On travelling, Joyce and the Inspector

TotS Irish Adventure: Days One and Two

July 30th and 31st.

Never having been people to do things by half, the first part of this morning is spent cleaning our house at Michigan Close ready for an inspection by the landlord. As well as going on holiday, we are also moving house to a property at Hailey Hall School. However, the house is still occupied by the previous resident until August 18th, so at the moment we are moving into Wayne’s classroom at the school. For the last 2 days, since we decided that this was the best course of action to take, we have been moving all our possessions into the room. We have also had to acquire some furniture, as the new house is unfurnished where our old house had everything bar a bed for Quinn. To complicate things still further, Meg also has an interview with the new Deputy and Head of Maths (they are one and the same person) regarding what will be expected of her in the maths department. In case you had missed the news, Meg is now working at Hailey Hall also.

The final moving of possessions out of the way, Meg’s interview having been conducted successfully, and the property inspection concluded relatively satisfactorily (the agent is too much of a pig to let the opportunity go by to try and rip us off some more) we jump in the car and head for the M1. In order to get to Ireland we first have to drive to Holyhead in Wales (a couple of hundred miles to the North West). This means that by the end of the trip Meg, Brock and Quinn will have been to 3 countries they had never set foot in previously. Wayne has been to Wales twice before, both 25 years ago and 2 weeks prior, so it will only be 2 new countries for him.

There is a reasonable amount of traffic flowing north, but nothing that will cause us any particular delays. We have been this way before, as far as Nottingham, but this time we will be turning off onto the M6 in order to skirt around Birmingham and up towards Manchester and Liverpool. The other option that we had been considering was to travel from Stranraer in Scotland, which would have involved much the same journey but without the left hand turn around Chester to take us into Wales and with a couple of extra hours travel time. The main other difference is that leaving from Holyhead will take us into Dublin, whereas leaving from Stranraer would have taken us into Belfast.

Both boys grabbed the opportunity to get a few hours sleep in the first part of the drive and missed the opportunity to see both Coventry’s Ricoh stadium and the home ground for Walsall F.C. (which are both next to the motorway). Meg was more impressed by the enormous shopping complexes we sighted north of Birmingham, and the fact that we managed to avoid the enormous toll on the motorway without too much disruption to our journey (even though there was lots of roadwork taking place). Everyone was awake, however, for the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it crossing of the border and excited by the change in signs to include the Welsh language on the top of each signpost. We were particularly tickled by the fact that the word for ‘Out’ in Welsh is ‘Allan’ so we made a stop late in the journey to photograph the contempt that the Welsh bear for all our friends named Allan.

Crossing into North Wales also gave Wayne the chance to relive his Snowdon adventure of a few weeks earlier (you might have to check the Blog if you are interested in finding out more, because of the busy-ness of the last few weeks the details of that trip were not sent out by email). As we drove down the coast through Colwyn Bay and Llandudno to Conwy it was decided to make a detour via Betws-y-coed. Basically, we were running very, very early for the ferry and Wayne had enjoyed that little town so much that he wanted to take Meg and the boys and show them. The weather was grey and overcast, so Snowdon itself wasn’t visible from the road, but the town was as gorgeous as Wayne had described. We decided to have dinner there, so wandered through the village to buy some fish and chips and then crossed over a bridge to eat by the river that flows through the town.

Betws-y-coed was one of the main links on the old stage route between London and Holyhead back in the days when horse and carriage was the fastest route, and then also a stop on the railway line that used to run over the same basic path. Nowadays it is primarily a spot from which climbers leave to attempt Snowdon, so the town was full of Climbing Equipment shops and climbers. However, its history has also made it beloved of tourists, so there were also a considerable number of backpackers among the crowds that were going to be making their home there for the evening. We enjoyed listening to some of the accents, watching the river rushing over the rocks, and laughing at the daredevils who were launching themselves off the old stone bridge into the rapidly flowing waters below.

The last part of this journey was through some awe-inducing mountain scenery before heading back down to the coast and over the Menai Bridge to the island of Anglesea. Holyhead is in the far North-West corner of the island, but far more interesting to us was the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch which was just over the bridge. This town has the longest name of any in Britain and it means “St Mary’s Church, in the hollow of the white hazel, near to the rapid whirlpool of Llantysilio of the red cave”. Finally, we made the last part of the journey into Holyhead, arriving at the port at 9pm (still daylight in Britain’s summer) in good time to board the ferry at 12:30am ready to depart at 2:30am. We were at the head of the queue (unsurprisingly) and now just had to find a way to kill some time until we were allowed to board. This largely consisted of reading, wandering backwards and forwards to the Ferry Terminal, dozing, and watching as more cars (and even more trucks and buses) arrived to take their place in the queue.

Midnight came and went before the gates opened and the excitement of getting Kylie and ourselves onto the ferry was really starting to build. Unfortunately, this first surge was anti-climactic, as all we did was drive a couple of kilometres through the port only to stop at the head of another queue. As it turned out, this was because the trucks were boarding the ferry before cars, but soon enough we were able to drive up the long ramp and on board the ferry, park the car, and move up into the main part of the ship. We had been a little unsure what to expect aboard a car transporting ferry, but were pleasantly surprised at how well decked out it was. Wayne and Meg were reminded of their honeymoon cruise ship and the boys and Wayne went off to explore while Meg staked out some ground which would become our sleeping area that evening.

The ferry, Irish Ferries’ ‘Ulysses’, had a number of bars, a restaurant, a movie theatre, an extensive Duty Free shop, as well as cafes and games rooms. Because we had not booked sleeping quarters, once the various features had been explored we made ourselves comfortable on some of the lounge chairs which were throughout the main passenger deck. Meg and Quinn slept on a long bench seat which ran around a significant part of the cabin. Brock slept with most of his body on one lounge chair and his feet on another. Wayne slept on the floor below Meg. Sleep wasn’t easy for most of us but was enlivened by an incident involving Quinn and the gentleman who was next along on the bench seat. As far as we can tell Quinn stretched out and inched along the bench in his sleep so that eventually his feet were all over the posterior of the man. After a period of this, Quinn (still fast asleep) started trying to push the man off and then kicked him hard on the bottom. This was when the rest of the family realised what was happening, wakening to find a six foot tall dark skinned gentleman abusing poor, befuddled Quinn. Things settled down however and we were able to doze for a little longer before getting ready to leave the ship at 5:55 am.

