of a man’s seventeen week old baby, then about three months later, his wife. He remarried, and had to bury another two infants, and then his second wife. (there being a gap of several months between the last baby and the mother’s death). It is a very strong surge of grief that grips you when you stand there, reading these bare facts. No details, just the ability to imagine how you would feel…how you would cope… It was therefore of some interest to us that we read in the Parsonage museum that Rev Bronte was part of a committee that put together a report condemning the sanitary conditions of Haworth Village. Factories abounded, and toilets were sparse, with one account saying that there was an average of about one loo to service about twenty two households. You can imagine what the streets were running with… Maybe this is why tombstones like the ones we encountered exist. People didn’t know about germs (in a biological sense), and if my memory serves me correctly, this was an era where breast feeding was often replaced early, with the feeding of mash. My spirit groans at the thought of all of the grief that people endured, through circumstances which were avoidable. I hope that the reunions in heaven wipe away all trace of the deep loss people have felt.
Having written all of this, I feel rather melancholy. Kind of like the feelings at the cemetery have resurfaced in all of their sadness, but I really want to leave you with the fact that the day was wonderful. Haworth delightful. The museum fascinating. All well worth a visit if you are ever around.
Now we are in our house for the next week, in Windemere. Bowness-on-Windemere, to be exact. It isn’t a flash place. The owner had warned us about this. In fact, we let ourselves in at the verandah, and then proceeded to let ourselves into the wrong flat. It was quite funny as Shane stopped us all, told us to shush and backed us all quietly out of the doorway, having spied a pair of slippers in front of a chair. We then took the door to the left and presto. We are in someone’s grandma’s house. At least, that is how it feels. In a very real way, it reminds me of my Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Dergholm. I am sure they must have been decorated in a very similar era. I can’t wait for the morning when I will have porridge for brekky in the kitchen……..Ironically, I will be joined by cousins from that side of the family, this very week, in this very house…I wonder if they will feel it too….
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Big fat fizzer of a surprise!
Okay, so we were driving up from Birmingham, with six months of suspense under our belts. Stuart and Catriona were heading down from Scotland, with about five hours of travel ahead of them. It was feeling tight as we made our way into Chester at about midday, as I knew that they were planning to arrive at around one, and I wanted to be sorted with snacks and flowers, and be well hidden by then.
So, we eventually find ourselves where we were supposed to be, driving on New Crane road, and able to see Appollo Blinds ahead, where our instructions told us to turn in and park. At the same moment that we pulled around the corner, my phone rang. It was Stuart. We stopped on the roadway - a short dead end, at the end of the Wharf buildings, with about five cars parked to our right against the building's end.
"We're here", Stuart informed me. He told me he was standing at the wharf side of the buildings calling me, while he had left Cat and the kids in the car. I told Shane to move forward a bit to see if we could see him, during which time Stu asked where we were, and I told him we had just turned in at Apollo. He promptly told me that that was where he was parked. I looked over my shoulder in time to see a familiar figure hopping out of a car seat and standing up. "There she is" I yelled (or maybe screamed) at Shane. "Drive". So we went around the back of the blind shop and a garage, and waited there, with Stu still on the phone. The plan being that they were going to go and have a wander around, while we did our secret secreting. Then we saw him. Walking to our car with his hands saying 'stop'. "She's seen you" he informed us. Game up.
It would be easy to be disappointed, given the hours of imagining that have gone into this. (and in fact Sam took it hard and was quite dark for the first twenty minutes of our time together, declaring, "Well that was a waste of time" instead of "Nice to meet you Aunty Cat") But it wasn't.
You can't be disappointed when you are finally face to face with dear friends, after seven years of separation. Nor can you be anything but overwhelmed, emotional and grateful, when you are able to give a hug to the beautiful children you have never met before, but have known and loved since you knew of their impending arrivals.
Cat was shaking all over. She probably wouldn't have recognised us - or even have been looking, if it hadn't been Nathan's announcement only a minute earlier of, "Now that we are in CHester, I can tell you that we are going to see Shane and Fiona." "Ey?" Asked Cat, assuming he was referring to something else, or at best was confused. But he backed up his understanding by asking, "I don't know why we couldn't meet them at the airport?" So, you see, when we drove past, Cat's heart was already racing, and she was looking around, suddenly suspicious of where Stu had gone, and could this be true! Her first words to him when he appeared after our call were, "And you kept this from me...." at which point he knew that the cat (as in, the feline) was out of the bag.
So here we are. In Chester. Having a lovely time with lovely people.
