Wooden horses, smiths, and missing ancestral homes

Today we decided to try and track down the Davis family home, or where it had been in 1861. That is, in fact, why we came to the Middlesbrough area in the first place. Naturally, I had visions of being able to walk right up to the door and look in the window. After all, 147 years is not THAT long ago. And even if the house was a little run down, I thought, I still wanted to savor the craftsmanship of the wonderful brick and stonework, marvel at he intricacies of the wrought iron fencing that surely would still front the sidewalk, and run my fingers over the ancient woodwork of the front door seeking to form a bond with my family long gone.

With those thoughts in mind, we set off after breakfast to find #7 Station Street, Middlesbrough. We’re staying in Hartlepool(see photo 1), of course, which is the closest I could find a suitable B&B back in March, so we had about a thirty-minute drive to reach our sought-after address. I had been smart this morning and looked up the actual postal code for #7 Station Street, so we didn't think a thing about it as the little GPS machine took us up and down and around the industrial section of the city. Finally, we turned onto Station Street and I strained my eyes ahead to try and see the sturdy old residences of all those long-ago iron workers. But only modern buildings met my gaze. Then, as we passed a dilapidated steel warehouse displaying the sign, “Car Washing and Detailing from 3 pounds,” the GPS suddenly announced, “now arriving at (postal code) TS11SR on left.”

Naturally I jerked to a stop and looked with dismay at the garish steel warehouse only a dozen feet from my driver-side window. Oh, no, I thought. This can’t be. I scanned the building for an actual address, but found none. “Okay,” I said to Concetta, “I have to go inside and find out what the address is here just to be sure. I got out, took a couple of pictures of the structure, then went in search of an employee of the business who might provide me with the desired information."

“Naw, this is number 29, I think,” the car wash jockey said. I breathed a sigh of relief. I turned to leave, but then turned back. “How soon could you do a wash,” I asked.

“Now,” the jockey said. “Just pull it in.”

Our Mini Cooper had suffered much in the last three weeks. For the first ten days of our trip, we had nothing but rain, mud puddles, and flooded highways to contend with. The poor little car looked like it had competed in a south American road rally and lost. “I’ll be right back,” I told him.

Back at the car, I told Concetta we were going to set off on foot to locate number 7 as I was leaving the car for a bath, which is what we did – for about three minutes. That’s how long it took to get to the end of the block, which turned out to be occupied by a couple of other warehouses. They were a bit more upscale than the car wash, but warehouses nonetheless. I stopped a delivery chap about to carry a package into the endmost warehouse, an auto parts store. “You don’t happen to know the address here, do you?” I asked.

“Number one, I believe,” he said. He looked at the package he was holding. “Yes, that’s it. Number one.”

I turned and looked back at the row of warehouses. “But,” I said, “I was expecting to see houses here.”

“Oh, there were houses here some time back. They’ve been gone a while, though.”

“Did the iron workers live here?” I asked him.

“Yes, that’s it. Iron workers. This was all iron workers in here.”

So, there you have it. The houses are gone. And there must have been a bunch of them if you figure that between the car wash at #29 and the auto parts store at #1 there couldn’t have been more than two hundred lineal feet of frontage, those houses must have been small and crammed in together like so many proverbial sardines in a can.

Thus thwarted, it was on to the next adventure. I have furnished the photo of the warehouses just in case you’re longing to see what I saw (see photo 2) but they’re a far cry from the Victorian row houses I hoped for.

Our next stop was what was billed as a hands-on museum in the community of Stockton-on-Tee (see photo 3). Concetta and I love those types of museums where docents are actually performing the tasks in the fashion of our ancestors. This museum turned out to be wonderful in many, many respects, but the highlight of our trip there involved the blacksmithing demonstration and the woodworking demonstration.

When we reached the blacksmithing operation we were astounded to see how very, very realistic the old blacksmith shop looked. There were just thousands of smithing tools hanging from every rafter, piled on every workbench, and standing in every corner. Across the shop, a cheery fire glowed in the hearth. Underfoot, a dirt floor.

Then, while we watched, a worker grabbed a red-hot piece of iron out of the forge and put it on the stand where the power hammer commenced to deal it one blow after another, only pausing when the smithy took his foot off the pedal. A power hammer is set up to deliver blows to the iron automatically so the smithy doesn’t have to do it by hand. In the early days of blacksmithing, power hammers were operated by water power and later by steam. I didn’t ask what his more modern hammer was using for power, but it was probably electric or something. Once the pounding ceased, both smithys came over and explained the process to us and told us a little about their lives and about how they came to be blacksmiths. It was just fascinating. I found it especially interesting because one of my Welsh ancestors, great great grandfather, Thomas Rhydderch, was a master blacksmith in Wales in the 1840s or so.