Leaving the ship provided more excitement than we had expected (and Meg actually wanted). After we had climbed dozily back into Kylie, the horizontal metal ramp on which we had been parked started to drop, and then tilt to join itself onto another ramp within the ship. This provided a partial explanation for why the signs had encouraged us to make sure that the park brake was securely on, but didn’t decrease the amount of shock that Meg felt. After a short wait while other vehicles moved from below us, we were able to start our engine and drive out onto a dock of the port of Dublin in the Republic of Ireland. We had reached Ireland and were extremely excited, enough to mitigate the slightly depressing fact that it the weather was showery and we were now in a bit of a traffic jam in the port area (not Dublin’s most attractive). We soon left the traffic behind and were wowed by early morning in Dublin town. There is a wonderful mix of very old and very new buildings on the banks of the River Dee and 6:30am is the best time to be driving through. Much to Brock’s amazement there were some people arriving at work, but the traffic was not as heavy as we would experience later.

Two tasks occupied us. Kylie needed fuel and so did we. The first was dealt with by stopping at a suburban service station where Wayne also made (what we were later to find out was) a mistake in not picking up a street directory. The second, at the behest of Brock and Quinn, we attempted to alleviate by stopping at McDonalds. Unfortunately, the first one we went to was not open, nor was the second, nor the third. By this time we were in the southern suburbs of Dublin and it was after 7am so we were somewhat confused. However, by getting out of the car and investigating we worked out that McDonalds in Ireland don’t open until 8am. With a bit of a wait (and the purchase of a newspaper) the breakfast dilemma was solved.

With this we headed south on the motorway towards the first of our stops for today, the town of Wicklow in the County of the same name. Although the hostel we would be staying in for the next two nights was relatively close to Dublin, we had decided to use this first day to take a look at the south eastern coast of the country and Wicklow is the first county south of Dublin. We were all quite tired, so we pulled up in a car park just outside the Old Wicklow Gaol to nap for a few minutes. This turned in to over an hour, much to the amusement of some of the locals who would pull up next to us to walk to the newsagent and buy the morning paper, glance at Kylie and her occupants, then do a double take. Eventually, however, we felt awake enough to get out of the car and take a look around.

Wicklow Gaol was built back in 1702 and over time has housed prisoners who were then transported to Australia for relatively minor offences, as well as political prisoners involved in the Irish Rebellion. As we walked into the waiting area for our tour to begin, Meg was given a fright by what she had thought was a wax dummy of a guard. It turned out that this was our tour guide, and he questioned us all as to our origins and what crimes we had committed in order to be sent to prison here. Meg made the mistake of saying that we were living in the United Kingdom (Irish people generally don’t refer to it that way) and became a target for this man’s sense of humour for the rest of the tour. Apart from this, the tour itself was fascinating, particularly as we thought that the ancestors of people we knew in Australia might have been housed here before they were transported. The conditions weren’t nice, as you might expect, so it was quite a sobering way to begin our time in Ireland.

Just out from the town of Wicklow is the easternmost point of the Republic, so we drove around the coast to see it (it was very beautiful, and had a golf course) before heading south to the county of Wexford which is in the south eastern corner of Ireland. The weather was a little overcast as we drove through Gorey, Ferns, Enniscorthy and Oilgate to try and find lunch in Wexford itself. This proved to be more difficult than we imagined as Wexford seemed to be a town with no supermarket to buy food, nor anywhere to park so that we could investigate further. We later found that this is not unusual in Irish towns (as with a number of English ones) where parking is really at a premium. So we grabbed a bite at a service station and set out to explore the rest of the county.

Our first port of call was the Irish National Heritage Park, just north of Wexford itself, which attempts to recreate 9000 years of Irish history in a park. This means you wander from one section of the park to another, with each section depicting a different era in Irish history. We ventured in, but there were two things which prevented us spending more time here. Firstly, there were bus loads of people participating in a Heritage convention, wearing National Costumes from their native countries, who had essentially taken over the park (and particularly its Entrance building). Secondly, just as we arrived it began to pour with rain. We would eventually find that Ireland’s weather is even more variable than Melbourne; brilliant sunshine giving way to grey skies, freezing winds and torrential rains in a matter of moments, before clearing to totally different conditions an hour later. Now, however, we chose to move on.

Many of you will know that John F Kennedy’s family hailed from Ireland. In particular, they originated in County Wexford, just south of a town named New Ross (we never did find out what happened to Old Ross). The old Kennedy homestead and a John F Kennedy memorial arboretum are both in this part of the world and we thought that we would visit them. Unfortunately, the signage in Ireland tends to follow a similar pattern to that in England. There will be an initial sign on the motorway indicating that you can turn off to find a particular place. You will drive a number of miles along a road, before coming to an intersection where there is no signage at all about the place for which you are headed. At this point, you have one of three options, you can:
a) pick the right direction, drive a few more miles, perhaps even go through a few more intersections and, as if by magic, find yourself at the place for which you are headed
b) pick the wrong direction, drive a few miles, perhaps even go through a few more intersections and find yourself somewhere interesting, but totally unrelated to the place you intended to go
c) turn around, go back to the highway, continue in the direction you were originally heading and perhaps come across an easier route
On this day we seemed to keep choosing d) drive round in circles, trying to follow signposts which seem to point us back in the direction we have just come and get hopelessly lost.

