Coming back into England our first goal is to find my Uncle John's war grave. I am not sure of his age, maybe 20. I wrote this for my family but some of you might find this interesting reading. John was my mother's brother.
John Hannah Black
Only brother of Jean, Betty, Mary, Shirley and Billie
Youngest child of Stan and Lou Black (Black Bros. In Vancouver, B.C. & son of W.O. Black from Orillia)
John Black died in World War II. March 5th 1943
He was a flight sergeant/pilot in the Royal Canadian Air force. His plane went down in the sea, English Channel, though he and his gunner/navigator managed to get themselves into an emergency raft, they were not found in time to save them. It is said that John died just hours before they were picked up.
John is buried in a lovely little English town, Sutton on the Forest, just north of the city of York. There are two burial places in Sutton...one in the churchyard of a stunning small church. Be sure to go in. Bill McKee Jr. said that when he visited there was a beautiful ceiling painted memorial to the Canadians who gave their lives. David and I did not find this but surmised that the church had finally painted out the names and built a Canadian Memorial at the T road in the center of town. On this sundial memorial are listed the dates that men died, grouped into their platoons. His years would have been on the side marked November 1942 to August 1943. His squadron is listed as 429. The other burial site is a walk away from the T, past the church and straight ahead when there is a choice to go straight ahead or to the left. Not far you will find the cemetery. There are three sections to the cemetery: the first area when you walk through the gate, the middle area and a separated back area. You will find John and two other graves together by the far hedge in the middle area. They show easily because the headstones are made of a white rock that has held the inscriptions well. John and his mate are buried close together. John's marker says:
R.118059 FLIGHT SERGEANT
J.H. BLACK
PILOT
ROYAL CANADIAN AIR FORCE
5TH MARCH 1943
I wrote on a lovely smooth stone. UNCLE JOHN YOUR SILENT PRESENCE HAS ALWAYS BEEN WITH US. And on the back I wrote, YOUR NEPHEWS AND NIECES, CHILDREN OF YOUR SISTERS. 2012 Then I wrote his full name on the stone in case it strays from its perch up on top of the headstone. I also wrote him a note to tell him a few things about what has gone on since he left us and stuck it in the ground in a plastic baggie, leaning against the stone. David jammed a stick in front of it cross-ways. It won't last forever. The stone could.
In researching later we found that squadron 429 had a seal or badge that was the “ferocious Canadian Bison” and that their motto was NOTHING TO CHANCE.
While looking at the sundial Memorial we talked with the local postman. He had lived there most of his life...and for awhile was living and farming by the adjacent military air field, Eastmoor Air Field. I had no idea there was an airfield by the town, but it was beginning to make sense just why John was buried there. The huge Halifax heavy bombers flew out of there. Seven crew. It was thought that they were positioned there to fly east toward the northern area of Germany. He, Chris the postman, directed us to the field. If you are looking to find it, face the T memorial and go to your right (in your car)...and take the first left (a rugged road when we were there) down to a gate on your right. Chris told us to look for markings where the hangers had been and also some artillery bunkers. The hangers were just outlines of raised grass mounds and the bunkers the same. But the workers in a gravel storage area on the field were glad to help. They also knew its history. It was awesome to stand and look across the grassy runways where Uncle John had taken off and landed. We even drove on what we thought was a runway, slowly being filled in by weeds. From here we went to the Elvington Air Museum. There is a huge hanger there filled with Canadian war planes. The Halifax knocked our socks off! Statistics: Heavy Bomber built in 1939 and was in service from 1940 to 45. 6,000 were built. 71 feet long. 104 foot wingspan. 3 engines, 1600 hp each. We have written the archives (since it was closed when we were there) to see what other planes might have been flown out of Eastmoor. I always had it in my head that it was just a small two person bomber that he went down in. A six crew plane which might have been flown by him was a Wellington. 64 foot length and a 86 foot wing span. 2 nose turret guns, 2 tail turret guns and 2 in waste (middle) positions...outfitted with Brown machine guns. It could carry 4,500 pounds of bombs. Its nickname was Whimpy. Whimpy was very light weight. It's basic superstructure was a combination of wood and metal, very strong. It was covered with Irish linen! With layers and layers of dope on top! (Sounds like a toy model to me!) It was used the longest of any of the war planes because it was so successful. Here is a story told to us... During a raid a Whimpy got hit and one wing started on fire. The co-pilot got out on the wing as they flew and kicked a hole in the linen for his feet and got the fire out! He received some kind of decoration!
FILMS YOU MIGHT SEE A WELLINGTON IN.
1942 Oscar Nomination ONE OF OUR PLANES IS MISSING
also VERY IMPORTANT PERSON (VIP) year?
OTHER MUSEUMS
Eden Camp in Malton
Dumphries, Tin Wall Downs
Brooklands, Surrey
Old War Song.... Coming In on a Wing and a Prayer
Having experienced how Uncle John's life might have been, I no longer think that he is buried in the wrong place and the sadness is somewhat abated. He believed in his job, he had a high level of responsibility, he had become a man. His squadron buddies and airplane crew must have been bonded like brothers. He lived and worked in a beautiful countryside and village...a place to call home. The Sutton Park estate, an important part of the community, was the military hospital. The men had the support of the local people. Though he missed marriage, children, a good life and testing himself further, he did die in a state of honor, living life to its fullest.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
>While going through the hanger exhibits I read about Sir Barnes Neville Wallis. I believe he made the hydrogen bomb a reality besides a few other major inventions which I have forgotten. I was taken with these words of his:
“I have found that the more opposition and the more criticism that one gets, the more one has to perfect one's idea in putting it forward and half the joy in life consists in the fight and not in the subsequent success...
I think you have got to be tough. I think you have got to express your opinions definitely and firmly but I don't say it follows that you're always right.
You first do all your own thinking and then you find out what other people have thought and you will find generally that you have thought of something quite original that nobody had thought of before. And in a way you know, the less you know about the subject the better you are qualified to introduce original ideas.
I think it's the essence of arriving at something new.”