The other demonstration that captured our imagination was the wood shop where they turned out hand-made rocking horses (see photos 5 & 6). Now THIS required some real talent. As you can see by the intermediate horse construction and the finished product, these craftsmen are serious artists. While I spent a good half hour talking to Robert (see photo 7), the wood shop mentor and instructor, about horse construction woods and techniques, Concetta and an even more informative talk with the student holding the unfinished horse. This woman is only one of three women making horses. They got started because the woman’s niece was originally making a rocking horse for her grandmother who had told the niece that she had always wanted one and had never been able to have one. Touched by the grandmother’s talk of the longed-for horse, the niece began taking classes from this same Robert, the wood shop teacher, and actually began constructing a horse for the grandmother. Unfortunately, the grandmother didn’t live to see the horse completed. But ever since these three women, the two sisters and the niece, have been perfecting their rocking horse skills.

And here’s the really interesting part: all three women intend to use their rocking horses, once completed, as time capsules. Into these horses they intend to put copies of the family genealogy, and other family records, photographs, and stories for some future descendant to discover. Now that’s a story!

After the museum experience, we wandered down to the sea in search of the “Smuggler’s Museum” which sounded interesting in the guidebook. However, once there, we discovered that the museum was “closed for the foreseeable future.” No doubt the proprietors of the museum had been putting too much of their smuggling expertise into actual practice. But to reward ourselves for finding the location on the beach in Saltburn (see photo 8), we went into the pub next door and had a bite to eat and a flaggon of ale, as it were. Yes, I’m really getting to like that John Smith ale. I’m just going to track that brew down when I get back home.

After our lunch break, thinking me might be able to cram just one more activity into our day, we next headed for the harbor back in Hartlepool where I had earlier seen a stately three-masted sailing vessel gracing the quay (see photo 9 - sort of). Once there, they told us we’d be better off coming back tomorrow as we only had an hour to partake of the nautical diversions available on and around the sailing vessel and it actually took more like three hours. That sounded good to us. We spent a few minutes in the Hartlepool museum located nearby and then came back for a cup of tea, a biscuit, and tales of the Hartlepool area courtesy of our host, Steven. All in all, a very interesting and rewarding day. And that’s about it. So for now, I’ll say,

ciao, tutti.

Just one of those days. . .

Today was a day unlike any other we’ve experienced in the UK. It seemed to start reasonably enough. Though we awoke to find a thick blanket of fog shrouding the fields surrounding Thurlby, we had no trouble packing the car and setting out after breakfast. I had decided not to use the GPS but to navigate the old fashioned way, by map atlas. My plan was to stay off the major expressways and keep to the secondary roads in hopes of stumbling across some singular point of interest that might give us a reason to pull over and stretch our legs. But as the miles ticked away, no such point of interest presented itself. Originally, when I laid out the trip, I had decided on something like 150 miles for this leg, so I didn’t think we’d be on the road too long. I turned out to be wrong.

For some reason the route I chose just sort of meandered around and trended in a direction somewhat easterly of where I really wanted to go. Still, like I said, the scenery was great so we decided to just go with it. Still, by the time we reached the toll bridge over the Humber River, I decided I better get serious and plot the real route to our destination. That’s when I found out how circuitous a route I had been driving. But never mind, we’d just have to keep moving and we’d make it in plenty of time.

That’s when I took a wrong turn and ended up on a limited-access expressway headed the exact opposite of the way I intended. Mile after mile I could find no way to reverse direction. Finally, when a roadside sign announced that we were headed toward the city of York, I said to Concetta, “Okay, we can deal with this. There’s a road that goes directly from York to Hartlepool, our ultimate destination.”

“That sounds okay,” Concetta said. “We still have plenty of time.”

“Yes,” I said, “and I think there’s a Viking archaeological dig going on in York. We can stop and see it and still make Hartlepool before dinner time.” Archaeology is Concetta’s favorite subject for those of you who don't know.

“That will be wonderful,” she said.

A short time later we actually reached the outskirts of York and one of the UK’s ubiquitous roadside brown signs announced not only the Viking site, but the world’s largest railroad museum, as well as an antique airplane museum.

“Wow,” I said. “Did you see that sign? There’s tons of stuff here to do.”

“Let’s have tea first,” she said. “Then we can decide which to do first.”

Though we were still a little under 60 miles from Hartlepool, we thought there'd be a couple of hours to fool around with. A few minutes later we found a restaurant and parked the car. Once our tea was ordered, I told Concetta that I better call our B&B and give them a hint of when to expect us. The hostess, Jill, answered on the third ring.

“Hi,” I said. “This is Tom Davis. We’re staying with you tonight and I just thought I ring and let you know we’re in York and should see you by late afternoon."

“Tom Davis?” She said. “But you didn’t confirm. You didn’t answer my emails.”