We did eventually find both the Arboretum and the Memorial Homestead, but both were going to cost money to visit and the weather was so inclement as to make it seem like a foolish move. The fact that we had no idea where we were or how exactly we had got there also made life more interesting. Consequently, when we drove a little way down the road and found ourselves at Dunbrody Abbey and Castle we were somewhat relieved. Dunbrody Abbey is a Cistercian abbey founded in 1170 by Herve de Montmorency on the instruction of Stongbow de Montmorency (more about him on another day). It was dissolved by Henry VIII and fell into disrepair, but the visitor centre is run by the current Marquess of Donegall and has one of only two full sized hedge mazes in Ireland. Sadly, the rain prevented us from traversing the maze, but we received instruction on how to get back to the motorway and decided to make our way to our accomodation for the evening, a hostel in the village of Rathdrum, County Wicklow.

Even this proved a thing of difficulty. As we drove up the N30 toward Enniscorthy, then back on to the N11 heading for Dublin, we took the first turning which was signposted toward Rathdrum (for what happened next, look two paragraphs above). After driving through Rathdrum a number of times, and asking directions from 3 different people who each sent us diverse ways, we found ourselves at The Old Presbytery Hostel. The hostel demonstrated another aspect of Irish signage with which we were to become familiar; the art of hiding a sign behind foliage so that it cannot be actually seen. They were providing 2 rooms for us for two nights so we didn’t complain too much to the hosts (who were actually very friendly and concerned for us). We were mostly just relieved to have a bed for the night and looked forward to occupying it.

We unloaded our luggage, went into the village to get some dinner and came back to cook it in the kitchen. Here we met some Austrian tourists who were lovely but had no notion of how to cook the rice and Indian food they were trying to prepare for their group of six. While Meg and Wayne assisted them with their cooking, two of the girls attempted to teach Quinn how to insult people in German. Sadly, Quinn’s memory means he has retained very little of what they taught him, but we did learn which places in Austria are particularly worth going to, and we will attempt to put that to use sometime in the future. For now, we headed up to bed, ready for a good nights sleep and looking forward to the next day, when we would do more exploring.

Animals and birthrites

On a wall in the Symes household hangs a print of the John Constable print ‘The Hay Wain’. Although it is spelled differently, it is from this painting that Wayne got his name. Because Constable was an English landscape painter, there was always going to be a good chance that we were going to encounter the place in which the painting was painted.
As it turns out, that was a place named Flatford Mill, a tiny place just north of the city of Colchester, very close to where Constable’s family lived. Because there were other good reasons to go to Colchester, we decided that we would take the opportunity to visit Flatford Mill.

The trip out was as fascinating as all our journeys into the English countryside. We went through villages where almost every roof was thatched. We went past Stanstead Airport, from which one of the major cut price airlines into Europe does most of its flights. We were able to show the boys where Meg had had to drive when she was doing exam invigilation at a school at Stanstead Mountfichet so that they realised just how far away it was and how long it took her to get there. We drove into the outer suburbs of Colchester, one of the oldest cities in Britain, and realised that we were lost. The problem was that we had left Hertfordshire and driven into Essex, and our street directories and atlases were nowhere near as detailed as they needed to be for this part of the world. While Google Maps is an excellent resource, we have also come to understand that their instructions are not always as detailed as they might be. However, the purchase of an Essex street directory (it is the next county to the east of us, and we will be going back there) made life a little easier.

After a couple of failed attempts (the turns weren’t very clear and the English have developed an interesting approach to signposting which we will mention more of later) we found ourselves in the village of East Bergholt (which was where the Constable family house actually was) and made our way down into the Stour River Valley. As we have found before, it was important to park a little outside the village and walk the last hundred metres or so. For this we were joined by the members of an antique car club who had also made the journey. Even without the Constable link this valley is a beautiful part of the world and the house at Flatford Bridge which houses the Constable Centre would still be picturesque.

After looking at the pictures and reading about his history we went for a short walk along the river. There were ducks, geese, swans and lots of other birds, along with some gorgeous old boats buildings. We rang Wayne’s mother to tell her where we were (and cleverly forgot to wish her a Happy Birthday for the following day, sorry Mum) and just as we were describing the glorious surroundings it started to drizzle. So we headed back to the other side of the bridge and wandered down to the mill itself. There is a study centre here (which is how we discovered the place, one of the teachers at the school has taken a number of groups to stay there and raved about the place when he saw ‘The Hay Wain’ on Wayne’s computer) and just past that is the spot where Constable must have sat to paint.

One of the amazing things about England is how well they preserve some of their heritage. Apart from the changes in the trees through various cycles of growth and regrowth, and the absence of a cart with some workmen passing through the river, the scene is still very much as it was when Constable painted it. As we stood and took photos, a couple came along the path walking a dog and Meg persuaded them to let their dog be photographed with Wayne to add another element to the shot. They had lived in Australia (although they were both English) and were happy to loan Josh (the dog) as well as suggest a number of other places that we might like to visit. All in all we had a fabulous time and as we climbed back into the car to head to our next destination, Wayne mentioned that it was almost like visiting one’s birthplace, even though he had never been there before.

Some of you might remember that when we first arrived in the UK the boys and Meg spent a considerable amount of time watching television while schools and jobs were being organised. Apart from Home Renovation programmes, the other television show that they all became addicted to was one called ‘Zoo Days’, the first two seasons of which were hosted by Jane Horrocks (you might remember her as ‘Bubble’ from ‘Absolutely Fabulous’) and set at Chester Zoo. However, season three has been at Colchester Zoo and filming was taking place (we saw on a sign as we arrived). This proved to be harder than we had hoped. There were lots of signs pointing us in the direction of the zoo but, as we have found previously, once you actually get close to a place in England the signage stops until you are right on top of it. This is ok if what you are looking for stands out from the surroundings, not so good if there are a number of turns just before you really get there.