July 21 & 22 HAPPY BIRTHDAY NORIKO! XO
A steam train ride again. This route is supposed to be the best ride of all, through the Yorkshire moors to the sea at Whitby. We begin in Pickering. Looks like a great town to live in. The day is sunny and good spirits are in the ethers. We find seats and the whistle screams its steamy breath...the engines chug chug faster and faster. A perfect day to watch the English countryside move lazily by. The coaches are filled, all eight of them. Old couples are reminiscing. Doggies are trying to behave and do a really good job of it. Mothers find ways to keep their children occupied. The snack and drink cart is wheeled down the isle. We are traveling behind two different engines today but the one David is really interested in is the prize...The Sir Nigel Gresley. It has a streamlined body, designed to keep folks interested in the steam engine, for the diesels were beginning to take over. Sir Nigel held the world speed record in 1959...112 mph! (For those who might understand...it had 6 large drive wheels, 6 ½ feet long.) We had to change trains once and found that the coach we chose was reserved for a Sunday school party. Hurumph! said a lady beside us. I used to be a Sunday school teacher, I wonder if that is credential enough! Then she proceeded to tell us a Sunday school story. She was a very funny lady and I know I cannot tell it as well, but the jist of it was...“I was telling my class a lovely story about Jesus. They were very quiet and attentive. The class came to an end and when I stood up my skirt fell off...just my slip, stockings and garters showing! My skirt had been fastened by many little buttons in the back. One of the boys had unbuttoned each one!”
As usual, David was talking to the engineers and other train volunteer workers or he was taking photos. He is preoccupied much of the time...so I ask for my ticket in case he does not get back on the train in time! Sunday we find a Methodist Church in Market Weighton. It is the usual small, stately and stone-strong building. Inside it is absolutely gorgeous...it has all been redone to make the space really usable for the congregation's many endeavors. The floor has been leveled and wood floors put down. Heat radiates through. There are comfy attractive chairs instead of pews so the space can be used for many things. One enters the foyer to find a handsome curved glass and wooden structure that screens the worship area. We were told that five years ago there were no children in the church. They began having tea and sweets a couple of mornings a week, open to the public, in particular, new residents with children. It worked. They still have the teas and they have many children among them. The mothers feel like it is home and they make new friends...and they stay. So as usual after the service we chatted over a cup of coffee and then made our way next door to the Bay Horse for a “carvery” meal...roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and veggies. It has become a treat for us, about once every three weeks! Market Weighton is the home of a 16th century giant named Bradley. 7' 9” He was a giant then, though our heights these days are catching up. He had to build himself a house with high doors and ceilings. It seems every town has its claim to fame.
Tomorrow? Maybe to York.
July 26
Monday afternoon we arrived in York and found an easy car park in the midst of the down town hub. This year York is celebrating 800 years of becoming an independent city, set free when the Romans left to take care of troubles at home! We went walking and immediately found the art museum. Well worth the stop...exhibits featuring different types of art and styles, old and new. Inspiring for me, always. And from there we couldn't help heading toward the Gothic cathedral, just across the street, in the very center of it all. It is Yorkminster and an important place as it is the home of the arch- bishop of York, second only to the archbishop of Canterbury in the Church of England (at home; Anglican, Episcopalian.) We were there in time for Evensong, a sung worship every evening during the week. This day the choir was from Connecticut. It must feel wonderful to sing as a group in those huge high ceiling-ed cathedrals where their voices float heavenly upwards...it is quite special to hear. (I think our Seattle friends Stan and Pris Orr have sung here with their own church choirs.) After inspecting the interior and taking photos we went for a walk on the old Roman wall that once surrounded the city. There are three long sections still there and the walk is so pleasant. You can imagine that you are a Roman sentry as you peek out to see if an opposing army is on its way but all you see from that height is busy streets, back gardens, and beer gardens which are being enjoyed by many. In fact it enticed us to imbibe. It was a humid 90o.
The next morning, still in York, we set out again. The wonderful part about this city is that you can walk everywhere...to everything an outsider would want to see. There is a canal and a river running through the heart...so colorful boats of character are tied up along the water trail. A large and lovely mature park stretches a fair distance, still within the Roman walls, for us a hidden surprise behind the art museum. We met a volunteer guide at 10:15 for a guided city tour, first starting in the park. He points out objects of history; Roman, Anglo-Saxon, Viking, Norman...after-which he takes us to the Roman wall, the one we walked the night before. We get part way and we stop for a small lecture...in the hot sun. Not for me. David is feeling the heat also. Come on. Let's take a hop-on / hop-off bus tour. We hopped off at the Shambles, a medieval market area. What fun! It is quite large, many streets with small squares and entertainment...uni bike juggling act, violins, trios, a green statue that winked at me. Some unique creative clothing stores, baby and kid stores, crafts, scarves, lots of jewelers and eating places to catch your eye. The bakery got us. We had baguette sandwiches as we kept walking and gawking. Pedestrian only narrow streets, buildings leaning this way and that. Ladies dressed in a variety of clothes designed to keep one cool...and I must add, on many different shapes of women. It was all fun! We dropped in at Mulberry Hall. High end beautiful china, crystal, blown glass, jewelry, contemporary and traditional. Yummy expensive stuff.
Now we must stop playing and take care of business. Our refrigerator is no longer working.... once again. Bag ice turns it into a cooler. It is just not good enough...especially when most countries do not have ice available in their food stores. We have contacted several garages and mechanics. This is not going to be easy. Made in the USA Norcold refrigerator...no parts, no experience. Gary in Weston is looking for an ignitor. No luck. Duncan in Lincoln, says he only works on American cars...(His company is called Star Spangled Spanner. A spanner is a wrench.)... but it could take a month to get the part. But we head down to see Duncan. He is a genius. He thinks it all through and digs in. Always look for the simple things first he says....so he pulls out the refrigerator and unscrews the compartments adjoining....and what does he find? An old hornets nest in the burn box that probably came with the van when we bought it. It had been jiggled around just enough to get in the way of the workings. There is already a brand new ignitor there, which we must have put in just before we left! (That seems like years ago!) So this is all such good news. Much better than we expected. We pay our one hour labor charge, shake hands and head out. This time for Boston, very near the coast.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
>I make little jokes along the way that drive David silly when he is driving. IE: We are behind a lorrie that says...GREAT BEAR DISTRIBUTORS. “Well they haven't done that in a long while”, I say. See, I knew you wouldn't get it! Great bears went extinct here a very long time ago.
>We banter back and forth and tease. The subject would be maybe his big nose and my eyes being too close together...or...David uses his tongue in earnest when he concentrates or applies himself to something and I thrust out my chin under the same circumstances...or...his ability to focus and my all-over-the-place mind workings....or...his rather slow explanations or story telling and my propensity to leave half a sentence out...or...his stubbornness and my bossiness. All good for making laughter.
>Sometimes, quite often really, I can't find the word to finish my sentence...so David happily fills in the blanks. IE: I am writing a... sonnet. It is almost time to get ready for... Christmas. Throws me for a loop!