“What emails,” I said. “I have my computer with me. You haven’t sent me any emails. I confirmed with you before I left the US. I shouldn't need to re-confirm.”

“But I've let the room,” she said. “I’ve been emailing you for some time and you haven’t answered back.”

I realized, of course, that she must have forgotten that I gave her both my home and work email and she must have been emailing my work address. Of course, that was no excuse for her since she had not only both emails but my cell phone number as well. She could have called if nothing else. I decided to get tough. “I’m afraid that’s not my problem,” I told her. I made these arrangements in March and confirmed with you in August. You’ll just have to move these latecomers into some other room.”

“But I can’t,” she said, sounding distraught. "The person is handicapped."

Oh fine, I thought, put that guilt trip on me now. There was more to the conversation, but it involved me getting a trifle hot under the collar.

Finally, Jill said, “Well, you'll just have to come here and we'll work something out.”

So, as you might guess, up in smoke went the fun things we planned in York. We couldn’t hang around if we were going to have to scrounge up a different place to stay once we got there and, as I anticipated, not be able to come to some mutually agreeable solution to our (their) problem. Needless to say, the hour-long ride to Hartlepool was a bit tense. All the while we were scouting for roadside signs for B&Bs and/or hotels we might return to if needed.

Well, to make a long story short(ish), once we arrived, though we intended to go nose to nose with the innkeepers if necessary, the couple turned out to be simply charming and had worked out a deal where we could stay in a nearby (and more expensive) B&B for the night while storing our stuff at their place in the interim. They gave us a suitcase to pack what we needed for the night, let us put our car in their private parking lot, and told us we could eat breakfast at either B&B as we chose, come back and use the internet that night if we desired, and generally make ourselves at home. What could we say? We liked them immediately and we felt relieved that everyone would live to fight another day.

And there was one more bonus. Jill pointed out a restaurant where we might get good food just down the waterfront (this is a beachside B&B) from their place. Concetta and I ordered the seafood pie, which turned out to be one of the best meals we’ve had in the UK since we arrived. Wow! Not only that, but this place had “John Smith” ale, which we had discovered in Scotland and was, in our opinion, much better than any of the English ales we had encountered the whole rest of the trip. So, our favorite food, our favorite ale (cold, too!), and a darn nice setting right on the waterfront. Sometimes life just has a way of rewarding you when you have the good sense to make lemonade out of your lemons.

P.S. Just in case I had to do battle with these folks, I got out my Roman battle gear and put it on. As you can see below, thank goodness I didn't need it.


Amen.

Ciao

Tutti.

We discover the day has a "theme"

Today’s adventure ended up having a theme, though we didn’t exactly plan it that way. It just evolved by accident. The day began with our trying to track down a window company of all things. Ever since we arrived at our Thurlby B&B, I’ve been really impressed with the windows here. To say they are light years better than then ones in our house in Nevada is decidedly an understatement. They’re heavy-duty aluminum and extremely sturdy, much more than anything I’ve ever seen in the US. So, I asked our hostess if she knew where the distributor was and, incredibly, she was able to furnish us with an address and, most importantly, a postal code. The little GPS machine just loves postal codes. Long story short, we drove and drove and drove and finally found the place and the chap there gave me a business card so I could pull up the factory on the internet and see if they sell in North America.

But that had nothing to do with the day’s theme. No, the theme came about because after the window place we found ourselves in a part of England that for which we really didn’t have brochures. So, we just asked the window guy where he would recommend we visit. Soon we were back on the road, headed toward the window guy’s suggested destination. But once there, we found a museum which, except for a small room near the front entrance, was not really open for business. However, a very nice employee at this museum recommended yet another destination, so off we went to follow her suggestion.

But that also had nothing to do with the theme. No, the theme came about because we happened to pick up a brochure at the aforementioned museum that described a museum in the nearby town of Peterborough that was having a special display on “Crime and Punishment” throughout history. Now that sounded interesting, we thought; something totally different than we had been seeing. So off we went in search of the town of Peterborough, often through a maze of expressway on-ramps and off-ramps and an absolute myriad of roundabouts. But finally we found said town and even managed to find a suitable parking garage for the Mini, though I believe I sort of drove up the down ramps in getting to the next level. Still, we made it.

The most interesting thing about the crime exhibit was the little piece they did on Agatha Christie. The exhibit, of course, had all the torture devices and weird weaponry you’d ever want to see, all which came complete with the horrified screams and moanings of victims resounding in the background as you strolled. But it was Agatha that drew my attention. Imagine being the most published author ever! Imagine having your play run continuously for over 50 years! My god, I haven’t even been able to sell my first book yet. I better get busy!

The rest of the Peterborough Museum was just as interesting. The displays ran the gamut from archaeology to Victorian streetscapes, from geology to paintings by local artists, from Roman items to sea creatures from 150 million years ago . But here again, the theme resurfaced. We started reading about Mary Queen of Scots (see photo 3) and how her last days were spent at Fotheringhay Castle located just a short distance away.

