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.
Friday, August 20, 2010
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!
Friday, July 30, 2010
A week in London, nearly done.
It is Friday morning, and we are have nothing planned. How does that happen, when you are in one of the most famous, historical capitals in the World?
I have no answer - just guesses. I guess we have seen what we really wanted to see. I guess we have been where we really wanted to be. I guess we are pooped and need to re-group, before heading on to Birmingham tomorrow.
Monday and Tuesday I have already accounted for. Wednesday saw us stroll through Green Park (imaginative name) and have a gander at Buckingham Palace. We then pressed on through St James' park and made our way Past Westminster Abbey, Palace and Big Ben, to the London Eye. ( I must add here that the buildings of Westminster are BEAUTIFUL. Such details in the architecture. Is it that we don't have the money to spend on buildings anymore - or that we can't be bothered with the craftmanship involved? Perhaps there just aren't the crafts men around anymore?)
Now, the London Eye. It seemed so tacky to me. A fantastically mammoth bike wheel, propped up on the edge of the Thames. Looks like it was dragged from the river and made to magically grow. And grow. And grow. Not sure what the pods you stand in look like, just glass pods, really. Add to the bike wheel thing the truly touristy nature of the thing, then the cost, and there is nothing really appealing about it really....except....the view.
The magnificent view.
It wasn't until we were up in the air that I could truly appreciate the size of the London Eye. It is huge. When you are on eye level with the face of Big Ben, you start to get it, then when you are looking over the top of everything around you, well, lets just say; you don't regret waiting for forty minutes in a line, and getting on. I even had to admit an admiration for the engineering that goes into such a creation.
We went home via bus, just for something different.
Yesterday we hit the Tower of London. Such an interesting place historically, and with a heap of interesting exhibits. Like, for example, the crown jewels. Wow. A lot of the paraphernalia involved with the coronation ceremonies as well. It was home to the Royals, and prisoners alike throughout the centuries.
There is nothing new about people visiting the Tower to see exhibits. They started making displays in the seventeenth century. It amuses me no end, to imagine the people, wandering through, in the 1600s, oohing and aahhing at the old armour from the 1500's and before. We always think we are the first to do something - and we are so funnily not! Solomon said it when he said, "There is nothing new under the Sun."
Everything about the tower is fascinating. What worries me though, is that i have been there before - and yet most of it seemed new to me! I wonder, if I didn't retain any of it the first time, how much will I the second? And if the answer is that I won't retain much, then I have to wonder whether it is worth going. I mean, seriously - if you visit somewhere at great expense, but remember nothing of it, wouldn't you be better off looking online from the relative inexpense of home, and just pretending you had been there?
The Ravens were familiar, as was the escalator that takes you past the crown jewels. And that is it!!
There are always six ravens kept in the grounds (plus one spare) due to the superstition that King Edward had. The folklore was that if the Ravens ever left the London Tower, that the tower would crumble to the ground as dust, and the Royals would be taken from the Throne.
You can see his concern, as a royal, living in the tower castle!
There is a little chapel on the grounds where such famous beheaded people as Anne Boleyn are buried. Eliza described said chapel as 'cute', or to be specific, "This church is a cute church, like a puppy."
Tower Bridge, which is the one leading to the Tower of London - and is often mistaken as 'London Bridge'- is a most striking place. I thoroughly enjoyed walking across it and seeing close-up the doors and windows in the archways that span its width. My favourite colour is blue, so of course, I like the colour scheme they have gone with!!
Apparently (and again I quote an unverified source) the Americans bought London Bridge - and the English happily sold it to them. The deal of the century really, because the Yanks thought they were getting the Tower Bridge, which, as I said before, is often mistaken as being London Bridge. After all, there are songs about London Bridge, so you think it must be something special....but really...there isn't. I mean to say, when you think about the song, you realize the first problem, and that is that London Bridge has fallen down! It was replaced a few times before they built the current, non-event roadway which spans the Thames, and wears the name, London Bridge. I guess that somewhere in America, there is now another non-event bridge, wearing the same name! I kind of hope it is true, just because it is so funny!!
On leaving the Tower, we caught a bus to Greenwhich. We didn't get to the observatory until quite late in the day, so we basically did the touristy thing, and went straight to the date line, which we straddled and photographed.
Now it is Friday midday, and the kids have spent the morning playing beautifully with some cardboard boxes which they have made into cubby houses in the wee back yard. Ha. The history of the world is all around us - and they are so happy playing with cardboard boxes! I know!! I see the irony in that....
After lunch we are going to go for a walk through the Russia Dock Woodlands. This is something that Grandpa told Sam about before we left home - and when prompted, Sam remembered the name of the place, in order to ask Uncle Paul to take us there.
See you in Birmingham!!