>Road kills around here... Dear little hedgehogs, badgers and foxes.
>There are friendly helpful signs along the road. TIREDNESS CAN KILL TAKE A BREAK
July 25 to 29
We reach Boston in the early evening and walk the town center streets, locating what we would like to visit the next day. In the morning we go to the Information Center which turns out to also be an intriguing museum. Boston Guild Hall. Built in 1390 it is an amazing medieval survivor. There are artifacts and tales told in exhibit style. There are jail cells still intact...where those who were running from religious persecution were held. In 2011 the city held a “Dig” where four areas of the central town square were opened for about five weeks to see what, from the past, would be uncovered. And many things were, from different eras in the town's history. It must have been exciting to be part of. Some items were in the exhibit, some still being processed. The square has been restored as it was...but as the curator said....”What else must be down under there?!” From the Guild Hall windows we could see a lovely garden and asked about it. These gardens were behind Fydell House next door. So that was our next stop, “the finest house in town” built in 1720, The formal walled garden was lovely and well kept by volunteers...many plants from all over the world and unique hedge designs. Inside we saw blue and white rococo style walls (looking like cameo brooches) on the stair well, the white two dimensional designs made with paper mache! One room was called the American room as Joe Kennedy had first been received there...and other dignitaries since then. Kennedy was in Boston, England, because he had been invited to help dedicate the refurbished parish church tower. It had been deteriorating badly so the town people asked Mr. Kennedy from Boston MA if he would help them. And he did. The church is another that is well worth visiting and it's tower still stands tall. From a distance it is said to look like a broken off stump...so that is what it is lovingly called today. Not St. Botolph's 272 foot grand tower ...but the BOSTON STUMP! From here we head to Ely, just a bit north of Cambridge. We just have time to visit the church, St. Etheldreda. And yes I know, I say almost every church/cathedral is worth visiting... but this is glorious! There is something extra special, the warmth of feeling I got when stepping through the door...an artist who has done several paintings of the church interior, Alexander Creswell, expresses it this way, “...its soaring majesty and awe-inspiring spirit.” We spend about an hour but we must come back. Friend Kate expects us to appear in Cambridge at there home sometime after 3:00 today.
Cambridge. I have been here before. The 31 colleges add to its beauty in a huge way. We follow the GPS as close as we can get to their home and walk a few blocks to their door. The neighborhood is one we would choose for ourselves. Diverse inhabitants. Old stone connected homes lining the curbs of the streets, left in their original stone, unpainted, but the doors are painted different colors. The surprise to this style is behind the scenes... their homes and back yards. The opposites: stone fronts and blooming back gardens, with wash hanging, pots of colorful flowers, and in this case, Kate's pottery studio. Kate is much like Fox, her mother. We feel at ease immediately...she is a seasoned hostess, welcoming people into her home. At this time there are two boarders, young people doing summer work on their English language. And we choose to stay also, rather than in our van, in a happy little room that looks out into the garden. Art covers every wall of every room. Kate has much the same taste for art as I do. Tim, her husband and renowned stone carver (Search for Tim Crawley, stone carver. It is so amazing. I did not know anyone had this skill any more. His work is on the west outside wall of Westminster Abbey...the whole wall!), arrives home. Even, happy personality. We have dinner outside. We have brought wine and a salad and Kate makes up one of her mother's recipes... which all of you should have.
Lightly olive oil the bottom of a glass baking dish
Lightly sprinkle polenta on top...lightly
Cut up plenty of greens...Swiss Chard or Spinach
Boil these until they are done
Mix with feta cheese
Carefully put on top of the polenta in the baking dish
Sprinkle another thin layer of polenta on top
Pop in oven until the polenta is brown and crisp
Serve with spatula in squares
She also served a chopped red cabbage mixture on crackers that was to die for. I have a request for her to send me that recipe, too. So look for it later. We finish eating dinner just in time to watch the opening celebration of the Olympics. Wasn't that great! Mr. Bean stole the show I think. Traveling as we are it is not easy to see any of the athletes compete which normally I would be glued to. I know you are all enjoying it. The British are flying their flags on cars and door steps and commercial venues.
In the morning while Tim goes off to work, Kate says she needs a walk and would we like to have her as a guide for a few hours. We are close enough to walk into the center of the city...first through a very large old cemetery. Little trails wind every which way. It is a park these days...walk your dog, bring a book and quietly read on one of the benches, wander and read the headstones and ponder the lives of the people under them. The grass is high, the stones weathered and leaning. Trees shade the paths. We follow Kate, I think taking a general diagonal until the gate to the street appears, leading through a neighborhood and across a large playing field where Kate's boys played while in school. It feels a bit like Amsterdam in Cambridge...lots and lots of bicycles. We have a fairly fast look at the exhibits at the Fitzwilliam Museum. Besides the Impressionist room, my favorite is the Cypress antiquities. Then along the road of colleges. The guide book tells us that the alumni from this huge university include: Wordsworth, Isaac Newton, Tennyson, Darwin and Prince Charles. We dip into the Mathematics College and another College with an especially beautiful garden... then past Kings College, Clare, Trinity and others until we come to the public walkway that takes us to a bridge over the River Cam where everyone is enjoying the sunshine in boats...rather they are punting. If you hire a punt (and a punter) you can take a lazy slow trip along the banks of the back gardens of the Colleges. Or you can do the punting yourself which can be a little embarrassing...bumping into others and turning in circles. Or you can walk the paths. Kate is giving us a taste of the central city so that we might decide what we want to do when she leaves us, which she does at a central square and points in the direction of a good folk museum and Kettles Yard, a furnished old home that is not to be missed...and we have a map that she has carefully marked with pink dotted lines that form a big loop back to their home. The streets are full of shoppers and tourists and high school graduating classes from all over the world. We grab a sandwich at Marks and Spencer and then head back to Kings College to see the famous chapel. (Tim replaced a large deteriorating hound carving on one of the outside walls which we took a look at. So well done.) We have to que up to get in but it doesn't take long. Built by a few King Henrys in the mid 1400s to early 1500s, it is the most impressive building in town. I am looking to be art inspired in a church and do not appreciate the structural body as I should...so I wasn't as wowed as I could be. I look for things like the spiritual feeling, the sometimes smaller pieces of art, the hidden decoration and floor tiles. But the vaulted ceiling was pretty amazing...the largest single span of a vaulted roof anywhere. Very detailed and beautiful “fan” vaulting. But I guess it was that I found the chapel very academic and stiff. Probably as it should be! The stain glass was beautiful also, original Renaissance windows that were taken out during the second world war to keep them safe. That would have been a job! And where did they deem safe? Here also is Ruben's Adoration of the Magi.