“How short?” I asked a museum staff member.

“Well,” she said, “It’s just down the road near Oundly.”

Now Oundly is exactly the town where we'd just been while hunting up the window company. Still, now that the theme of the day had asserted itself, I wasn’t about to argue.

“Okay,” I said to Concetta. “We need to go back.”

And that’s just what we did. More on-ramps and off-ramps and two dozen roundabouts and we were rolling into the tiny village (40 households) of Fotheringhay. Wow, what a great little village. All the stone cottages are neat as a pin and you have nothing but beautiful vistas beyond. I immediately got out the camera and started shooting. An old English canal runs right by the village and I had fun shooting the canal boats. Later, when we went in search of the castle site where Queen Mary lost her head, we met a really nice canal boat owner who paused from his work and talked to us for half an hour (see photo 6 for the canal boat guy. Photos 4 and 5 are of the castle in its heyday and now).

But at first, when we just weren’t certain where to look for the castle, a very nice lady out walking her grandson in a pram offered to not just tell us where the castle used to stand, but actually take us there. By the end of the walk we were having a fine old chat and I thought she’d ask to adopt us or something. Just kidding there. But everywhere we go in the UK, the residents always seem to love going out of their way to help us.

When we finally found the castle site, all that was left was a high mound of earth where the original castle “keep” stood, and one lone rock clump that is the only piece of building material left over after they tore the castle down and hauled the stones off to do a church or something in good ol’ Oundly. Concetta said she stood at the very top of that castle keep mound and tried to visualize what Mary might have seen from her cell window on that morning before they came for her. I don’t wonder but that the rivers and farms and forests look much the same as they did all those years ago.

To round out the evening, and to stick to the theme as close as possible, we decided to eat at the Sherlock Holmes-themed restaurant near the B&B here called the “Baskervilles,” reminiscent of the infamous hound. I had the Bangers and Mash and Concetta had the Fish and Chips.

So, there you are, another day in the life. I just hope I haven’t had so much ale that I go to sleep seeing Mary Queen of Scotts -- whose axeman took three strokes to cut through her neck even after she’d paid him to make his aim true -- hovering over the bed in the dark. It’s said that he grabbed her hair to display her head to the witnesses and her head separated from her wig bounced off the paving stones. Yuck!

Ciao, tutti

Burghley House is a WOW!

Today we awoke to sunny skies in Thurlby -- well, more or less. Our new B&B, the home of Wendy Chouffot, is a small operation in that it only has two guest rooms available, which is nice. Right now Concetta and I are the only guests present, which is really nice. I originally chose Wendy’s B&B because she had agreed in advance to tackle our laundry at this point in the trip. Now that we’re here, we’re certainly glad we chose this one. Not only did Wendy cheerfully take on the laundry job, but she has been just as accommodating and friendly as any host we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Plus, the house is immaculate and very cleverly decorated.

This morning we had breakfast in the sunroom. See the top photo for Concetta enjoying her coffee in the serenity of this delightful morning room. Right outside the sunroom, we could hear water trickling in the pond. And, as you can see, the whole yard is just a mass of flowers. Our breakfast was just the way we like it, simple and nutritious. I especially loved the yoghurt. And though English folks generally struggle with furnishing drinkable coffee, Wendy’s coffee was just great. We found ourselves not wanting to break the spell so we lingered over breakfast longer than usual.

One of the most interesting places to visit in this area, according to Wendy, is the Burghley House in the village of Stamford about a dozen miles away. Since I didn’t really have any specific activities lined up in advance, we took Wendy’s advice and set out for Stamford right after breakfast.

Wow! I expected to see a stately house full of dusty old furniture, but was I off the mark. Burghley House was built by William Cecil, the first Lord of Burghley in 1555! This Cecil chap was no ordinary rich guy. He was Lord High Treasurer and Chief Minister to Queen Elizabeth the 1st. Good ol’ Cecil was also the guy who was responsible, to a large degree, in Mary Queen of Scots losing her Queenly head. The guides said that Queen Elizabeth was a tad miffed at him when she later regretted executing her cousin and banished him from court for a time. However, he was so important to her that he was soon back.

This house is no ordinary dwelling. Both Queen Elizabeth and Queen Victoria were sometime guests there and had specific bedrooms named for them. They wouldn’t allow photographs to be taken, but the artwork inside is nothing short of incredible. Almost all the vaulted ceilings are painted in the Sistine Chapel style with scenes from Greek mythology and what can only be described as a lot of naked folks having a very good time. One room alone took two painters a year to complete, and that was a fairly small room. In one room, the painters had not only frescoed the ceiling, but all the walls as well. What an undertaking! Also on the walls are over 600 paintings, some of which are the size of an average living room rug.