Colchester isn’t the biggest zoo we have ever been to (it is only 60 acres whereas Australia Zoo is 72 acres and Western Plains Zoo in Dubbo, NSW is 741 acres) nor does it have the spectacular backdrop that makes Taronga Zoo in Sydney (51 acres in case you were wondering) such a wonderful place. However, the animals here are just as fabulous as they are in other zoos around the world. We loved how close we could get to some, while the space available to them was sizeable. Like the beautiful Adelaide Zoo (almost 20 acres) and Perth Zoo (47 acres) there are excellent connections with wildlife conservation areas in other parts of the world and the opportunity to sponsor individual animals. One of our favourite sections was the African wildlife area, where the ability of the animals to live together reminded Wayne of Monarto Zoo (2560 acres) near Murray Bridge in South Australia. Unlike Melbourne Zoo (55 acres) which has had some negative publicity this year, Colchester is gaining in popularity (hence the television show being set there).

There were animals there to appeal to everybody; penguins for Brock, turtles for Quinn, aardvarks for Meg and red pandas for Wayne. At the very beginning (where a handy trail was set out on the ground for us to follow) we came across some sloths which had the boys all excited, and this level of excitement continued for most of the zoo. We rushed to see some of the big cats (the zoo has one of the best collections in Europe) and the monkeys. Brock had to have his photo taken with the zebras (something to do with a girl at school apparently???) while we all wanted to see the baby warthogs who were charging at and head butting each other. We laughed at a poor male egret trying to help his mate build a nest out of sticks, who would struggle to bring her a new stick, each time only to have her knock it back down onto the ground.

Almost as fascinating were some of the other people who were visiting the zoo that day. Lots of the little children absolutely loved the animals they were seeing (although they found some a little scary). Many of them, despite the television series, had no idea what the animals were that they were looking at, nor where they came from. When they asked their parents they seemed to have even less knowledge. Most amusing were the small groups of people who would make fun of how the animals looked while anyone nearby who saw them were sniggering at how the people themselves looked (honestly, what is the British females obsession with wearing white trousers over dark coloured undies, or the teenage males for wearing their pants so low that you can see virtually all their underwear???)

Possibly the only drawback with Colchester Zoo is that, like Taronga, the countryside in which it is set is actually quite hilly. We walked up and down and down and up trying to see every animal that we could but, as we got close to the exit, it was getting harder to stay motivated to see the last of them. In the end, it was the fact that it was the red panda which kept us going and we were all very glad that we did. As mentioned, Wayne loves red pandas and has been to many zoos to see them, but Colchester has the best exhibit of any that he has yet been to. We were able to get really close to them yet they still had lots of space in which to play and hide. We got some fabulous photographs and then headed for the carpark (an experience which was much more like Australia Zoo, for those of you who have been there). It was a great day, topped off by some pizza which we picked up on the way home.

Three Blind Mice

A bit over a week ago we had our first visitor since arriving here in the UK. Julie Boyd, who had worked with Wayne at Southbank TAFE and who also, with her husband Jeff, used to have brunch with Wayne and Meg on the occasional Sunday mornings. For those of you who don’t know Julie, she is originally from Northern Ireland and works as a mortician, which means that conversations with her are regularly interesting and held in a wonderful accent. Even though she was born in Northern Ireland she lives in Queensland, so this left open lots of options for jokes about the Irish person who came to visit us in England via Australia.

Julie’s visit came at the end of an interesting week, particularly in relation to our car. On Wednesday evening, after Meg and Wayne had been up to Hertford, they were travelling back down the A10 toward home when they noticed a car stopped on the Motorway. This was an issue because it came to a halt in the middle of the lane we were travelling in and, because there was another car between them and us, we saw it quite late. There was lots of traffic in the other lane, so Wayne applied the brakes quite firmly and we went off the road into the gravel, leaving some tire marks behind us and narrowly missing some of the rabbits which regularly eat grass beside the road in the afternoon. At this point the car that had stopped decided to move the extra 20 metres or so into the slip road. We still don’t know what they were thinking but were very thankful that our brakes had worked.

On the Friday we journeyed down to Radlett in order to pick Julie up from the friend’s house where she had been staying. Because Kylie is only little, both the boys stayed at home in order to wait for the goods we had shipped over when we first left Australia back in January. Neither Meg nor Wayne had ever been to Radlett before so it was interesting to see yet another new place. There has been a settlement known as Radlett since at least as far back as 1453. However modern Radlett has been created almost entirely since the end of the 19th century and nowadays it exists in the middle of the Metropolitan Green Belt. As we drove around we were very impressed by the size and architecture of some of the beautiful houses in the area. It is not surprising then, given that it is also very close to London, that so many notable people live or have lived in Radlett. Some of these include; Brian Bennett and Hank Marvin from the musical group, The Shadows; George Michael, formerly of the 80’s group Wham!; Dennis Wise, Vinny Jones, Kolo Taure, Lauren, and Thierry Henry (all football players); former England cricket captain Douglas Jardine; and actresses, Pam St Clement and Lacey Turner (who played Pat Evans and Stacey Branning on Eastenders).

Sadly for Claire (Julie’s friend), it is not in one of these enormous houses that she lives, but we were able to find the place easily enough. Because there was still a little time before she needed to go to work, Claire suggested we go down to one of the local pubs for lunch. Because neither Wayne nor Meg had eaten a meal in a pub as yet, we readily accepted and went back down into the village to the Red Lion. Inside was just as we had expected from an old English pub, a man with a northern European accent behind the bar, lots and lots of different brews of beer, a few old gentlemen sitting at the bar, and some really lovely food. We sat and discussed a whole range of things, including some of the interesting things the net brings up about Radlett. These include that; on the 24th of May 1943, a missile from Germany hit Radlett killing seventeen people. In 1823 Radlett was the site of an infamous murder. Claire also mentioned that one of the more infamous ‘swingers clubs’ operates at Radlett once a month.

When we got home we found that our possessions had arrived while we were out, so the next few hours were spent opening boxes and trying to find places to store the things that we had been making do without since January. Because the brakes had been making a squeaking noise, Wayne ducked up to the garage to have them checked but we were told we would have to wait until Monday. What was good to find was our photos and photo frames; wedding photos of them standing next to Julie helped to convince the boys that they had, in fact, met her before. Indeed, we all got on like a house on fire, telling jokes, looking at photos of Julie’s children and grandchildren, and making decisions about where we might travel on the following day.

