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Today we bid a reluctant farewell to John, our host at Webster’s B&B in Salisbury, Wiltshire, England. Concetta and I thoroughly enjoyed all things about Websters. Even though all our hosts over the past two weeks have been friendly, accommodating, and eager to please, John impressed us with his enthusiasm, willingness to take time to chat, and for the obvious joy he took in running his guest house as expertly as he could. John and Veronica have one of best B&Bs we've encountered so far and I unhesitatingly recommend his home to anyone headed to Salisbury.
Unfortunately, leave we must as our next host was expecting us. But before we set our course for “The Old Barn” in Kent, I wanted to drop down to the coast, city of Southampton, and see if I might find a museum dedicated to the Titanic. Thanks to the GPS, it turned out to be rather easy to find (see top photo). Though I subsequently parked the car going the wrong way on a one-way street, for which a kindly “Bobby” left me a polite note, our navigation device guided us to within about 100 feet of the front door. Very cool!
As you know, Southampton was the last port of call for the Titanic before it set sale for America and its rendezvous with history. I’m sure everyone has seen a million documentaries about the ship and you might think, oh, well, why waste the time. But what I was interested in was more information on the human element in the story. Thankfully, I wasn’t disappointed. The museum had quite a bit of personal property of passengers and crew passed along by surviving family members as well as many, many personal accounts that often fail to make it to the various documentaries. Though museum rules prevented any photography inside, I can tell you that it was well worth the visit.
Of course, after having spent over a year living aboard a boat myself, things to do with the sea always get my attention. But listening to the various biographies of many of the passengers and crew, both survivors and non-survivors, made our visit extremely interesting. Seeing the photographs of crewmen and reading their last cards and letters home had a huge impact on me, I’ll tell you. Museum staff seemed to think that there was still an old lady living in Southampton who was an eight month old baby when the ship went down and is the last known survivor.
After our visit to the Maritime Museum, Concetta and I next headed for the Archaeology Museum (photo 2)where we explored the three periods of early Southampton history. The city had its beginnings as an iron-age settlement, but the first major influx of people came with the Roman invasion around 43 A.D. The Romans turned Southampton into a shipping port and it prospered. After the decline of the Roman empire, the Saxons (probably the Jutes) came next and the settlement expanded as a trading center. Then, in the fourteenth century a wall was built around the city, some of which still survives. In fact, the Archaeology Museum we visit is located in one of the old guard towers from the wall. From that time to now Southampton has been one of the busiest ports and trading centers in the world.
The last thing we did in Southampton was visit the marker erected to commemorate the departure of the Mayflower in 1620 (photo 3)for that place we all know and love, North America. One of the wonderful aspects of traveling in the UK is the age of everything you see. When we were in the Maritime Museum, one of the guides told us that their building was 400 years old when the Mayflower set sail just outside their door. The other night in Salisbury, we had dinner in a restaurant that had been a bar serving the workers who built the city’s cathedral over 700 years ago. Now that’s OLD! Fortunately, the food and ale was great and obviously hadn't been sitting around that long.
I missed out on my tea break today, but we had a very smooth drive from Southampton to our current five-day residence in Kent. Once again, the GPS took us door-to-door without so much as a hiccup. Tomorrow we hope to hop the train to London (I don’t want to drive it) and see the sights there. Stay tuned for adventures on the tube, the Eye, and, if Concetta gets her way, the War Museum.
Ciao, tutti
I'm sure a lot of you are intrigued by the idea of taking a "driving vacation" in England. Probably you feel just the slightest bit intimidated by the thought of driving on the "wrong" side of the road over here in the UK, but I have to tell you that it hasn't been as scary as I anticipated. The thing to keep in mind is that everyone else is doing it right, which makes it easy much of the time to just do what everyone else is doing. In the beginning I had the most trouble if Concetta and I were traveling a little-used road and we were the only ones in sight. Then, when I finally encountered another driver, usually as we came sweeping around a blind curve, my brain would automatically insist that I needed to get to the RIGHT of the oncoming driver. This, of course, would have been disastrous. So, I had to learn to relax and try to "hush" my brain that kept insisting I was wrong. After a week I had pretty much fallen into the routine. However, it still sometimes unnerves me when I encounter that solitary driver at high speed.