They were definitely getting my attention at this point, especially when we came to the snooker table that was twice as large as any table I ever seen before. And, this gigantic table had been crafted in 1859 from oak taken from a sunken, and subsequently raised, British Warship that had lain on the bottom for fifty years.

When we arrived at the chapel, which probably seated close to 50 people, a man was giving demonstrations on a couple of 18th century musical instruments, an pump organ (that had to be pumped by an assistant) and a piano. Both sounded lovely. The most astounding thing was when he confided to us that the music he was playing on the piano was a piece written by Mozart when the young composer was EIGHT years old. And that particular song was only one of forty that Mozart wrote that year!

The house was just so fascinating and elaborately furnished that I was just totally enthralled throughout the whole tour. I sure wish they would have allowed photographs, at least so you could see the frolicking naked people on the ceilings.

Because I love old houses and truly a historic preservationist at heart, one of the most exciting aspects of the house, for me, is the fact that from 1555 to 1981 the house was in the same family. Can you imagine that? Over four hundred years of family history in one house. That, I'm sure, is where a few dozen of the portraits that hang everywhere are from. Every family member for four centuries has had a oil done of them. Because the UK exacts such heavy death duties, in 1981 the heirs were forced, more or less, to turn the property into a trust and make it available to the public. The last actual owners live in -- any guesses? -- Oregon, USA. Other family members live in Canada. But one granddaughter lives at Burghley in special apartments that have been arranged for through the trust. I suppose the family couldn't bear to give up all contact with this awesome piece of real estate.

Once our tour of the house was over, we headed for the gardens. The house isn’t the only thing that is very, very large. I’m pretty sure I read that the current estate covers some 7,500 acres! Much of that property is farm land that they lease out and the money helps cover expenses for the upkeep of the estate. I’m not sure how much of the estate is given over to gardens, but Concetta and I spent at least an hour just wandering amongst the tree-shaded paths and enjoying the lake-side vistas. It was wonderfully restful and serene. I’m thinking of becoming a professional enjoyer of serenity in the future.

By tea time, Concetta and I had decided to have our big meal of the day in Burghley House’s dining hall. The dinning hall overlooks the rose garden and fountain (see photo 6) and provided an unbeatable setting for our dinner. Concetta finally got to partake of the lamb, something she’s been talking about since we were in Wales where all the sheep make their home. I, on the other hand, had the venison and dumpling pie with a football-sized bowl of veggies on the side. It was truly terrific. To reward ourselves for all the walking we’ve been doing, for dessert we shared a portion of “sticky toffee pudding,” which, if you’ve never had any, is like saying you’ve never made love. That dessert is FANTASTIC! The only reason I didn’t lick the plate is Concetta would have jabbed me with a fork.

Anyway, that’s our adventures for today. By the time we left Burghley House it had started to drizzle a bit so we came on back to the B&B for showers, blogging, and a bit of reading before bed. Tomorrow, well, I don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow, but stay tuned, it’s bound to be something interesting.

Ciao, tutti.

Moving on – again

Well, we were really sad to leave Vickie and Peter’s Old Barn Guest House this morning. Here we stayed the longest, five days, as I wanted sufficient time to ride the train into London for three days. The train ride takes an hour each way, which naturally cuts into your sightseeing time. That left us with an additional day to visit local sights before we had to head north. But after five days Vickie had become an old friend, and Peter and I had had time for some lively discussions about politics and other stimulating topics.

It was somehow appropriate that the skies were gray and dull this morning with a hint of rain as we hugged and shook hands and reluctantly headed for the car. I am really, really going to miss Vickie’s home-made yoghurt each morning as well as the delightful home-made bread. In appreciation of all her kindness, we left a small present for her in our room that we hope she likes.

This morning we went ahead and ran without the GPS as I was pretty sure I knew about where I wanted to go. Our initial goal for the morning was the city of Cambridge. Although I didn’t have any particular place I wanted to see in Cambridge, I figured that it would be fun to just stroll through the streets. The expressways in the UK here are pretty darn easy to navigate. The signs are very clear, and if you make a mistake you just go to the nearest roundabout and swing back the opposite direction.

Connie is not really a fan of the roundabouts, but I think they’re fun. Many times you don’t even have to slow down much as you thread your way amongst the oncoming traffic. Occasionally, I get beeped at for changing lanes in the roundabout, though often the lanes are not really marked. But I’m getting pretty good at charging right through without a second thought.

It turned out that our dead-reckon navigating was just fine as somewhere just after lunch time we landed right in the middle of old Cambridge. A few minutes later, we had found a parking garage, parked the car, and headed out on foot to stretch our legs and see what there was to see. Cambridge being a college town there were lots and lots of three distinct things: college kids; businesses that catered to college kids; and – what’s my favorite? – right on! Book stores. Naturally, we took full advantage of the latter.