When coming out of the chapel gate I noticed a woman with an amazing hat. It was a William and Kate wedding type hat. As tall as her head and sat cocked a bit on her red hair. I am sure she made it. “Do you mind if I take a picture of you in your wonderful hat?” She was quite happy that I asked. I have a great photo. A few minutes later I saw another great hat! This was just a sun hat on an older lady, but it was perky and colorful as her personality turned out to be. I have a good photo of her also. Down the street we heard an amazing sound coming from a violin/fiddle. This energetic young man was a fiddling genius. I couldn't get away from him so stayed while David went into a book store for an Eastern Europe guide book. Tune after tune spoke to me. Rupert Engledow by name, a professional “busker”, preferring outside audiences to bars. He called his music Gypsy Jazz. No wonder I couldn't get away! We bought his CD and look forward to his next one. I'll play it for you when I get home.
Oh my, we are enjoying our lazy browsing on the streets, watching people and peeking into shops. We missed our goal of the Kettles Yard by five minutes! What will we tell Kate! (So instead David got a haircut next door.) Back in the center of town we read some posted menus and decided on Indian food, our new favorite., after which we still had to follow the dotted pink line home. Along a river front boardwalk, across a park on a path lined with huge old plane trees, across another park and pretty soon we were lost! With the help of two rather tipsy young men and a taxi driver we got going again in the right direction and found the cemetery...ahhh, but this was like a maze! We went round and round in the little paths. Finally a woman walking a dog found us, in despair (well maybe not quite that bad)! She walked us to the exit to Kate and Tim's neighborhood and we easily found our way back to their door. They were out at a party down the street but were home early enough to visit some more. During our time together, Kate and I had exchanged cameras to look at each others photos and found that we are taking the same pictures, looking for images that an artist might paint, not the landscape type, but the mysterious close-ups of form and texture. How nice to connect in a way like that. We talked about starting up a web site for our photos. Who would have thought I would become a photographer! The real photographer, David, says that they are very good!??? Kate also had so many good books for us both to look at. Books of paintings, world fabrics (the author lives across the street) and Tim's web page kept us entertained. This stay and these people were a blessing for us. In the morning we chose a piece of art from Kate's studio. Her pottery plates are wonderful but who knows if we could keep one from breaking...so we chose a photograph that is flat and is up on the van cupboard wall as we toodle along, to be enjoyed every day. We said goodbye by the van. Tim and Kate needed a look inside. I think a camper-van might just be in their future.
July 30 and 31 / August 1 (Happy Birthday Marlene, wherever you are)
Three goals we have in the next couple of days: Go back to Ely to go through the church more slowly / Get our leaky grey (dish) water tank fixed. / Get me back to a doctor.
So first to Ely where we intend to inspect the church more closely, climb the 100 stairs to the top of the tower and go to the stained glass museum inside its walls. The stained glass displays and explanations were good. I learned that we do not actually stain the glass anymore and then put them together in little pieces, but now...we do a cartoon or model drawing, figuring out just where the lead will go and we paint the images with glass paints. It is still beautiful, just different. The tower tour is about to begin and I am not feeling like I can do it, or anything else. I go back “home” for a sleep. David brings amazing photos back, that he took from “up above”. And in the meantime, he has been to Evensong and an organ concert. That's what happens when you are snoozing!
Next we head to find a doctor for Monday morning. We try a hospital ER in the town of Spalding but they won't take a non-resident. With a bit of searching we go to a “surgery” which we would call a clinic. I am given an appointment for 3:00 in the afternoon and feel lucky to get it for the same day. So the antibiotics that I started to take two weeks ago did not work. Part of the problem has lessened but I am needing to take a more specific regimen. Dr. Kate Wilkenson says that I do indeed need to take a different kind so I stop by the pharmacy and pick it up. This time neither would take our money...free doctor visit , free drug.
Thirdly, we are disappointed to find that our helpful mechanic in Lincoln cannot fix our leaking tank problem. He is too backed up now. So we are on our own. Earlier, while waiting to hear from him, we headed to a 5 star church in David St. John's book,Remote England. It is an untouched Gothic church architecture. Built just before the plague hit and not “improved” by later congregations as there was no money to do so, it is pure and simple. One of the headstones outside the church, captured my fancy and imagination:
In Memory of Mary
Wilkson who departed
this life August the
10th 1792 Aged 61 years
When She died was not
Lamented by he that
Should have most
Regard for hir.
From here we take another coast route from the SPURN, a spit and headland at the mouth of the Humber river, through some small beach towns and over to Hull, a large industrial port. This morning David conducted a long phone research. It was beginning to look pretty grim until he got a “yes, I can help you” from a mobile caravan fix-it unit. Graham met us in a parking lot and got the job done. So it is 9:00 pm and we have found our overnight parking spot. Tomorrow we are heading to Ely once more!
Back in Ely for the third time, we find Oliver Cromwell's House and wander through with audio phones. Cromwell was of course in my Canadian history classes...but I found history boring then. So I wanted to refresh. Cromwell was born near here, married Elizabeth and had nine children. They lived in this house in Ely for ten years. These two were Puritans (like pictures of our Thanksgiving pilgrims). Puritans... hmmm. Protestants, those wanting freedom from the beliefs of the Catholic Church and the King, Charles I, who started putting rules back into the Protestant Church. Cromwell was fired up with the belief that one does not need the Pope or anyone else in between the people and God. Wow! Society was so steeped in the rules of religion...it ruled everyone's lives and actions. Religion had seeped into the very veins of life without questioning. A religion based on fear. Heaven or Hell? (Today the past is so evident with all the religious names of places...Saints and Kings.) Well, Cromwell kept rising in stature and position. He lead the civil war that erupted between the followers of King Charles or those on his side, parliament. The King had taken over without asking any advise from parliament. Somehow parliament won! Cromwell ordered that the King's head be cut off! And it was. The people asked Cromwell to become their King. He would not take the title but ruled as if he were King. For the most part he did well by his people and when he died they buried him as King. Ahh, but later another King had him exhumed and cut off his head! We humans are so intelligent!
Next to our parked car David noticed a gallery, The Old Fire Engine House, and through the window we could see some very good prints.