The expressways are a piece of cake normally. That's because there are few surprises and the lanes are wider. The biggest problem you will encounter is the narrow country lanes (see pix above right) and the narrow village streets. Both are often only one car width wide. It takes considerable creativity sometimes to thread your way along these narrow tracks while remembering to keep left. Sometimes you're up on the sidewalk. Sometimes you're in the bushes or literally off the road altogether. Sometimes you (or the opposing driver) have to back up to a driveway or other wide spot so one of you can pass.
Aside from clean underwear, our GPS is just about the best thing we brought with us on this trip. It relieves a lot of stress when you don't have to be juggling a map, a magnifying glass, your reading glasses, and a compass as you navigate down these tiny roads, even if you have a navigator.
So far we've only had the GPS send us off on a wild goose chase once and that was tonight as we tried to navigate to a restaurant our B&B host had recommended. This time, the unit "thought" it had taken us to the right place, but no restaurant was visible. So, somehow, and we haven't figured out just how, it decided on a totally different destination for us. Thinking it had corrected its initial erroneous set of instructions, we let it lead us on a fifteen mile road rally that finished up at a tiny cottage down an impossibly narrow road that I suppose only the owner of the cottage ever traveled. It took a couple of re-programmings of the unit to make it come to its senses, but we finally arrived at the appropriate restaurant, considerably more hungry and lower on petrol, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
As you can see by the second photo, Concetta and I visited Stonehenge this morning, something we both have been anxious to do for years. Though TV always makes Stonehenge look a lot larger in the documentaries, the stones are nevertheless very impressive. When you consider the weight of some of those blocks, its like those stone age craftsmen were moving two or three city buses around without the benefit of wheels -- and that's one piled on top of another. They don't let you get close to the stones anymore, but even so Concetta and I were quite moved by the experience and very appreciative of the audio tours that the British Heritage folks provide. By the way, if you're planning a trip to England/Scotland/Wales, be sure and purchase the British Heritage Pass. It gets you into over 800 sites for free.
After our morning admiring the awesome talent of my hard-working Celtic ancestors, Concetta and I next moved on to the village of Tisbury which lay just down the road. Tisbury is where my dad's mother's family were living in the early part of the nineteenth century. At that time the father, great great great grandfather, Joseph Burton was farming about forty acres. Knowing that I probably wouldn't be able to find the actual farm, I still wanted to prowl the streets of the village and maybe visit the cemetery (see pix #3)
Turns out, Concetta and I had a great time talking to the locals at the library, in the street, and at the local pub where we had tea, sandwiches, and "spotted dick" for dessert. The town is absolutely charming, like something out of a story book. Concetta said we ought to buy a cottage and visit more often, but one look at the real estate prices and I think I could get something cheaper in Beverly Hills, or at least San Francisco.
Still, not even in Italy did we see such a wealth of traditional "rose-covered cottages" sitting amidst immaculately-manicured gardens and lawns (note the vintage Mini Cooper in the last photo). Everywhere we went we just instantly fell in love with the beautiful stone cottages, often with thatched roofs, and the wonderful greenery that we in Nevada would definitely kill for.
Well, we actually went on from Tisbury to visit the Salisbury Cathedral area, but I'm too tired now to add any more to the blog so, for tonight, I'll have to say
Ciao, tutti.
Today we visited my long-time friend, Josephine, in her wonderful home in Poole on the southern coast of England. I met Josephine over 34 years ago when I spent some months on the island of Malta, her homeland, while our boat, the MAR, was in port for the winter. Though fate decreed that our paths would cross only briefly all those years ago, she has always held a special spot in my heart. She was 19 then.
