We travel back to Napoleon's time for the day

I know you’ve heard us say it before, but today was just about the best day we’ve had in the United Kingdom. This morning, after a wonderful breakfast at the Rothbury Guest House in seaside Hartlepool, we set our course for the “Hartlepool Marine Experience” just minutes away down the quay. Oh, man, what a great place! We were there all day and I didn’t want to leave.

The Marine Experience is in a setting much like what we experienced in Beamish up in Northumberland in the first few days of our vacation. Like Beamish, the Marine Experience has constructed a complete village setting with shops of all descriptions, strolling musicians, and opportunities to talk to docents in period costume. But the best thing we found here was the H.M.S. Trincomalee, a 30-gun frigate built in 1817 of Indian teak and Europe’s oldest warship afloat.

I was just absolutely awestruck with the quality of restoration on the Trincolmalee. Plus, the restorers have provided the highest quality nautical interpretive interior mockups that I have ever seen, bar none. Everything from canons to crew hammocks complete with crew were done to perfection. As you can see from the photos, the captain was in his cabin, the table was set for the officers, and, though not pictured, the cook was roasting meat on the spit for dinner.

Concetta and I made use of the audio units that tell you all about the ship at the touch of a button. We wandered from stem to stern and back again on all three decks and every conceivable detail was explained in easily understandable language. We learned that a “little nipper” was the name given to the ship’s boy who kept the frayed ends of the halyards and lines trimmed. We learned that even today we refer to the toilet as the “head” because these deep-water sailors used a space next to the figure head at the head end of the boat as their latrine. And we learned that the purser was actually referred to as the “Pusser,” which explains why the grog served to British sailors up until fairly recently was called, “Pusser’s Rum.”

The first thing we did when we arrived was attend a presentation given on the “press gangs.” The British Navy was never able to attract enough volunteers to fill its many ships of the line, so they had to get creative. Gangs of British sailors would go out into the community whenever they were in port and “press” chaps into coming along with them for a life at sea. Often, they’d single out lone travelers coming home from a night of drinking who weren’t quite as quick on their feet as they might have been. These chaps would get a blackjack on the back of the head and would wake the next day to find themselves out at sea. Many never saw their homes and families again.

Our next adventure involved a walk-through, narrated tour through the various decks of a fighting ship which came complete with appropriately-dressed manikins, sound effects, and mood lighting. We learned all about life – and death – on board one of His Majesty’s warships as a French frigate closed for battle with our warship.

After all this Hollywood canon fire and hand-to-hand fighting, we decided it was time for tea. We had already learned that a discussion of tea in Britain and a full-fledged afternoon tea was being given in the next building so off we went to participate. As it turned out, we were the only ones to do so, which meant the young lady doing the talk and demonstration had us all to herself. She was charming and told us everything we ever wanted to know about tea and how it became the national drink in the UK. At one time, she told us, British were actually coffee drinkers and only started drinking tea in the 1600s when Portugese traders brought some to the island. Because it was so expensive, the rich people thought it had to be something they should have and viola, when the rich folks did it, everyone wanted to do it.

Part of the reason tea was so expensive is because the British government put a tariff of 190% on the product. This meant, of course, that the poor people just began to smuggle it. The more it was smuggled, the more was available for everyone to drink. Soon, tea was everywhere and had become the post popular drink in Britain.

After the tea drinking, we headed out onto the wharf area to visit the various shops. They had a chandler’s shop, a naval gunsmith’s, a swordsmith, a printer (I liked that one), a naval tailor, a ship’s architect, an instrument maker’s shop, and the Admiral’s house. Each one of these shops or homes was intricately decorated and “staffed” with appropriately-dressed manikins to give you an exact representation of how things would have looked in the late 1700s, early 1800s. I was just blown away by the attention to detail.

As our last activity of the day, we stayed to watch the 68th Durham Light Infantry Display Team, a red-coat re-inactment group, dazzle us with their close-order drill and weapons handling. This group is the premier Georgian-period drill team and performs abroad as much as they do at home. I was so enthralled with their uniforms and expertise with their replica “Brown Bess” muskets, that I kept getting too close to the column as they wheeled, kneeled and fired their weapons. Oh, well, at least they weren’t using live ammunition – I least I don’t think they were.

Tomorrow we’re off to Scotland for our last two days adventure before our flight home. Our final days of vacation are growing woefully short, but there’s still more fun to come. Stay tuned.

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.