Andy English is the artist. Small very detailed block print images. Yes, let's buy one. I wanted the little otter crawling out of the river and surrounded by fluffy trees with white flowers in the foreground...but I felt that I got my way the last time... David liked the one entitled Monet's Gardeners ...it did have a flavor of what we have seen in our travels, gardeners working in beautiful gardens at chateaus, abbeys, Balmoral. It's a good one for a memory keeper. We have driven from Ely through Thetford Forest tonight. As we move around, the construction of stone buildings changes. Here it is smaller stone, color range from black to white mixed together. (We find out that the black is flint.) Very handsome. We have been in and around the Fens (marshes) these last few days. It looks like Holland, all flat and many canals and even a few old-style wind mills, still working. Most of the fens have been drained with the help of Dutch engineers. More land for more crops and more income. It was not what the Fen villages wanted but you know how that goes. And over the years flooding has persisted. At first windmills were employed to move wheels that would scoop up the water and send it back into rivers or canals...now there is high tech automatic machinery on the job.
It's dark, I can here some woodwind instrument wafting out of someone's window. David is reading on the “couch” as I type. Tomorrow we drive to Norwich.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> More fun names of towns and roads... Snitterby, Spital on the Street, Hackthorn, Bitchfield, Coggles, Snoots Road, Tattertails.
> I forgot to tell you that on the streets in Cambridge there was a guy inside a garbage can, lid on tight but open side holes....playing guitar and singing. It was funny! It might have sounded good inside but it was pretty bad from the outside.
> Do you know the word “chowd”? I learned it from my father and David also says it often. It means “watch out”.
> Another great town on the way to Ely. Stamford. We did not stop as we did not have the time. But it's a good one if you are in these parts.
> The Humber Bridge which we crossed to Hull (toll 1.50) is the longest suspension bridge in the world. Not as pretty as the Golden Gate or the Lions Gate but wider. And there are walkways attached to each side, a bit lower than the road, that allow for three bikers side by side.
August 3 and 4
Well, we drove to Norwich but kept going. This day was spent in the country. One little English village after another, and fields of crops so lush from the rain received lately. Mostly cattle feed crops. The harvest of hay is going on and the sunlit fields have rolls and rolls of it drying out, especially beautiful with the sun low in the sky, catching one side of each roll...right up the hill to the horizon. In the evening we arrive in an east coast town, Southwold. This is a beach town with a long pier, souvenir stores, pails and shovels for the kiddies, a carousel and rows of little changing huts along the beach. I think these huts can be rented by the day, week or year...I think maybe people lease the huts as some of them are in such good shape, brightly painted to differ from the neighbors, and all having names over the doors....just to help the occupants find which one is theirs. Some are even red and white stripes or pastel stripes...so beachy! A few have windows in the back to let in a bit of light. There is enough room for a bit of seating and beach gear...like a barbecue and beach chairs and umbrellas. There are tiny little porches too...they are adorable! So we took a walk along the beach front and into the town. The beach sand is brown. The sea must pick up sand particles and carry them along in the waves as the sea color is brown also, Everywhere we went there was another neighborhood green (park)... children playing, folks sitting on the many benches, couples on their way to somewhere. Shops. All closed. Then we heard church bells. Happy, like wedding bells. Then, wait, slow deep bongs like a funeral. We walked to the church and met a girl who said, “Oh, we practice every Friday. Would you like to come up the tower and see?” Well, who can resist. The stone spiral stairs were so skinny and tiny that David had to crawl up using both hands and feet. His body was too big...his feet were too long for the stairs! But we made it and found a room full of players and their friends. There were eight folks pulling on ropes. It looked like a real workout and there seemed no rhyme or reason to their madness! Yet the bells were making tunes! It was explained to us later that each piece has a sequence that the bell ringers must know by heart and go through this sequence, over and over until someone calls out something different. John, a participant, pulled out a book and it was full of these tune sequences, hundreds. Isn't it great that there are so many interests that capture our passions. Who would think there were guilds of bell ringers. Bells, still being pulled by hand. We were told that the bell actually sits on a top position, slightly cocked to one side. All the bell ringer really has to do is pull the bell off its perch and it takes it from there, not ringing until just before it settles back on its perch. We follow the lit up light house back to our car and pull out the bed. We are parked at one of the greens, houses all around. Stone block attached to one another, all colors and trims,...all with names related to the sea. I can see a TV though a window and just make out a track event of the Olympics. The neighborhood is quiet.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
>A few more names: Ratties Corner, Tiptree, A pub called...The Original Maids of Honour, Catsfield.
> I talk too much some mornings. Not like me to talk much. I just babble to David, comment on this, on that. IE: “All the piggies in the field have their own little houses. I wonder if the cows know that. Out the window I call...'Hey cows, do you know that piggies have their own houses?' I really don't want to start trouble but they really should know.” Babble. Babble. Babble.
>Clouds and lighting. Remarkable. Always clouds, the kind that build castles in the sky, or threaten storms, or with a few holes to let the sunlight through in “God Rays”. I have never experienced such clouds.
>If you travel like we are I recommend that you have really detailed maps. Ours are in a book...flip to this page, then another corresponding. But along with that, have a map that you can see the whole area, so you can plan trips. Flipping pages does not help you plan!
> GPS...The other day I put in the wrong Brandon (town) and we went in the wrong direction for quite awhile. There are many towns with the same name. That is why there might be a Brandon on the Sea and a Brandon Hill and a Brandon Heath etc.
> Many couples hold hands in Britain.
> The gentry seem to have large sleek dogs like greyhounds...the rest have dear little doggies, so well behaved, all of them.
>Around here we seem to run into heaths. What's a heath...I asked, compared to a moor? Answer, Oh you could never have sheep on a heath...to thick with heather.
Morning. We cook breakfast. Fried eggs and freshly made potato and corned beef hash, fruit and coffee. We are on our way to another seaside village. But we get caught along the way a couple of times. First it is a quick left hand turn into the model railroad show. Quite the set-ups. David got photos he could never get unless we were up in a helicopter looking at the real thing. Lots of talks with the guys behind the scenes who were very serious about watching when and where the trains move. Mostly retired types in groups having themselves a fine time being engineers, as I am sure some of them were! Train buddies. The information on one group...
This small group of modelers based on the Norfolk Broads is interested in expanding its numbers. We meet every Thursday in Dave Orton's shed (50'x10') which contains a 00 fine scale layout. Next project is a small 0 gauge layout.
How much fun can those guys have out in that shed!