Chester is a walled city, as many are, but this one is special as it is the only one where the wall is still complete. I know this because I read it as I walked around that very wall this evening. We simply strolled around the town today, through the markets, heard the town crier at midday, and took a short cruise up the river. We also visited the site of a Roman ampitheatre (or what was left of it) and enjoyed the beautiful park by the river. We will return to this park tomorrow to feed the super friendly squirrels, catch an antique bus around the town for a tour, and ride the mini train.
Then on Thursday it will be off and out to the Chester Zoo.
I should add that the title of this log suggests that the surprise was a flop - I guess it is really our plan that fizzed out, the surprise was still there for Catriona, and the thrill of catching up just as wonderful for us. I am just super glad that we didn't invest in wigs and costumes for any of our more elaborate set ups....
So, we eventually find ourselves where we were supposed to be, driving on New Crane road, and able to see Appollo Blinds ahead, where our instructions told us to turn in and park. At the same moment that we pulled around the corner, my phone rang. It was Stuart. We stopped on the roadway - a short dead end, at the end of the Wharf buildings, with about five cars parked to our right against the building's end.
"We're here", Stuart informed me. He told me he was standing at the wharf side of the buildings calling me, while he had left Cat and the kids in the car. I told Shane to move forward a bit to see if we could see him, during which time Stu asked where we were, and I told him we had just turned in at Apollo. He promptly told me that that was where he was parked. I looked over my shoulder in time to see a familiar figure hopping out of a car seat and standing up. "There she is" I yelled (or maybe screamed) at Shane. "Drive". So we went around the back of the blind shop and a garage, and waited there, with Stu still on the phone. The plan being that they were going to go and have a wander around, while we did our secret secreting. Then we saw him. Walking to our car with his hands saying 'stop'. "She's seen you" he informed us. Game up.
It would be easy to be disappointed, given the hours of imagining that have gone into this. (and in fact Sam took it hard and was quite dark for the first twenty minutes of our time together, declaring, "Well that was a waste of time" instead of "Nice to meet you Aunty Cat") But it wasn't.
You can't be disappointed when you are finally face to face with dear friends, after seven years of separation. Nor can you be anything but overwhelmed, emotional and grateful, when you are able to give a hug to the beautiful children you have never met before, but have known and loved since you knew of their impending arrivals.
Cat was shaking all over. She probably wouldn't have recognised us - or even have been looking, if it hadn't been Nathan's announcement only a minute earlier of, "Now that we are in CHester, I can tell you that we are going to see Shane and Fiona." "Ey?" Asked Cat, assuming he was referring to something else, or at best was confused. But he backed up his understanding by asking, "I don't know why we couldn't meet them at the airport?" So, you see, when we drove past, Cat's heart was already racing, and she was looking around, suddenly suspicious of where Stu had gone, and could this be true! Her first words to him when he appeared after our call were, "And you kept this from me...." at which point he knew that the cat (as in, the feline) was out of the bag.
So here we are. In Chester. Having a lovely time with lovely people.
Chester is a walled city, as many are, but this one is special as it is the only one where the wall is still complete. I know this because I read it as I walked around that very wall this evening. We simply strolled around the town today, through the markets, heard the town crier at midday, and took a short cruise up the river. We also visited the site of a Roman ampitheatre (or what was left of it) and enjoyed the beautiful park by the river. We will return to this park tomorrow to feed the super friendly squirrels, catch an antique bus around the town for a tour, and ride the mini train.
Then on Thursday it will be off and out to the Chester Zoo.
I should add that the title of this log suggests that the surprise was a flop - I guess it is really our plan that fizzed out, the surprise was still there for Catriona, and the thrill of catching up just as wonderful for us. I am just super glad that we didn't invest in wigs and costumes for any of our more elaborate set ups....
Monday, August 2, 2010
From London to Birmingham and beyond...
Finished up our Friday with a walk through Russia Dock Woodlands. This is a pretty cool place. It used to be the docks….you may have guessed that….and now it is re-claimed land, covered in trees, grass and shrubs. Not like a botanical garden but like, er, a woodland. I guess in summary the name really does say it all. The cool thing is seeing squirrels running around, and storks on rocks and ducks and their ducklings, cruising around on impossibly picturesque ponds, all whilst surrounded by the unseen suburbia of London. If I had to live in London, I would definitely like to be in an area like this. I met a dear old couple who were sitting on a bench watching ducks near the above mentioned post-card like pond, and ironically they have a grandson who has recently married a girl from the South East of South Australia. Unfortunately they couldn’t remember the name of her home town….either way it reminds us that we are members of a small world! (Like when we were lined up with a hundred or more people awaiting entrance to the Natural History Museum, and the family right behind us were from Adelaide. Freaky!)