Concetta had just last night been reading about Vita Sackville West and Harold Nicholson, the owners of the Sissinghurst Castle and gardens. Well, since the two had written some 80 books between them, we thought it would be a cinch to find at least one of the couple’s books in Cambridge. Well, it was not to be, but we did find some bargains which should insure that the balance of our evenings in England will be filled with great reading.

After strolling the old town, buying yet another Scottish “flat” hat (I lost the last one in Tisbury), and picking up some presents, we started scouting for a place to have our afternoon tea. We’ve grown a little weary of pubs so we were happy to find a wonderful café with a French flare that served up some very fine food in addition to our usual tea. Then, as the afternoon was flying by, we headed for the car and our drive to Thurlby in Lincolnshire.

Naturally, before we had reached our destination we had already run into a historic site that we just had to see: an archaeological site called Flag Fen. At Flag Fen they have discovered some pretty incredible bronze age, iron age, and Roman artifacts. We got to see how my British ancestors were living 3,000 years ago, as well as stroll a piece of Roman road. In addition, they have reconstructed some of dwellings that these early Brits inhabited, which were

pretty cozy inside since the day had gotten progressively colder. (See the “I’m cold” expression on Connie’s face top right). But the thing that impressed me the most was the wooden cart wheel they found on the site. At 1,300 B.C., it is the oldest wooden wheel ever found in England (see photos of ancient wheel and reconstruction of what it would have looked like when new, photos 2 & 3).

After our brush with antiquity, we headed back for the car and the last couple of dozen miles on the highway before we reached Thurlby. Thurlby is a very rural village on the edge of flat-as-a-table-top farming country. But by the looks of the brochure there is lots to see around here, including touring the magnificent house where they filmed many movies, according to our hostess, that require those Elizabethan estates as a backdrop. I snapped a photo out the bedroom window when we got here, since the sun was shining, and you can see what I can see right this minute.

Our new B&B is very nice and we’re the only guests at the moment. Wendy’s router is sorely in need of a signal booster as I can’t get on line from the room, but must go to the landing. The router is only about twenty feet away so it must be very weak. So, while I figure out how to get all this into the ether, I’ll say

ciao, tutti.

Packing tips for the camera geek

Some of you may be wondering, at least the camera geeks are, just what sort of photo equipment I took along with me on this trip. Of course, I took the Nikon D70s that I originally purchased for our trip to Italy along with the Nikon 18-200 zoom lens. I decided on that lens because of its tremendous versatility, which meant I’d only have to take that one. More than one lens would require exchanging of lenses all the time. Since I had read that the worst enemy of digital cameras is dust, and that getting dust on your censor is going to inevitably show up on your photographs, I thought that eliminating lens changes would seriously reduce the dust possibility. You should, by the way, always keep this in mind before you buy a used digital SLR camera.

So, what else did I bring along? As you can see from the photo on the left, I brought a number of things. First of all I found a really great “tote” in which to carry my extra camera gear. I think in its prior life it was meant to carry shaving kit-type things. But the fact that it was a dual-zipper, nylon tote made it a really ideal container in which to pack other things.

To the right of the tote is the strobe for the Nikon. It’s most useful in places where the on-camera flash just won’t cut it. I don’t often carry it along, but when I do, the nylon case has a great belt loop which allows me to just thread my belt through it and it rides quite comfortably on my waist for those walks through dark cathedrals.

On the far right in the top row is the filter case. I purchased it at Gordon’s photo store in Carson City. It holds about six 72mm filters quite comfortably. In it I tucked two extra polarizer filters, a “half-orange” filter for making skies darker, and a full orange filter for God knows what. Other than trading out the polarizer, so far I haven’t used the others.

The left-most item on the bottom row is a hard-shell case that holds about 20 CDs or so. Into this case I put a dozen blank CDs, a couple of DVDs, and a burned CD with my books on it. In Italy I found myself having go to internet cafes in order to get connected. While there I’d convert my camera memory chips to burned CDs just to have a little extra insurance. This time I wanted to have the burning capability myself.

Item number 2 on the bottom row is the case holding the camera memory card reader. On this trip, if I don’t shoot many photos on a particular day, I usually just hook the camera directly to the laptop via a USB cable and transfer the pix that way. If, however, I do shoot a lot, then I use the card reader to save time. Also in this case is a thumb drive which I haven’t used yet.

The third item from the left is the camera memory card wallet. I also purchased this at Gordon’s for a nominal price. This little gem fits as many as eight memory cards when four of them are in the plastic holders, and you could get at least four more if you just inserted the cards as four of the pockets would actually fit two cards apiece. When I went to Italy I was constantly searching for the memory cards and I never really knew whether I had found them all. This time I numbered each individual card starting with #1. Then, as I filled up the cards I get the next card in numerical sequence, thus eliminating the uncertainty of which ones were filled and which ones were not.