After a late night we all managed to wake fairly early in order to start the car and head off for the ‘other’ university town, Oxford. Not long after we arrived we borrowed a book from the library called The Top 50 Crap Towns in Britain, published by a magazine called ‘the Idler’, and Oxford was one of the places featured within. It is about 70 miles from home and Julie had never been there either. While it was a bit cramped in the back of Kylie, we had a great time singing, telling stories and looking at the amazingly green countryside as we travelled through Hertfordshire, Buckinghamshire and finally into Oxfordshire. Having learned our lesson from the earlier visit to Cambridge, this time we parked outside the city at the Park and Ride carpark and boarded a big red double decker bus heading for the centre of Oxford.

Oxford has been described in many way. George Santayana called it ‘the paradise of dead philosophies’ while Anthony Trollope said that it was ‘the most dangerous place to which a young man can be sent. What we found, much as with Cambridge, was a beautiful city centre, filled with amazing old buildings dating back hundreds of years. At the very centre of the town is Carfax tower. The Tower is all that remains of the 13th century St Martin's Church and is now owned by the Oxford City Council. It is 23 m (74 ft) tall and still contains a ring of six bells, recast from the original five by Richard Keene of Woodstock in 1676. On the outside, under the clock, is a pair of bellringers who move back and forward on the quarter hour, apparently chiming the bells. There are 99 stairs to the top of the tower and apparently a wonderful view of the spires of Oxford, but cost (as well as the objection of some to climbing stairs) kept us at ground level.

From there we headed off down Cornmarket Street, which is available only to pedestrians and runs from the centre of the city to the North. There were an amazing variety of shops housed in some buildings which also showcased a variety of ages and architectural styles. In particular, next door to Burger King, was a lovely old Tudor style wooden building which, over time, has gradually begun to lean. These days it houses a Pret A Manger (sandwiches) store and a Starbucks, which provides an interesting contrast. Next door is the tower of St Martin at the Northgate, so called because, when the town was walled, this was the site of the gate to the North. This building dates back to 1040 and is the oldest in Oxford. Like Carfax Tower you can actually climb to the top of this old Saxon building to look over the rest of the city but again we chose not to do this.

What Oxford is most famous for, however, is the University and as we turned up Ship Street we walked past the first of the Colleges that we had come across, Jesus College. Jesus was the only College founded during the reign of Elizabeth I, having been granted its charter on the 25th of June 1571. Graduates of Jesus include an enormous number of politicians, writers and bishops. However some of the most famous include; Pixley Ka Izaka Seme (1881- 1951) Founder of the African National Congress; (James) Harold Wilson, Baron Wilson of Rievaulx (1916 - 1995) MP and Prime Minister; and T.E. Lawrence also known as Lawrence of Arabia (1888 - 1935) Academic, historian and British liaison officer during WWI. What we were amazed by was the amazing architecture and, especially for the boys, the gargoyles and statues which we were to find was a feature of Oxford.

From the end of Ship we crossed Turl Street, glimpsing Exeter College as we passed and found ourselves on Broad Street outside the Museum of the History of Science. While the exhibitions and the museum itself looked fascinating, this was to become one of a multitude of places we would pass during the day which we will have to go back to see. Quite honestly, Oxford could easily fill a long weekend with the number of things there are to see and do, and that is without attending the theatre (of which there are several). Across the road from the Museum is Trinity College, founded during the reign of Elizabeth’s sister Mary, and hence much more steeped in Roman Catholicism. Famous students who attended here include John Henry Newman (1801-1890) Anglican Minister, Cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church and Founder of what was to be called the Oxford (or Tractarian) Movement; and William Pitt the Elder (1708-1778) MP and Prime Minister (featuring in an episode of the Simpsons where Barney Gumble and Wade Boggs argue about the best British Prime Ministers of all time). Also worth checking out is a former student who was expelled (or sent down) from Trinity, Richard Burton (not the actor).

Some of the most beautiful architecture in Oxford is to be found next to the Museum of the History of Science in the Bodleian Library. This is the main research library of the University of Oxford, and is one of the oldest libraries in Europe let alone England. It is one of only 6 legal deposit libraries in Britain, which means that any book published in Britain or Ireland must present a copy to the library. Because of this, it is the second largest library in the country, behind only the British Library at Westminster in London. Meg renewed her love affair with doors, as there were so many old, beautiful doors leading into different sections of the library. This is one of the reasons that the library features in ‘The Madness of King George’, ‘Brideshead Revisited’, ‘Another Country’ and the first two Harry Potter Movies (as the hospital ward and the library). It also features the Radcliffe Camera which is actually a round building (the word ‘camera’ coming from the Latin for ‘chamber’) that featured in the Inspector Morse television show, as well as the movies ‘Young Sherlock Holmes’ and ‘The Saint’. J.R.R. Tolkien (who was a Professor at Oxford) described Sauron’s temple to Morgoth on Numenor, in ‘The Lord of the Rings’, as being architecturally like Radcliffe Camera.

Once you pass through the Bodleian library you reach the church of St Mary the Virgin. This is the building where the University of Oxford was established, lectures used to be held in the church itself. There has been a church on this site, at the centre of the old walled city, since Anglo Saxon times. Congregation met there from at least 1252, and by the early 13th century it was the seat of university government and was used for lectures and the award of degrees. During the Marian repression of the Reformation in England it saw the trial of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer (one of Wayne’s heros), Bishop Hugh Latimer and Bishop Nicholas Ridley, for their teachings and their support of Lady Jane Grey, before they were burned at the stake outside Balliol College on Broad Street. It is said that the nursery rhyme ‘Three Blind Mice’ originally referred to these events. Sermons by William Laud, John Wesley, John Henry Newman, John Keble and Rowan Williams (the current Archbishop of Canterbury) have all been preached here. We have seen many impressive churches so far in our journeys, but this would be right up there with them.