Next we drive into a small village and see a sign that says gallery. Let's give it a try. Not all small village galleries are good but the window has some enticing art; paintings and sculpture. Here comes a lady ready to open the door for us. This is Caroline Campbell who begins to talk the moment we enter. Sometimes you want to get away from such talkers but not her. She proved to be quite an interesting character. Her talk was full of great stuff. How about this; “I went to Canada once and decided that I would like to come back to Calgary to live...find myself a nice Calgary man. But Mr. Campbell is still alive so that dream never came to be. That Mr. Campbell, he still likes to put his kilt on and he does not wear anything under his kilt and it is so embarrassing. I have to keep reminding him to watch himself.” She is an artist herself. But she supports some good artists in her really nice gallery. She and Mr. Campbell have cottages for rent also as they are not too far from the sea. One of her sons, Guy, does all the maintenance. Guy and daughter Skye were part of our conversations also. Sweet family. Hugs to Caroline and a wave to Skye and we were off again...but we won't forget them.
Next town on the North Sea, Aldeburgh. This is another good one. Long sea wall walk with a stoney beach. Two stones made it into our van; they are “painters” I think. Lots of stone variety but mostly in the bright brown-red-gold tones. Fish and chips! David says the best he has ever had. They post the times on the shops when they will be frying and everyone queues up in anticipation. We took ours to a sea wall bench. Kids were sailing toy boats in a small pond, bright patterned sails so they would know which one was theirs. It was windy so the sails were catching it and moving fast. I talked to a woman originally from Denmark. She said that she felt like she was back in Denmark because of the similarity in architecture...a mixture of Scandinavian, Dutch and I am sure English. Mainly an old fishing port on the North Sea. They would have been in each others ports and passed tradition along. Aldeburgh has a very long shopping street which adds to the fun. We window shopped.
August 5 (my father's birthday, tho' he has gone)
We find ourselves in a different sort of sea town, Orford. It is evening. We drive out onto the dock and watch the sun set over boats moored to buoys in the wide river that eventually goes to the sea through a sandy grassy spit and shore dikes. A few people are walking the dikes and they slowly turn into silhouettes. Most boats face the same direction, being pulled outward by the tide. The wind blows up waves in the opposite direction. Some boats are in eddies and make circles. We are not the only folks watching all this from our car. It is popular. Two fellows next door put their seats back and fall asleep. They missed the sunset. We overnight in a large mostly vacant car park and make our way to church the next morning. Old stone on the outside, lavender on the inside. Homey. We are lead by Harry Chicken, the lay minister. Yes...Chicken. He is very liberal in theology which is just right for us. After wards we have a good discussion with him. The organist is Stephen Caley. He knows all the words to hymns by heart so his voice is a help to this small congregation. I enjoyed talking to him later. He says he has been there, in that church, all his life. At 13 he took over being the organist. He was a very wise and kind man who it seems has fared well in this spot on earth. His wife is a prolific artist and her work hangs in the church. Their daughter helps with the music in the church and also does art. And there are grandchildren. Another sweet story of good people. After church we walk on the dike and through town. We meet the Jones family who are Americans in the military. A nice exchange with them. Not much happening on Sunday, though this evening there will be a Seafarer's Service on the dock. We weigh our options but decide to drive a bit further. We pick another coastal town, mainly for its name, Brightlingsea. Here we wander into an annual music festival. A large green (park) filled with folks, surrounded by food and drink booths and a stage up front. We arrive in time for a Big Band Group who are wonderful! Swing rhythms and more, to satisfy the crowd. Some crazy young men with brightly colored wigs are dancing up front along with many others. The “Andrews Sisters” come on with some perfect renditions of some of those great wartime songs. About four saxophones are loud and clear. The drummer solos. This is the magic of our day to day moving on.
August 6 and 7 HAPPY ANNIVERSARY CHRIS AND NICKI!
We awake to our usual routine of watching people from our “blind”, the van. We people watch. This morning it is folks walking to the mail box, the old thick metal round red kind, to mail their letters. A kid runs to the store for his parents to get the morning newspaper. The mail person rides by on her sturdy bicycle and a man comes by and with a nice smile asks if we need anything. I think it is these American license plates that bring people to us. Today we have Kew Gardens on our agenda. Pretty close to downtown London. Our friend tells us how he thinks we should navigate...”And don't drive on the special Olympics highway lanes into town...you might get shot!” So we very easily get to Kew and find a free parking spot right in front of the main gate. There is an exhibit of David Nash works in a gallery and throughout the gardens. He works in wood. Large installments. Forceful, simple. Chars the pieces black. Good solid works. With it is an exhibit of botanical art which is so inspiring to me. Beautiful work illustrating nature. And in the next building is the Marianne North gallery which I saw here 30 years ago and never forgot. Hundreds of oil paintings of nature and places she had traveled to in 14 trips all over the world. The paintings line the walls from floor to ceiling. It is like a sanctuary. A world sanctuary. Of course we wander to the glass houses and in and around and through woods and flowers and magnificent trees. It is the famous Kew Gardens and holds up to all expectations. And then we drive to Sissinghurst Castle and Gardens.
Most of you gardeners will know this garden and the maker of it, (Lady) Vita Sackville-West. That is about all I knew of her. David has one of her books in our library. The gardens and buildings have gone through many changes and owners since beginning as a Saxon pig farm. Once, during the 7 years of war between the French and English, it was a jail for those French who were caught. 1756-73. The prisoners tore much of it down in a rage so that now the beautiful manor house is now a garden, though the tower remains and many other buildings that have been appropriately improved. Vita and her husband Harold Nicholson bought the property in 1932. And this is what their son Nigel turned over to the National Trust. Sometimes people who grow up with great wealth have the opportunity to live any life they choose, money being no object. Vita and Harold lived a life that the rest of us can only look at from the outside and wonder what it might be like. Vita had at least three lovers, woman of importance; An early childhood friend that sort of grew on her, Rosamund...a life long friend, Violet whom she met in school at age 13...and Virginia Wolfe....and I am sure more. But she and Harold were very devoted to each other in every other way and their marriage lasted until Vita died. 49 years of marriage. I can only think that because they allowed each other that freedom without jealousy, it worked. They had two sons. We were allowed into a few important rooms. One, a long building that was once the tack room and stables. It was a room they entertained in. I could live there. Huge fireplace with comfy couches in front, window seat bench, dining area, writing desk in a place of importance. Decorative carpets on carpets. And books. This was the library. The other room we could see was on the first floor of the tower. Another winding stair case. It was Vita's private writing room. More books. I cannot remember how many books she wrote, but it was quite a number. There is a picture of Virginia Wolfe on her desk and also portraits of the Bronte sisters. It has not changed since she was last in it. Harold, her husband, also was a writer and he is the one who designed the garden. Vita planted it (with help) and chose the color schemes. There is a boat house with an “L” shape leftover mote, two lakes, the nuttery, the lime trees walk, a profusion of flowers everywhere, especially in the back of the cottage they lived in. A white garden, herb garden, vegetable garden, formal hedge garden, rose garden. Oast (Hop) houses with funny cone shaped metal structures on top which turned out to be like fans turning in the wind, to waft out the fumes of the beer-making process. I am reading an autobiography. Vita says she was ugly, hated other rich children and parties, boyish and sometimes mean. No friends. And very studious and smart. In a few days we will be going to Charleston Farm. Another group of talented creative people, the center of which was Virginia Wolfe's sister, Vanessa Bell. Tune in for more!!!