Fourth from the left on the bottom row is the battery charger for the Nikon battery. I learned the hard way in Italy that one never hits the street without an extra (charged) camera battery in ones possession. You should always make sure your spare battery is charged, of course. After a heavy day of shooting, put your spare battery in the camera and charge the one you used that day for use as the spare. That way you won’t have any unpleasant surprises.

The bottom photo shows you just how elegantly all these things fit into my “shaving kit.” Since the tote fits quite nicely into my carry-on luggage next to the camera bag with a slot left for the laptop to nestle in a special pocket behind the two of them, it packs nice and neat. To finish off the carry-on, I bought a nice zippered “envelope” about six inches by ten inches into which I put all the various cords and cables and plug conversion units for the UK. The whole thing is very compact and works very well.

Well, that’s the photographer’s tip for the day. Hope you find it useful.

A day of rest -- sort of

Today, our three days of train trips to London finished, we decided to have a day of rest. But while most people would take a good book and sit in the garden to rest, we decided to go visit gardens instead. Two were recommended to us and our B&B hostess, Vicky, put sticky notes on a map to show us just where to go. Ultimately, we would only have time for one, but before we headed out on our gardening quest, we went in search of a quite different form of art -- that of stained glass.

According to Vicky, quite near here was a church in the village of Tudeley which has been built on the foundations of an ancient Saxon church. And, if you know your history, goes back before the Invasion of William the Conqueror in 1066 A.D. After all, Robin Hood was a Saxon, wasn't he. I'm not just sure how long the present church has been sitting there on those Saxon foundations, but I found reference to the late medieval times. However old it is, that's not what I want to talk about. What I want to talk about are the windows which were crafted by the noted artist, Marc Chagall. Chagall was commissioned to do the windows to commemorate the untimely death of the twenty-one year old daughter of a wealthy local landowner. The windows were all pretty magnificent, but photo one is my favorite. The most astounding fact is that Marc Chagall was in his late 80s when he took on the job and completed the last four windows when he was ninety!!!

From Tudeley we headed for the gardens of Sissinghurst. The grounds are referred to as Sissinghurst Castle, not because it had ever been a castle, but because at one point during the 1700s some French prisoners being kept there gave it that name. The few buildings that have survived are but a tiny remnant of what started out in the 1400s as a walled estate complete with moat. In the 1500s the then owner let the older estate fall down, and he built a completely new estate just to the north. Subsequent owners knocked down most of the buildings contained in the second estate with only about a 1/10th of the original structures surviving. By the third decade of the 20th century, a wealthy and talented couple, Nigel Nicolson and Vita Sackville-West, noted authors of over 40 books apiece, purchased the "Castle" and began to restore what was left of the structures and grounds.

We had a simply marvelous time in the Castle gardens. As most English-style gardens are typically constructed, there are loads and loads of different "rooms" within the garden. Sissinghurst has ten rooms, including an all-white garden, an herb garden, and a cottage garden. Intertwining all these rooms are these wonderful brick and stone paths. For each room you often come around a corner and there, laid out before you, is yet another room. Often your specific room has a focal point, a statue, an urn full of daises, or water feature. Consequently, you can wander and wander and wander and never get tired of the view.

One of the things that impressed me most were the fig trees. Some of you might know that I recently brought home from California a fig tree that I hope I can keep alive in the sunroom. But at Sissinghurst, where Vicky tells us it can get to 2 or 3 degrees below zero, they are not only growing figs, but the plants appear to be thriving. Now I have renewed hope of growing mine outside. They appear to be giving them an edge by growing them against a house or garden wall. If you want to visit an English garden that is easy to find, easy to afford (if you have the Brit Heritage pass), and easy to recognize that it will live long in your memory, this is the one. Bring your camera and you won't be disappointed. Just outside of the garden they have an absolutely marvelous little cafe where you will be rewarded with some truly fine food, often made with ingredients picked right on the property. Concetta and just adored the place and would definitely recommend it to lovers of gardens and lovers of history alike.

We stopped one other place on our way to Sissinghurst. Many of you know that I just love antique vehicles. So, when we passed a restoration shop on the way to Sissinghurst we, of course, pulled right over and wandered in to check it out. Thankfully, the chap with the grease rag in his pocket cheerfully welcomed us inside and gave us a rundown on each vehicle on display. The one pictured here is a Bentley and the mechanic declined my request to divulge the price. However, I suspect it's one of those cases where if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it.

Well, that's our day in a nutshell. If anything, I loved today better than all the others since I've been wanting to visit a garden ever since we landed on British soil. So, I finally had my wish, and all is right with world now. So, until tomorrow, I'll have to say,

Ciao, tutti.