Today she's raised four children, three lovely girls and a boy, now serving with the Royal Marines.
This morning, Josephine took us on a long stroll around her town to see the picturesque harbor and marina areas, after which we retreated to her sunny kitchen and sipped tea and munched sweat rolls for the afternoon, all the while reliving tales of the "old days." Then, this evening, while keeping up
a lively conversation with Concetta and me, Josephine managed to whip up a fantastic lasagna that would have won a prize in the best Italian (or Maltese) kitchen. The top pix is of Josephine's home in Poole, which she is currently remodeling, more or less, by herself. The second pix is Jo with the box of candy my shipmate requested I bring her. The last pix is of Jo and two of her three daughters, Elizabeth (left) and Stephanie (right).
Not many people know that if it wasn't for Josephine, Concetta and I might not have met. After living aboard the yacht MAR for a year, my shipmate, John, and I had decided that we had had enough of life at sea. But it was initially John whom we agreed would leave first and I would wait until the captain hired someone to fill John's spot before I left to come home. John, at this point, had known Josephine only briefly before we set sail on our summer cruise in 1974. But when the cruise was over and John and Josephine were re-united, he changed his mind and told me that he would stay on board longer and I might go ahead and leave. This I did in early August 1974. By August 15th of '74 I had started a new job in Carson City, and by the end of that fateful month of August I had met Concetta. So, you see, if I had stayed longer on the boat and John had come home first Concetta and I might never have met in that laundromat all those years ago.
Isn't fate a wonderful thing.
Ciao, tutti.
Today turned out to be an absolutely perfect day. This morning we bid farewell to southeastern Wales and we turned our little Mini Cooper back towards jolly old England. Our plan was to head for the city of Bath in the English midlands to visit the ancient Roman site in that city. Once on the highway, we soon discovered that Bath was much closer than we had thought. In the end, the trip took less than two hours. Piece of cake.
But as soon as we reached the city limits we had the misfortune to end up right behind a giant yellow school bus that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to pass. At one point I was nearly rear-ended by another big bus behind us and the driver very quickly let me know just how much he appreciated how much I've learned about English driving so far.
Then a thought hit me. I wonder, "I said to Concetta, "if this darn school bus is headed to the Roman baths. Since we really don't know where the baths are, maybe we should just stay right where we are and follow him."
And that's just what we did. Minutes later the bus lead us right to the area we were seeking. Almost immediately we found a dynamite parking spot that didn't tax my ability to park a right-hand-drive car and we were soon headed off on foot.
The first thing we encountered was a museum of historic fashions. Now Concetta was truly in heaven. Actually, I found it pretty interesting myself. You couldn't help but appreciate some of the workmanship that went into these clothes. Most impressive, they had a pair of gloves that were 400 years old, some of the oldest surviving fashion accessories in the world.
We were still at the fashion museum when tea-time arrived, so off we went to the museum cafeteria. Now, one of the culinary items we've been keeping an eye out for because Concetta has seen it on the cooking channel is something called "clotted cream." Well, this tea shop had the very item. So, tea today consisted of scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam along with a lovely pot of English tea. Clotted cream, though I can't tell you what it is precisely, appeared to me to be something halfway between whipped cream and butter. But whatever it is, I sure liked it.
After the tea break we followed the city's very precise and informative directional signs and soon came upon the Roman baths. Although everyone has at some time or another seen a documentary on the Roman city of Bath, me included, I was just blown away by the presentation there. It's nothing short of outstanding. The more I learn about the Romans and see their handiwork over here, the more impressed I am. One fact I remember is that 240,000 gallons of hot water a day flow through the Roman baths, even today. The Romans had hot tubs, steam rooms, cold plunges, and places where they could get rub downs and individual attention. Pretty neat for 1600 years ago.