I have no answer - just guesses. I guess we have seen what we really wanted to see. I guess we have been where we really wanted to be. I guess we are pooped and need to re-group, before heading on to Birmingham tomorrow.
Monday and Tuesday I have already accounted for. Wednesday saw us stroll through Green Park (imaginative name) and have a gander at Buckingham Palace. We then pressed on through St James' park and made our way Past Westminster Abbey, Palace and Big Ben, to the London Eye. ( I must add here that the buildings of Westminster are BEAUTIFUL. Such details in the architecture. Is it that we don't have the money to spend on buildings anymore - or that we can't be bothered with the craftmanship involved? Perhaps there just aren't the crafts men around anymore?)
Now, the London Eye. It seemed so tacky to me. A fantastically mammoth bike wheel, propped up on the edge of the Thames. Looks like it was dragged from the river and made to magically grow. And grow. And grow. Not sure what the pods you stand in look like, just glass pods, really. Add to the bike wheel thing the truly touristy nature of the thing, then the cost, and there is nothing really appealing about it really....except....the view.
The magnificent view.
It wasn't until we were up in the air that I could truly appreciate the size of the London Eye. It is huge. When you are on eye level with the face of Big Ben, you start to get it, then when you are looking over the top of everything around you, well, lets just say; you don't regret waiting for forty minutes in a line, and getting on. I even had to admit an admiration for the engineering that goes into such a creation.
We went home via bus, just for something different.
Yesterday we hit the Tower of London. Such an interesting place historically, and with a heap of interesting exhibits. Like, for example, the crown jewels. Wow. A lot of the paraphernalia involved with the coronation ceremonies as well. It was home to the Royals, and prisoners alike throughout the centuries.
There is nothing new about people visiting the Tower to see exhibits. They started making displays in the seventeenth century. It amuses me no end, to imagine the people, wandering through, in the 1600s, oohing and aahhing at the old armour from the 1500's and before. We always think we are the first to do something - and we are so funnily not! Solomon said it when he said, "There is nothing new under the Sun."
Everything about the tower is fascinating. What worries me though, is that i have been there before - and yet most of it seemed new to me! I wonder, if I didn't retain any of it the first time, how much will I the second? And if the answer is that I won't retain much, then I have to wonder whether it is worth going. I mean, seriously - if you visit somewhere at great expense, but remember nothing of it, wouldn't you be better off looking online from the relative inexpense of home, and just pretending you had been there?
The Ravens were familiar, as was the escalator that takes you past the crown jewels. And that is it!!
There are always six ravens kept in the grounds (plus one spare) due to the superstition that King Edward had. The folklore was that if the Ravens ever left the London Tower, that the tower would crumble to the ground as dust, and the Royals would be taken from the Throne.
You can see his concern, as a royal, living in the tower castle!
There is a little chapel on the grounds where such famous beheaded people as Anne Boleyn are buried. Eliza described said chapel as 'cute', or to be specific, "This church is a cute church, like a puppy."
Tower Bridge, which is the one leading to the Tower of London - and is often mistaken as 'London Bridge'- is a most striking place. I thoroughly enjoyed walking across it and seeing close-up the doors and windows in the archways that span its width. My favourite colour is blue, so of course, I like the colour scheme they have gone with!!
Apparently (and again I quote an unverified source) the Americans bought London Bridge - and the English happily sold it to them. The deal of the century really, because the Yanks thought they were getting the Tower Bridge, which, as I said before, is often mistaken as being London Bridge. After all, there are songs about London Bridge, so you think it must be something special....but really...there isn't. I mean to say, when you think about the song, you realize the first problem, and that is that London Bridge has fallen down! It was replaced a few times before they built the current, non-event roadway which spans the Thames, and wears the name, London Bridge. I guess that somewhere in America, there is now another non-event bridge, wearing the same name! I kind of hope it is true, just because it is so funny!!
On leaving the Tower, we caught a bus to Greenwhich. We didn't get to the observatory until quite late in the day, so we basically did the touristy thing, and went straight to the date line, which we straddled and photographed.
Now it is Friday midday, and the kids have spent the morning playing beautifully with some cardboard boxes which they have made into cubby houses in the wee back yard. Ha. The history of the world is all around us - and they are so happy playing with cardboard boxes! I know!! I see the irony in that....
After lunch we are going to go for a walk through the Russia Dock Woodlands. This is something that Grandpa told Sam about before we left home - and when prompted, Sam remembered the name of the place, in order to ask Uncle Paul to take us there.
See you in Birmingham!!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Natural Science and the Great Glass Elevator
We spent many hours today wandering around the Natural History Museum. I am pretty sure we saw only about half of what was there, and we ended up with neither the time or energy to do more. There are a lot of stuffed animals on display. A LOT. Most of them very old, as they tend not to use real animals in the displays so much anymore. In the corridor to the human skeleton section there was a horse skeleton cut in half down its spine, and there was half a human skeleton (also cut down the middle of the spine, reaching up with its hand on the horses missing flank. Sam walked in, stood looking at it, and then said to Shane with a note of wonder in his voice, "A man died patting a horse!"