By now it was the early afternoon, so we walked past Lincoln College, Brasenose College, All Souls College, and Hertford College as we walked back up to Cornmarket to look for somewhere to have lunch. Although McDonalds, Burger King and KFC all had their attractions but we ended up at The Crown Inn in the Clarendon Centre for a pub lunch. The food was fabulous, and reasonably priced, so both Brock and Quinn want to go back there for another meal. Indeed, Brock was even talking about going back to The Crown for his birthday dinner (70 miles might be a bit of a distance to travel however). While on Cornmarket Street, Meg also took the opportunity to buy a birthday present or two and we discovered that there was an entire store devoted to things related to Alice in Wonderland (the author, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson also known as ‘Lewis Carroll’).

As we walked down St. Aldate’s Street to Alice’s Shop we passed the Oxford Museum, Pembroke College, Christ Church College and Christ Church Cathedral. After Meg and Julie (in particular) had had an opportunity to make purchases we looked at the beautiful Christ Church parklands across the road. As with Cambridge, the university town of Oxford sees lots of people on bicycles or walking and the city centre is beautifully set out for this. Having said this, we had a little trouble trying to find the exact place to catch the bus back to the Stop and Ride, but we had had such a wonderful time that no one seemed to mind too much.

On the way home we took a slight detour via Hemel Hempstead so that Julie could experience the joy that is the Magic Roundabout (see our blog from April 22nd, ‘Dougal, Zebedee, Ermintrude, Dylan and Brian’). This time we got to travel in both directions, including doing a complete loop around one of the smaller roundabouts (much to Meg’s dismay but everybody else’s delight). The trip back saw both boys fall asleep to the accompaniment of Julie, Wayne and Meg singing along to Meatloaf’s ‘Bat Out of Hell’ album. We can highly recommend Oxford, indeed Meg describes it as being close to her favourite place because it had a lovely atmosphere. The fact that we were also able to travel there with a friend accentuated the experience, it made a nice change to see something new with a different pair of eyes alongside us. Sadly, Julie headed off to Northern Ireland the next morning, but we have an invitation to head across there ourselves in July/August, which we are very much looking to.

Hope you are all well and happy. We look forward to hearing from you.

Beckham, Zeppelin, 007 and Evita

Having not been away for a couple of weeks, let alone the last few days where it was difficult because of the weather to even get out (it has been flooding in some parts of the country), we needed to go somewhere, anywhere. However, because payday is still a couple of days away it was also important to consider petrol costs, so somewhere close by was imperative. Given that we had to email some scanned documents to Ipswich (in order to have our belongings, which had travelled here by sea, delivered this week) we first went to the library in Hoddesdon. Once our tasks had been completed we set course for the county of Buckinghamshire, heading down to the M25 before planning to head to the west.

As we moved on to the roundabout, which provides the link to the motorway, we looked down and saw that the M25 was fulfilling the common local description as the ‘world’s biggest carpark’. In a mild state of panic we continued around the roundabout and headed back toward home. Before getting back, however, we turned left and headed cross country through some lovely little villages; Goff’s Oak, Cuffley, Northaw and Potters Bar. These days Goff’s Oak is largely famous for being home to the Adams’ family (unfortunately not the Addams family of Uncle Fester, Lurch, Cousin It, Thing, Wednesday, Pugsley, Morticia and Gomez; but the parents of Victoria Beckham nee Adams). However, there is more to the village than that. As the name implies, it was owned by the Goff family and featured an enormous, century’s old, oak tree. Sadly, the prophecy of ‘My Fair Lady’ that ‘in Hertford, Hereford and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen’ came true in 1987 when a hurricane hit the area and brought down the famous old oak. The village is still quite beautiful and features some lovely homes which we admired as we drove through.

Cuffley (only a couple of miles further away) has a totally different claim to fame, dating back to the Great War. One Sunday morning, in September 1916, the locals woke to find a Zeppelin crashed into their village. 14 Zeppelins had been used in the largest attack of its kind during the First World War and this one was shot down by Lieutenant Leefe Robinson, for which exploit he was awarded the Victoria Cross. Lieut. Robinson lived through the rest of the war only to die of influenza on December 31, 1918, only a few weeks after the Armistice. Like Goff’s Oak, Cuffley is a very attractive village with some glorious looking homes that, due to the presence of a Learner Driver, we were able to appreciate. It also has some glorious large parks and huge farms which seem out of place in this country where the residents constantly complain about overcrowding.

Northaw is smaller still, but it does boast the oldest Women’s Institute in Hertfordshire, established in 1917. Northaw also still possesses a village green, bounded on one side by the church. We all noticed the church as we were driving through the village, because architecturally it is very different from others in Hertfordshire. It has a rock facing and four pinnacles on the tower which draw the eye as you drive toward it. Apparently there is a fifth pinnacle next to the tower in the church grounds with a plaque stating that it belonged to the previous church which burned down in 1881, however we did not stop to confirm that this was true. Much of the rest of Northaw is the Northaw Great Wood, which is a country park open to everyone, and which hosts markets on some days of the week (although this week they had been cancelled because of the wet weather). King James I used to come hunting here when staying at his holiday home at Cheshunt (then called Theobalds) and as you drive through the woodlands you can imagine people charging around on horseback chasing deer or foxes.

Potters Bar has some uncertainty over the history of the name. Some maintain that it is the consequence of Roman aged pottery which was found there (certainly it is one of the local areas with evidence of the Roman occupation of Britain). Other people claim that the name comes from the Pottere family who were part of the nearby South Mimms parish. Sadly, the name became known more recently as the site of two significant train crashes. On the night of 10 February 1946, a local train hit buffers at the station, became derailed, and two express trains travelling in opposite directions struck the wreckage. On 10 May 2002 a northbound train derailed at high speed, killing seven and seriously injuring another eleven. On a happier note, those of our readers who are older might remember the clarinetist Acker Bilk who owns a home at Potters Bar (as well as one in Pensford, Somerset). The golfer Tony Jacklin, who won both the British and US Opens and captained the English Ryder cup team played his golf at Potters Bar Golf Club. As we drove through, on our way back to try the M25 again, we saw a town that was much more industrial in feel than any of the villages around. This is unsurprising, given that the town is part of the London Commuter belt.