On Saturday morning we left London, and headed to Birmingham. It takes almost as long getting out of the city, as it does traveling the hundred miles to get there. You certainly grow in your appreciation of Colonel Light and the concept of ‘planned’ cities. London is of course a bunch of country villages that over hundreds of years, all burst at their seams, and were smooshed together to make the city that we now know. Interesting yes, streamlined, no.
We arrived at Birmingham in time for a lunch with our dear Katie and the gorgeous Jesse. We went for a stroll and play through the Botanical Gardens in the arvo. Sam declared in his most boyish indignation (on arrival to the gardens), “Why have we come to see flowers? You do know that I don’t like flowers, don’t you?” He was very quick to change his opinion almost immediately as we walked past the tropical pond full of huge gold fish, and stopped to gaze at the carnivorous plant display. The gardens are lovely and one can easily imagine passing happy afternoons there, with smooth green hills to roll down, a playground and interactive garden for the kids. A coffee shop, interesting plants and of course a fountain or two around the place. Then it was home for Roast Beef…..need I say more…..God Bless Katie!! (yes, we are talking the full deal, roast sweet potato, rich gravy AND Yorkshire puds – I am drooling thinking of it!!)
Yesterday Katie had to work, and as Jesse’s babysitter had something come up last minute, we were lucky enough to have a fourth child for the day. (We had offered already but Katie had been worried about hampering our touristy plans) Thing is, we really didn’t have any touristy plans, and having Jesse helped us to figure out what to do, and the end result was a lovely, enjoyable and most productive day.
We began by attending the church on the high street which had a ten am service, aimed at kids. It is somewhere that Jesse attends a playgroup regularly, so hopefully felt familiar to him – helpful, given that he was only just getting familiar with us. The church was packed and super kid-friendly. It was a bit squishy in the family ‘corner’ of the church, which was already full when we arrived and added our two strollers to the mix. It also involved a walk of shame, as we were about five minutes late, and the family corner was at the very front. A lovely lady came and spoke to us after. She is a school teacher and was a little horrified to hear that we had our kids out of school for a whole term – Niki, (Lilli’s teacher at home, who is British) had already explained that things were different here in that regard)
The lady who had led the service recognised Jesse and also made us feel welcome.
After a quick lunch, Jesse had his nap, and Eliza had her I-will-lie-here-and-call-out-every-five-minutes-until-you-let-me-get-up. Shane vacuumed the car, which has needed done for - well, since we bought it. This also involved a good clean out of all of the stuff that has found its way into the nooks and crannies of the car. Sam and Lilli had a good catch up on some school work, as did I.
Before tea we went for a walk to a nearby park where we fed the ducks and enjoyed the playground. Home for spaghetti Bolognese, bathing kids etc, and a great day was had by all.
It is always sad saying good-bye to loved ones, but we have had a fond farewell this morning before Katie headed off to work, and it is made easier by the hope of seeing each other again before we leave the country.
We are now ab 20 miles out of Chester, where we are going to surprise our dear friend Catriona. She lives in Scotland, but her and her hubby (who is in on the plan) are bringing their two kids down here for their family holiday. I have wanted to do this to her for many years – surprise her that is…I used to imagine doing it on her doorstep, but then one year when they went camping at Cornwall, I thought then how cool it would be to just be in the campsite next door to hers, and see how long it would take for her to recognise us. Therefore, when we knew that we were definitely coming over, I got in touch with Stu to find out where they were going for their summer holidays. So we are booked into an apartment over the next four days, in the same building as they have an apartment booked.
Stu has given us the codes to their room, and we plan to let ourselves in, to surprise Cat on their arrival. On the door, we will put a note, saying
Welcome to Chester. We hope you have a pleasant stay. We have left a surprise in your room, to help you enjoy your stay. With our compliments, The Wharf.
On the bench in the kitchen we will leave some afternoon tea, and Lilli’s Kitty. Kitty came with us to Scotland seven years ago and was with Lilli when she was a flower girl in Cat and Stu’s wedding. Kitty still is wearing the burgundy ribbon around her neck that we ut on her to match the bridesmaid dresses. If we can find any, I will also put a black (burgundy) calla lily with Kitty. This was the flower in the bridesmaids bouquets, at the wedding. These a just to see if Cat will guess what is going on. She will know for sure when she opens the door to one of the rooms and we will all be there.
As for how it really goes..…I will let you know in my next entry. We are nearly there, and in an hour and a half, we will be face to face with precious friends that we could never be sure we were going to get to see again. No wonder I am so excited!