August 8 Happy Anniversary Piero and Angela, oh, and Lou & David
We have had a “get things done” sort of day. David saw a doctor this afternoon since it has been 6 months since his last checkup with his dermatologist. She is referring him to someone in Hastings (as in ,The battle of...) maybe Friday. I got my hair cut. We finally found some Scotch tape in a stationery store. Not an easy find. Our laundry is done and we are sleeping in clean sheets tonight! We celebrated our anniversary (what year was that?) with dinner at Toby Carvery. Thin slices of roast and lots of vegetable choices, Yorkshire pudding and …..gravy! A glass of Shiraz for me and a local ale for David.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> While sitting in the clinic waiting room we came upon a leaflet of poems... POEMS IN THE WAITING ROOM...put out by a supporting foundation. Quite a nice thing to ponder in an otherwise boring place. Here is a short one:
Today at the Pool
I saw my doctor
wearing a pink bikini.
She looked fine
and I felt better too.
Rob Lock
August 9
A truly halcyon day! Sunny and warm with lovely breezes. We spent most of it at Charleston Farm. I learned of this place a few years ago from my friend Pam, who visited here and brought a delicious book back..great text and wonderful pictures. This is the house of Vanessa Bell, Virginia Wolfe's sister. It is a house that was always full of artists and writers, most of them friends at Cambridge and members of the group Bloomsbury in London. Vanessa moved to this house with her two boys, leaving her husband Clive behind. But she came with a gay friend and fell in love with his lover, Duncan Grant. They were in a life-long relationship of a sort, wrapped up in the arts and common understandings of values etc. They did manage to have a daughter together, Angelica. Clive did come to live with them later. In her childhood years Angelica assumed that she was Clive's daughter (She says she was deceived by kindness). It is all very complicated if you want to hang on to all the details but if you let it be...it is quite wonderful. Everyone was so creative! Their walls are full of designs ...painted right on the walls. Painted on fireplaces and mantles and backs of doors. Painted eclectic furniture; beds, tables, free-standing cupboards. Even Duncan's mother got into it through the amazing needlework she did. Curtains and chairs were of Vanessa and Duncan's fabric designs. Individual paintings on the walls were done by Duncan and Vanessa, and many friends and family members as Angelica and her half brother Quentin (whose work we saw earlier in Brighton). I was particularly taken with two large paintings in Clive's library. Large spots of color laid on like pointillism but much bigger “points”. Our tour leader kept referring to the art as post impressionism. I had to ask her what that was. I guess it was the second wave of impressionism. A rebellion of everything Victorian, anything that had rules. It was an exciting time of change when their friends would come to stay awhile, or just for a few hours, and paint or discuss issues important to them or talk about their wider acquaintances, sitting in the many comfy chairs around the fire. The garden is not large but lovely in the way it is so country, a bit raggle taggle, a pond in the shadows with fish and water lilies. Deteriorated sculpted heads on walls, or full feminine statues hidden here and there. Vegetables and flowers to cut. Very pretty and cozy, all of it. What an inspiring treat. When we were buying our tickets in the gift shop my eyes settled on a scarf that I had to have! Black and cream large drawings of maybe avocets on a red and cream polka dot background. Hand printed on a beautiful flowing silk. Signed by Cressida Bell, Vanessa's granddaughter who is about 50 today. 97.50 Though David liked it as much as I, he said it was too much. So after our tour, as we were leaving we went through the gift shop again. We bought a poster of a painting that Vanessa had done...1.50 …..and we bought the scarf, our anniversary present to each other, for when I am not wearing it we will hang it over a piece of furniture to be seen as a piece of fabric art. From here we travel to a nearby church in the village of Berwick in which the Bloomsbury artists were hired to decorate. Their painting was a mix of post impressionism and back to their roots of realism to depict the scenes of a Christian religion. One mural showed a more modern version of the shepherds visiting the birthplace of Christ. Other purely decorative areas were very much like what we saw in their home. Then, down the road to the Cricketers Arms for a beer in their garden. We decided to nap, read and putter about for a few hours in the van on the grassy field we were parked on...windows and doors open. A man was sleeping in a car near us. When he awoke and got out of his car I asked him if he had a nice snooze. Oh, he said, I have diabetes and can't walk well and need to rest more often. But then he started in on opera stories and began to sing pieces and bits that he had performed in operas. Really quite amazing! His wife arrived from completing a walk in the hills and farm fields. She loves to ride. She and her cousin are on horses as often as they can. A report from them both that she has 800 books in their small apartment and not one comfortable chair to sit upon! We heard many fascinating stories from them both. And when it was time to say goodbye, again it was so hard. What wonderful people we meet. They look ordinary on the outside but prove to lead interesting more than normal lives. Rich deep stories.