From Baker Street to the London Eye

Naturally, we couldn’t leave London without seeking out 221B Baker Street and paying a visit to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Once again, we drove down to the Paddock Wood station and caught the morning train to London. This time we happened to catch the train destined for Victoria Station instead of Charing Cross Road and so ended up in a slightly different part of the city. Nevermind, we just pulled out our trusty map for the underground and set off for Baker Street anyway.

We didn’t get far. Almost immediately a Chinese man approached us with a forlorn look on his face and asked us to help him figure out how to buy a ticket for someplace in Kent. At least, that’s what we finally figured out that he wanted. He spoke virtually no English except he word “tiki,” which we assumed meant ticket. The poor guy had such a “deer in the headlights” look on his face that we couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. So, for the next twenty or thirty minutes we tried valiantly to figure out where he wanted to go (all he could do was show me the town name that somehow he produced on his cell phone screen) and how much a ticket might cost for that place, assuming it existed.

While legions of impatient passengers waited behind us in line, Concetta and I worked at deciphering the ticket machine, which, since we had purchased our tickets by mail, we had never needed to use. Thankfully, I finally figured the machine out and navigated my way through the menus while Concetta kept an eye on the guy’s luggage for him. But when the time came for him to insert his credit card to pay for the ticket I discovered that he had no such credit card. I tried to communicate to him that I would take the twenty-pound note that he was clutching in his hand and pay for it with my credit card, but I failed to get that message across. At that point we had to let the other waiting passengers get at the machine so I cancelled the transaction and we went our separate ways. We sure hope he eventually got where he was going, though I can’t see how he would. Too bad he didn’t study a few words of English before he embarked on his adventure. I’m going to take that to heart should I ever decide to head for China.

So, our morning crisis over, we once again headed for the underground. All we had to do was ride the yellow or green line east to Westminster Station, then transfer to the gray line which would take us all the way to Baker Street. And that’s just what we did. Though the crush of passengers seemed to be just as heavy as we’d seen during the work-week, we managed to wend our way up and down the myriad of stairs, passageways, and escalators and get on the right train each time. Before we knew it, we were at Baker Street. We had hoped that our GPS would guide us from the Tube station to 221B, but the little machine only seemed to find a Baker Street in Scotland. So, we had to ask someone on the street which way to walk. Our quarry turned out to be just a block or so away, so we were soon standing out front.

We had a really great time at the Holmes museum. Even though it’s basically a tourist trap, I loved the way they decorated the rooms to look like Mrs. Hudson’s house in the films. They even had a guy playing Watson upstairs and we had a really nice chat with him on the qualities of the various actors who have played both Watson and Holmes.

Naturally, after snapping a few photos I had to buy myself a “deerstalker” hat, just like Holmes wore in many of his movies. The hat might have been made in Finland, but I love it anyway.

After the Holmes museum we headed over to the nearby Regency Park to sit for a moment and collect our thoughts. But, as it turned out, the park was so beautiful that we decided to just walk a bit and enjoy the beautiful rose gardens. Everywhere, there were people strolling through the gardens or lounging on the lawns. We even saw a Japanese wedding party taking advantage of the Japanese garden area.

After our rose garden stroll, we left the park and stopped at a nearby bistro for a cup a tea, a shared sandwich, and our first ice cream of the trip. After all, they had pistachio. Who could resist?

Since today was my day for picking our destinations, we now headed back to the tube station to catch a train for the London river-walk area at Westminster. Earlier that morning, while we were still at the Victoria Train Station, I had purchased two tickets for the London Eye, the huge Ferris wheel that dominates the skyline near the Themes. I felt that we just couldn’t come to London and not ride the Eye. As you can see, ride it we did. I just loved the experience. I found it so interesting that they load and unload the wheel without ever really stopping it. The wheel only pauses if they need to allow a handicapped person to enter or exit. I thought we might have to spend a lot of time in line, like at Disneyland, but in reality we virtually walked right on. Connie’s not so comfortable with heights, but the ride is so stable that she really wasn’t bothered at all, at least not until I asked her to go stand near the edge so I could take her picture.

After the Eye experience we decided that we had had enough of the hustle and bustle of the city for one day, so off we went to find the train station and enjoy a nice, leisurely ride back to Paddock Wood where our faithful Mini awaited us. After that, we spent some time trying to find a pub still serving food on a Sunday (they often quit at 4:00 p.m.). We visited three or four before we found one, but had a nice dinner and tried a new brand of ale called “Spitfire.” Don’t worry, we only had half a pint.

So, here we are, our day-tripping to London finished. Tomorrow we plan to visit some local sights here in Tunbridge Wells, Paddock Wood, and other nearby communities. I’d like to do more gardens if we can find one or two, and Connie has in mind a church that supposedly has some very nice stained glass windows. Tuesday is our travel day and well be heading for Lincolnshire. So, for now,

Ciao, tutti.