On Saturday morning we left London, and headed to Birmingham. It takes almost as long getting out of the city, as it does traveling the hundred miles to get there. You certainly grow in your appreciation of Colonel Light and the concept of ‘planned’ cities. London is of course a bunch of country villages that over hundreds of years, all burst at their seams, and were smooshed together to make the city that we now know. Interesting yes, streamlined, no.
We arrived at Birmingham in time for a lunch with our dear Katie and the gorgeous Jesse. We went for a stroll and play through the Botanical Gardens in the arvo. Sam declared in his most boyish indignation (on arrival to the gardens), “Why have we come to see flowers? You do know that I don’t like flowers, don’t you?” He was very quick to change his opinion almost immediately as we walked past the tropical pond full of huge gold fish, and stopped to gaze at the carnivorous plant display. The gardens are lovely and one can easily imagine passing happy afternoons there, with smooth green hills to roll down, a playground and interactive garden for the kids. A coffee shop, interesting plants and of course a fountain or two around the place. Then it was home for Roast Beef…..need I say more…..God Bless Katie!! (yes, we are talking the full deal, roast sweet potato, rich gravy AND Yorkshire puds – I am drooling thinking of it!!)
Yesterday Katie had to work, and as Jesse’s babysitter had something come up last minute, we were lucky enough to have a fourth child for the day. (We had offered already but Katie had been worried about hampering our touristy plans) Thing is, we really didn’t have any touristy plans, and having Jesse helped us to figure out what to do, and the end result was a lovely, enjoyable and most productive day.
We began by attending the church on the high street which had a ten am service, aimed at kids. It is somewhere that Jesse attends a playgroup regularly, so hopefully felt familiar to him – helpful, given that he was only just getting familiar with us. The church was packed and super kid-friendly. It was a bit squishy in the family ‘corner’ of the church, which was already full when we arrived and added our two strollers to the mix. It also involved a walk of shame, as we were about five minutes late, and the family corner was at the very front. A lovely lady came and spoke to us after. She is a school teacher and was a little horrified to hear that we had our kids out of school for a whole term – Niki, (Lilli’s teacher at home, who is British) had already explained that things were different here in that regard)
The lady who had led the service recognised Jesse and also made us feel welcome.
After a quick lunch, Jesse had his nap, and Eliza had her I-will-lie-here-and-call-out-every-five-minutes-until-you-let-me-get-up. Shane vacuumed the car, which has needed done for - well, since we bought it. This also involved a good clean out of all of the stuff that has found its way into the nooks and crannies of the car. Sam and Lilli had a good catch up on some school work, as did I.
Before tea we went for a walk to a nearby park where we fed the ducks and enjoyed the playground. Home for spaghetti Bolognese, bathing kids etc, and a great day was had by all.
It is always sad saying good-bye to loved ones, but we have had a fond farewell this morning before Katie headed off to work, and it is made easier by the hope of seeing each other again before we leave the country.
We are now ab 20 miles out of Chester, where we are going to surprise our dear friend Catriona. She lives in Scotland, but her and her hubby (who is in on the plan) are bringing their two kids down here for their family holiday. I have wanted to do this to her for many years – surprise her that is…I used to imagine doing it on her doorstep, but then one year when they went camping at Cornwall, I thought then how cool it would be to just be in the campsite next door to hers, and see how long it would take for her to recognise us. Therefore, when we knew that we were definitely coming over, I got in touch with Stu to find out where they were going for their summer holidays. So we are booked into an apartment over the next four days, in the same building as they have an apartment booked.
Stu has given us the codes to their room, and we plan to let ourselves in, to surprise Cat on their arrival. On the door, we will put a note, saying
Welcome to Chester. We hope you have a pleasant stay. We have left a surprise in your room, to help you enjoy your stay. With our compliments, The Wharf.
On the bench in the kitchen we will leave some afternoon tea, and Lilli’s Kitty. Kitty came with us to Scotland seven years ago and was with Lilli when she was a flower girl in Cat and Stu’s wedding. Kitty still is wearing the burgundy ribbon around her neck that we ut on her to match the bridesmaid dresses. If we can find any, I will also put a black (burgundy) calla lily with Kitty. This was the flower in the bridesmaids bouquets, at the wedding. These a just to see if Cat will guess what is going on. She will know for sure when she opens the door to one of the rooms and we will all be there.
As for how it really goes..…I will let you know in my next entry. We are nearly there, and in an hour and a half, we will be face to face with precious friends that we could never be sure we were going to get to see again. No wonder I am so excited!
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