August 9 , 10 & 11 HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTOPHER JOHN MCKEE XOXO
Friday was a sort of stop and go travel day...on the way to Hastings which is on the south coast, English channel. We arrived in the early evening and parked along the beach front, across from the long sea wall promenade. Medium large town. Lots of folks out enjoying the sea air and warm breezes. We watch people from our “blind” again. Next to us is an Asian restaurant where a dating middle age couple is seated in the window enjoying 2 glasses of wine, a large meal and top it off with a big glass of beer. She wobbles out to the street needing his arm which he does not offer to her. Next door is a pizza and chicken delivery restaurant which we think is owned by the Asian restaurant and the family lives upstairs. Their trucks are in front of us with lights blinking as they are parked in the street ready to hustle the pizza and chicken out the door. Hordes of young people come toward us from far down the street. Maybe an event going on. We go to bed. Cars whiz by very late, and drunks of all ages, both men and women, meander down the sidewalk next to us, laughing wildly and slurring their conversation. I even heard a little tap dance, with a song! The blinking pizza truck lights stopped at about 2:00 am. But morning broke with a different crowd. Another sunny breezy day. Families with beach paraphernalia arrive. Little girls in flower bedecked hats, told to hang on to their brother's hand, help carry the shovels and pails. Dads and moms gather up pumped air mattresses, striped beach umbrellas, baskets or coolers of food, bright towels and blankets. On the beach people are swimming. The water is 630o. It's the weekend! We go for a long walk...beside the beach volleyball court and the basketball and soccer court, both of these netted off so the balls don't roll downhill into the water. Swan boat rides for kids on a big pond, a small Ferris wheel and other kiddie rides. A miniature railroad. And the hot dogs, ice cream and cotton candy shacks. Then through a newer area... restaurant, large open square and an art gallery...the buildings painted black. Then through really old tall skinny black buildings which we find out were (are) the fishing net drying sheds. There was not room for all the fishermen to each have a shed so they made them very tall on a small plot of sand. And beside them the fishermens' museum and the shipwreck museum. All this was on the beach side of the main street. We found paths toward the beach shore and spent much time photographing...the boats. Some working fishing boats, some up on blocks waiting to be overhauled but maybe only a dream in the owners' hearts. David found some of the men hauling their boat up on the beach gravel. Good grist for the camera. These are big vessels and some of them are hauled in and out every day, to satisfy the hordes of folks coming to the beach for fresh fish and chips! There are permanent winches all along this beach. The area is the biggest in the country for boats that are hauled up onto the beach, rather than finding a buoy to tie up to in a safe harbor. There were endless opportunities for photos in this maze of boats. Always the light is good. I was searching for hulls or shed walls that looked like paintings in their natural state. Inspiration! I have so much inspiration for painting. Every artist should take time to fill their imaginations like this! My photos are taken with that in mind, sometimes they are not even in focus! David's are taken from the view of a photographer. In focus and deliberate. The wind is perfect for sails today. Sails of all kinds. Small lasers with dagger board keels that are not very deep. The sailors get blown over and into the water often but it doesn't take them long to climb aboard and get wind back in the sails. There are wind surfers racing along and para-foil kites pulling the weight of person and board. There are even a few kayaks close to shore. Life guards and life boats at ready. This is an old old town and it is a wonderful place in the sun. Walking and bicycling. Hotels and apartments looking out to sea. Skimpy clothing in shop windows. Fresh fish shops. Cafes and pubs with outdoor tables. I'm sold, can you tell? In the evening, after we succumbed to fresh fish and chips at an outdoor table, we went to the square to hear a rock band. They were worth listening to. During a break we walked into the residential area. Each house looking like they were displayed in an exhibit.....too dear! That old world look that is so hard to recreate from scratch. The sinking and sagging of roof tops. The leaning of walls. The colors; black, dark green, dark dark brown or blue doors. Pastel shades of exterior walls. Tasteful knick knacks in the windows to tell us something of the personalities within. Flower boxes with red geraniums or other bright contrasting colorful flowers. Even the streets bump and sag. It is almost too much for us who are starved for the beauty and patina of oldness. We hear music and start back to the square. A new band and they are really something else...making sure that the audience is part of the performance. Hands clapping and waving above the bobbing heads. Jumping up and down to the beat...or dancing of course. Singing in answer to a familiar tune. It was really fun. And tonight we park next to the sea in an almost empty car park. But before bed we start talking to a couple who are parked in their camper. Peter and Anastasia. They live not too far away but are out enjoying the weekend. We sit inside their camper for a while getting to know each other. Peter is tall and handsome and dresses like a biker (or a hippie). He is so soft spoken and polite. Anna is African born. Cute and compelling and smart as a whip. Such a treat to sit with these folks. They are about to cook up some mackerel that was given to them earlier by a beach fisherman ... said he had too much in the freezer at home. In the morning we went by to say goodbye and leave our email addresses with them.
August 12 & 13
We drive a few hours northeast of London to Nyland where we see friends we met four years ago in France. Maggie and Mike. Mike is our Spokane friend Bob's brother. We were all in the small village of Valros for a few weeks. 5 couples from Spokane, and Mike and Maggie came down from England to be with us. Since that time Mike has had a stroke and we were a bit fearful of how we would find him but he has just a few things that are more than uncomfortable for him. His left hand is stuck in one position and will not work for him, his mind sometimes plays tricks on him and he cannot remember how to put his shirt on in the morning and all of this leads to the worst part, he cannot drive. But he is still the old Mike. Full of stories and loving the arts, tennis and the latest, steam trains. Maggie is an artist herself and it shows in how she decorates and dresses. She took such great care of us. Coffee and biscuits in the garden when we arrived, a tour of the house which is 15th Century (1498). It has all the dark exposed beams and supports against white walls, low ceilings and door jams...a bit saggy and leaning, just enough to add to the charm. Their fireplace was left as is over time and is still one that would be used to cook in, or big enough to even sit in when the weather turned cold. A remarkable house. A very livable cozy house. Their walls display original art work, including some amazing pieces by their daughter, Belinda. We walked in the country fields adjacent to their home, grassy paths running by a dark pond (with a very large turtle living in it) and looped around a wild field back to their place...then piled in the car and went to a pub in the next town for lunch. More great art on the restaurant walls! Most art I see is of a very good quality in the UK. I wonder why? My portabello mushroom sandwich was delicious and mushy, the knife and fork kind...layered to great heights! Back home we walked around the village, to the church and another path leading to the community garden pea patch). These separated plots are always so interesting to see because of their personalities. Again it is like another gallery. The touch of the individuals involved, on display. The village is a beauty. Small, very quiet and well kept. After tea, accompanied by cake and strawberries, we were on our way to Dover to catch a ferry the next day. We are planning on coming back at the very end of our trip to see Wales and Ireland so we will see Maggie and Mike again, too.
We catch a P&O ferry at noon, crossing to Calais, but not without a feeling of great loss for the people and landscapes of England and Scotland. Now, we are parked, in the darkness of night, in the Netherlands once more. This time at a national park in which the Kroller-Muller museum resides. We will see both park and museum tomorrow and then be on our way to Berlin.
Until next time... if you would like, you can contact us at our email addresses...davidverwolf@
hotmail.com, loumckee@netscape.com. 