Back on to the M25 we ventured for what was to be a frustrating next part of the journey. It is not really that far from Junction 24 (where we reentered the M25) to Junction 18 (where we wanted to exit), a little over 12 miles, or 20 kilometres, but the traffic was stop start the entire way. There were no accidents or road works, not even a picket line (which there was elsewhere in London, as the radio kept reminding us), just average everyday drivers who had absolutely no idea how to merge when new traffic joined the motorway. Those of you who have driven on the Gateway Motorway in Queensland will know how frustrating this can be, and anyone who has been in a car with Wayne for any length of time will know that this (along with traffic lights: ‘the spawn of Satan’) is one of his pet hates. Meg and the boys managed to keep the mood light, although with some difficulty as first Brock and then Quinn realised that they needed to find a toilet. We eventually made it to Junction 18 and turned off toward Little Chalfont and Chorleywood looking for a services for the boys. Sadly, service stations seemed to be in short supply, unlike temporary traffic lights for road works which appeared on a regular basis. To add insult to injury we were stopped by the police (along with hundreds of others) at a road block and questioned as to why Wayne’s identity did not match the recorded owner of the car. Given that Meg had spent a few days, after we returned from Cornwall, sorting out this issue we were perplexed by this. However, PC Webb of the Thames Valley Police (badge number 5795) was very understanding. He offered to let Brock get out and walk the 200 metres down to the nearest public toilet and, when Brock declined, hurried the paperwork through for us so that we could drive the short distance required to find the boys some relief. He also demonstrated how to use an extendable baton, much to the boy’s delight.

At last we made it to the Chilterns, which was declared an official Area of Natural Beauty in 1965. The official blurb says that ‘the Chilterns lie only a few miles north-west of London and yet they are an unspoilt area of rolling chalk hills, magnificent beechwoods, quiet valleys and charming brick and flint villages. A wonderful mosaic of woods, fields, hedges, sunken lanes and clear streams’. This was certainly true of our experience in the region. In particular we were aiming for the town of Amersham, largely because Meg’s mother lives in a house on Amersham Street in Kippa Ring, Queensland, and we wanted to see what the place looked like for which the street was named.

As you would expect from a place in the Chilterns, Amersham has a long history, dating back to pre-Saxon times when it was known as Egmondesham. By the time of the Domesday Book in 1086 it was called Elmodesham and is described thus:
Geoffrey de Mandeville holds Amersham. It answers for 7 1/2 hides. Land for 16 ploughs; in lordship 2 hides; 3 ploughs there. 14 villagers with 4 smallholders have 9 ploughs; a further 4 possible. 7 slaves; meadow for 16 ploughs; woodland 400 pigs. The total value is and was £9; before 1066 £16. Queen Edith held this manor.
Queen Edith was the wife of Edward the Confessor and sister of King Harold (who fought the battle of Hastings in 1066). Get rid of Geoffrey de Mandeville and substitute Loretta for Edith and so far the similarities between Amersham, UK and Amersham Street, Kippa Ring, Queensland are quite apparent.

As we approached the town we drove past a large building dedicated to GE Healthcare which, Wayne recalled, had originally been a scientific research establishment called the Radiochemical Centre during World War II set up to make luminous paint, based on radium. Amersham was also one of the very few places north of London to be attacked by V1 and V2 rockets (otherwise known as ‘flying bombs’ or ‘doodlebugs’) near the end of the war. This was unfortunate as many of the children of London were evacuated to houses in the area when their homes were destroyed or under threat of destruction, partly because of the excellent schools available in the area. These included Dr Challoner’s Grammar School the alma mater of, among others, Sir Roger Moore (aka Meg’s favourite James Bond), which has hugely impressive grounds now on the hills north of the town but which originally was housed in a building on the main street which dates the school back to 1624. GE Healthcare, meanwhile, is now one of the largest employers in the area.

When we first arrived in Amersham, we dropped Meg off at the Post Office, while Wayne and the boys headed toward the market square looking for a place to park the car. As you no doubt know, one of the things which distinguishes a ‘town’ from a ‘village’ is the granting of the right to hold a market, and this was done for Amersham by King John in 1200, stipulating that the market was to be held on Fridays and a fair on September 7th and 8th. In 1613 this ‘charter’ was updated so that market day became Tuesday and the fair was moved to September 19th and 20th. Despite the fact that this was a Tuesday, when the boys drove up there was no market in evidence, however there were some buildings with impressively low roofs and The Crown Hotel, which was used for a number of indoor scenes in the movie ‘Four Weddings and A Funeral’ including the scene with the Four Poster Bed. We later discovered the market (as we were driving out) was being held in ‘Amersham-on-the-Hill’ (another part of the village separate but linked to ‘Old Amersham’ where we were) and a number of the roads were closed as a consequence. The other thing that wasn’t in the market square was any parking, so we drove back to park at Tescos and walked up to meet Meg outside the grounds of the Grade 1 Listed St Mary’s Church of England.

The parks, grounds and cemetery connected to the church were beautiful, so we decided to walk down along the River Misbourne back to Tescos (which had been built on a former Bowyer's / Brazil's meat factory and bus garage) to buy some lunch which we then carried back to eat in the park. Fans of British television crime shows might have recognised where we were, as 7 episodes of the series ‘Midsomer Murders’ were filmed in Amersham and made extensive use of the grounds, cemetery and fields around St Mary’s and Old Amersham. On our walk beside the river we had noted a sign which pointed toward a ‘Martyr’s Memorial’ so, after lunch was finished, we decided to find it.