The funniest thing that happened to us had nothing what-so-ever to do with Natural history, and much more to do with man made attempts at technology. In the shape of a glass elevator. We had the stroller with us for the day - so very, very handy for tired three year old legs and to load up with water bottles and lunches - but that means that stairs are hard, and elevators a must. This was just a small one, going from the ground floor next to the huge animal models (Blue whale, Elephants, etc) to the next floor up where you can get a birds-eye view of said models. It is also glass which means you can look out all the way up, and be seen for the whole journey.
We had been wandering separately all over the joint, but for some reason we gathered when it was floor changing time, and all got in the lift together. We did comment that the lift was moving very slowly as we waited for it, and eventually realized that you had to keep your finger on the call button to get it to come. Once in, we again joked that you may have to keep your finger on the button to get it to the top. Shane asked what would happen if I let go of the button, at which point Paul knocked my hand so that it came off the up button. Sure enough the elevator stopped. Problem being, it wouldn't go again. We were about two metres above ground level, more or less in the room still with all the fake animals, suddenly in a display cabinet of our own. A glass window with six people in it, all very real looking I might add. We posed for a second - and thought we were hilarious. Then we tried again to get it moving. Shane complained (in jest) that he was running out of oxygen and suddenly the situation was hysterical. We were all laughing barr Lilli, who looked quite concerned. Eventually we realized (with the help of Paul actually reading one of the signs in the lift) that if ANYTHING gets too close to the doors, it stops. There were lazer beams to detect our presence. We pulled in our arms and legs and huddled even closer and eventually made it to the top, where the door opened automatically, as it was supposed to.
Lilli asked straight away if we could go back down by the stairs.
The funny thing was that by the time we had finished our lap of that floor, she was keen to go down in the lift again, and, more fools us, we all piled in again. This time the stopping was intentional, with the odd finger being put into the beams on purpose. Stopping. Then starting. And that was all fine....until we made it to the bottom., and the automatic doors were suddenly no longer automatic! That is right - we couldn't get out. There was a museum employee at the bottom who tried opening the door for us, but couldn't. To get it to open, she had to push the call button. It took only a minute or two, and much laughter again, and we were out. We also have labelled it as the worst lift ever designed and made. Beware of the glass lifts near the Blue Whale! Mind you, a good laugh, is good for the soul...
The funniest thing that happened to us had nothing what-so-ever to do with Natural history, and much more to do with man made attempts at technology. In the shape of a glass elevator. We had the stroller with us for the day - so very, very handy for tired three year old legs and to load up with water bottles and lunches - but that means that stairs are hard, and elevators a must. This was just a small one, going from the ground floor next to the huge animal models (Blue whale, Elephants, etc) to the next floor up where you can get a birds-eye view of said models. It is also glass which means you can look out all the way up, and be seen for the whole journey.
We had been wandering separately all over the joint, but for some reason we gathered when it was floor changing time, and all got in the lift together. We did comment that the lift was moving very slowly as we waited for it, and eventually realized that you had to keep your finger on the call button to get it to come. Once in, we again joked that you may have to keep your finger on the button to get it to the top. Shane asked what would happen if I let go of the button, at which point Paul knocked my hand so that it came off the up button. Sure enough the elevator stopped. Problem being, it wouldn't go again. We were about two metres above ground level, more or less in the room still with all the fake animals, suddenly in a display cabinet of our own. A glass window with six people in it, all very real looking I might add. We posed for a second - and thought we were hilarious. Then we tried again to get it moving. Shane complained (in jest) that he was running out of oxygen and suddenly the situation was hysterical. We were all laughing barr Lilli, who looked quite concerned. Eventually we realized (with the help of Paul actually reading one of the signs in the lift) that if ANYTHING gets too close to the doors, it stops. There were lazer beams to detect our presence. We pulled in our arms and legs and huddled even closer and eventually made it to the top, where the door opened automatically, as it was supposed to.
Lilli asked straight away if we could go back down by the stairs.
The funny thing was that by the time we had finished our lap of that floor, she was keen to go down in the lift again, and, more fools us, we all piled in again. This time the stopping was intentional, with the odd finger being put into the beams on purpose. Stopping. Then starting. And that was all fine....until we made it to the bottom., and the automatic doors were suddenly no longer automatic! That is right - we couldn't get out. There was a museum employee at the bottom who tried opening the door for us, but couldn't. To get it to open, she had to push the call button. It took only a minute or two, and much laughter again, and we were out. We also have labelled it as the worst lift ever designed and made. Beware of the glass lifts near the Blue Whale! Mind you, a good laugh, is good for the soul...
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