After we toured the baths Concetta asked if we could try and find a glass-blowing shop she'd heard about. That sounded interesting to me, so off we went. We soon found someone who directed us and we found the shop without much trouble. Concetta loves glass blowing and I must admit that I find it pretty fascinating as well. For the sum of a couple of pounds they let you go back where the glass workers are plying their craft and watch as long as you want. Neat. Here's a couple of shots of the kid doing the work. Concetta asked him how he'd gotten into the business, thinking he'd say something romantic like, oh it was my calling since I was a child.
However, the young artist said, "Well, I was out of work and my girlfriend threw the newspaper listing at me and told me to go get a job. I've been here ever since."
So much for romance.
After the wonderful glass-blowing demo, we decided to try and find the car since it was getting on to four o'clock and I wanted to try and be in Salisbury by five-ish. Here the perfect day continued unabated as on a whim I suggested that we take a sort of left turn and see if we'd end up anywhere close to where we started that day. Wonder of wonders, we practically tripped over the car fifteen minutes later. And that wasn't the end of our good luck.
Almost right next to the car was something you see here a lot, a "Pay and Park" machine. I was supposed to have put in some money and put a parking slip on the dashboard. Unfortunately, I had totally missed the machine in my haste to park the car and get sight-seeing. Wonder of wonders, no one noticed. There was no parking fine on my window.
Once on the highway, we plugged the postal code for our Salisbury B&B into the our treasured friend, the GPS, and it soon had us out of the city and flying down the road toward the county of Wiltshire. Wiltshire is important in our itinerary because my dad's mother's family comes from the tiny village of Tisbury there. The Burtons were farmers in the early to mid 1800s and, for all I know, may yet be there as only a couple of the family members emigrated to America, my great grandfather being one of them. The remainder of the family stayed right here in England.
While we're in this area we also plan on visiting a person out of my distant past, a friend from the island of Malta whom I met way back in 1974 when I was living aboard a sixty-foot two-masted ketch in the harbor there. We're going to travel south to the seaside city of Poole tomorrow to see her and take in the sights.
Well, that's all for now. Concetta's been asleep for an hour and I better get to sleep myself.
Ciao, tutti.
Well, here we are once more, sitting in McDonalds, hunched over a chicken sandwich, accessing the blog. You will remember that our present B&B doesn't have wireless, a mistake I won't make again. Originally, I chose this particular house because the hosts said that they could arrange for doing our laundry, a pressing necessity at this stage of the trip. But being away from the Internet is just too inconvenient when we always need to locate our next destination, usually based on the postal code that we feed into the GPS. But as the English say, never mind. Tomorrow we're off to Salisbury (where Stonehenge is found) and the B&B there is guaranteed to have the Internet.
This morning Concetta and I had an absolutely marvelous time touring, of all things, a coal mine. Before you throw up your hands in horror, let me tell you that seldom have we enjoyed such a professionally-run tour. First, we had to hand over anything on our person that might cause a spark, including cameras, cell phones, watches, and (believe it or not) the automatic key lock for the car. Then they gave us carbide lamps and hard hats. Finally they herded about a dozen of us into a cage suspended on the end of a wire cable and dropped us 300 feet into the bowels of the earth.
Then, for the next hour, we learned everything there is to know about coal-mining in the last century and before. Did you know that in Wales, the country that produced the finest coal on earth for decades, you could start working in the mines at age five -- boys or girls? Did you know that a five-year-old child would often be working in complete darkness, on a twelve-hour shift, and have a devilish job keeping the rats away from his/her lunch? Incredible!!!
Our guide in the mine, a twenty-five-year veteran of the mine, as were his father and grandfather before him, told us that if you got a working space of four to six feet headroom, you were in clover. If you got three feet of headroom, you were still okay. But sometimes you got as little as seventeen inches and had to work lying on your side with a pick. And, throughout most of the history of coal mining, you only got paid for coal you sent to the surface. You didn't get paid for just showing up. As an added bonus, you often had to walk as many as four miles to the coal face, something for which you didn't get paid. And, if you got hurt, as hundreds did, your fellow coal miners carried you out of the mine. No paramedics showed up. Not until modern times was there a hospital on the property. Here's the bombshell: Women as well as men worked in the mine, often on their hands and knees pulling or pushing loaded cars of coal. Everyone had to work or the family often had not enough to eat.