Trying to follow the directions proved to be difficult, as there was no evidence of any memorial between the two signs which pointed towards one another. Instead we looked around the cemetery, noting the amazing restoration work which had been done to many of the graves and gravestones. Just as we were planning to leave we met a lovely weimaraner (that had been in a fight with a maltese terrier and had a bloodied ear as a consequence) whose owner pointed us up the hill along a path ‘which would not be slippery’ where, she said, the walk to the martyr’s memorial would take `4 or 5 minutes` and the view back to the rest of the town would be very good. Very quickly we discovered that we would have been better listening to the weimaraner even if his instructions had mostly been to do with scratching behind his ears and patting him.

We set off up the hill on a path between two wheat fields, alongside a hedge. The path was simply a dirt (read ‘mud’) track, about 15cm wide, with stones scattered through it and Meg soon discovered that she was wearing the wrong footwear to cope with such a trek. We laboured onward and upward with Wayne in front holding Meg’s hand and the boys walking behind in case she slipped. After a while Brock grew frustrated and attempted to pass by jumping across into the field, he rapidly found out that this was a mistake as he sank into the ground and was stung by various nettles and plants as he scrambled back on to the path. 20 minutes in and we made it to the top of the path where there was no sign of a memorial, just a path heading north toward the Rectory Wood which looked dark and foreboding and continuing to the south towards a group of houses. The one thing which the lady had got correct was that the view back over Amersham was glorious, so we took a number of photos before walking up toward the woods. Wayne was full of admiration for the cast and crew of the movie ‘Carve Her Name With Pride’ (a 1958 movie about the Battle of Britain) which was largely filmed in these fields.

Meg sang ‘Teddy Bears Picnic’ happily as we walked up to the woods which reminded her of ‘The Secret Garden’. Quinn had already run off ahead while Brock complained that it looked scary and was worried about monsters. When we finally entered the woods it was cool, green and lovely, just as you might have imagined woodlands in England to be. All of the stories that we read in childhood which featured English woodlands seemed to be encapsulated in this place. There were large ear shaped fungi growing on some of the tree trunks and, while it was dark, there was enough filtered light coming through to make it easy to see. Posts had signs which indicated that this was a public walking path through the wood and there was even a tyre swing from a tree at one end of the wood. During World War II the woods had been used by troops as shelter and trenches had been dug there, but there was no sign of this today, in fact the boys felt that even camping in the woods would not be a pleasant experience. Not to our complete surprise by now, however, there was still no sign of the memorial so we decided to head back down the path by which we had come.

By the time we reached the main path we had come up, Quinn and Wayne decided to take a quick look down the southern path toward the houses. It didn’t take long before they couldn’t see Meg and Brock at all because of a dip in the field, but by the time they got to the fence there was still no sign of the memorial, only houses and a couple of large trees, so they went back. While they had been waiting, Brock and Meg were able to look across the town to the beautiful mansion of Shardeloes. Shardeloes was the ancestral home of the Tyrwhitt Drake family, the Lord of the Manor. The Tyrwhitt Drake family had a great influence on Amersham. By marrying well their fortunes grew through the 16th to 19th centuries. This enabled them to have a large say in the appointment of Amersham's Rector, who often was a member of the family. They also acquired many properties in Amersham, letting them to sympathetic supporters enabling the MPs representing Amersham to either be Tyrwhitt Drakes or their supporters. The Tyrwhitt Drakes were also benefactors and built Alms Houses (1657) and the Market Hall (1682). During the 19th and 20th Centuries their fortune declined, particularly because of the need to pay high death duties, and as a result of the Reform Act of 1832 which removed the ‘rotten borough’ of Amersham. In 1928 much of their property in Amersham was auctioned off in what became known as "the auction of a town". The Tyrwhitt Drake family are still Lord of the Manor of Amersham, but no longer live there.

Going down the hill proved to be almost as difficult as going up, at least for Brock who managed to do the splits at the bottom as one of his feet slipped in the mud. Sadly, the rest of us missed this because we were overtaken on the path by another lady out walking her dog. The advantage of this was that the parents of the lady passing us had ‘lived at the memorial’, although as she sheepishly explained, ‘not AT the memorial, obviously, but backing on to it’. As it turned out, it had been on the other side of the trees the Wayne and Quinn had come to previously, so they scooted around the bottom of the field and up the far side which was a much easier path. As you can see by the photograph, the monument itself was large but otherwise not hugely impressive. What was amazing was what it was there to commemorate. Back in 1521, in the dip in the field only a hundred yards from where the memorial stood, a group of men were burned at the stake. This was part of a movement happening across Europe, which came to be known as the Reformation, where people resisted the Catholic Church’s attempt to impose their understanding on people. In particular, people wanted to be able to read the Bible in their own language, rather than the Latin stipulated by the Catholic Church. As the monument made clear, there had been people executed for similar reasons before then, and within 40 years men and women on both side of the argument would be killed. It was hard for the boys to comprehend that people took reading the bible so seriously that they would be willing to die or that it would be the government who would be punishing them. Meg and Wayne were able to answer their questions on the way home.

Fortunately, the trip was a lot less eventful than the drive over. Had we had the soundtrack with us, we might have listened to the music of ‘Evita’ or any of the other musicals that Tim Rice put together with Andrew Lloyd Webber. This would have been appropriate, because Tim Rice was born in Amersham. We did, however, pass under the railway line that ends at Amersham which was labelled as ‘Underground’. Despite being above the ground at this point, it is part of the London Underground Railway system which demonstrates Amersham’s place as a commuter town, which is has been since 1892 when the line was first constructed. Indeed, it might have been so earlier had not local landowners objected so strongly to the building of the line. While lacking the notoriety of some of the other places that we have visited, Amersham was a good place to visit and all of us had a great day.

Thanks again to everyone who has been keeping in contact with us. We are looking forward to having our first visitor from Australia this Friday. Julie Boyd, one of Wayne’s former workmates from Southbank TAFE, is coming over to visit. It will be nice to talk to someone about what is happening back in Australia. We hope you are all well and look forward to hearing from you.