In the afternoon, once we'd had our usual tea, we visited castles. One, was an 11th century ruin of a Norman castle which was restored by a wealthy industrialist in the mid 1800s. In fact, at the time, he was considered to be the most wealthy man in the world, mostly due to the industrial revolution that had made him rich. He owned, among other things, the dock area where all the coal and iron was shipped to other countries. He restored the castle we visited purely to use as a hunting lodge. The entire interior was magnificently gilded in bright colors and decorated with impressive artwork.
Our second castle of the day was in the town of Caerphilly and looked the most like a real castle with a moat, draw bridges, and huge towering gates. The same rich man who restored the first castle also started restoration on the second, much larger castle, and restoration has been ongoing every since. It is the largest castle in Wales, the second-largest in Britain (second to Windsor castle) and is one of the largest fortresses in Europe. It was built mainly between 1268 and 1271, it is an early example of a concentric castle, meaning that there is a castle wall within the outer wall.
Well, it's 11:30ish here in southern Wales and Concetta and I are sitting in the Ebbw Vale McDonalds and doing our blog over a cup of coffee. Our current B&B does not offer WiFi and this is the first place recommended to us for having the internet. Yesterday we tried valiantly to do some "war-driving" around Merthyr Tydfil hoping to find some sloppy apartment dweller running an unprotected network. But no luck. So, for those of you keeping up with us on our trip, I apologize for the lateness of our update.
Yesterday we bid farewell to the Plas Coch Guest House (red house in Welsh) in Llanberis at the very foot of Mount Snowden, the tallest peak in the UK. Thanks to Frank and Jane for a memorable stay in their well-appointed B&B. Though the weather was a bit rainy at first, we were able to take full advantage of many exiting points of interest in their beautiful area. This morning, almost for the first time since we arrived in the UK, the sun was shining as brightly as if it had never retreated behind the unending mists of Mount Snowden for so long.
After breakfast, we drove south and east into the mountains, Here, in my opinion, we encountered some of the most beautiful mountain roads in the world. And, though many of the winding tracks are quite narrow, I’m becoming more confident driving the left side. We didn’t encounter any problems, even though we spent the latter part of the journey navigating by an old-fashioned map instead of the GPS. (LOL).
About lunch time we stopped in the little town of Llandidloes for a bite and popped into the first café we came across, The Cobblers Tea Room. Though the establishment didn’t look like anything special from the outside, the interior was small and cozy and the owner and waitress greeted us warmly. I picked out something small from the menu, the “chicken and veg pie,” thinking I would get something about the size of my palm that I could have with tea. Not wanting a full meal, Concetta ordered the scone with cream. The first thing they did was ask Concetta if she could wait while they made a scone up from scratch just for her. Soon after they arrived with my “little” pie, which actually took two dinner-sized plates to transport from the kitchen. It turned out to be an entire plate-full of chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy, and an second plate just for the vegetables.
Well, seeing that there was no way I was going to be able to eat that lunch by myself Concetta launched in with me and together we were almost able to eat it all. Just about the time we finally finished, the waitress arrived with the freshly-made scones, piled high with whipped cream, that I graciously offered to help Concetta tackle. The lunch turned out to be close to the best meal we’ve had since we arrived on the island, and I still don’t even know how to pronounce the name of the town.
Our base for the next few days is in the tiny village of Rhymney. I chose it because it lies roughly in the middle of the various towns and villages where many of my Dad’s family lived before emigrating to American in the early 1870s. These folks would include the Browns who were originally from Scotland; the Rhydderchs of Monmouthshire, and, of course, the Davis family of Glamorgan and Monmouthshire. They come from towns like Merthyr Tydfil, Blaenavon, Ebbw Vale, and Tredegar, towns whose history is devoted largely to coal mining and iron refining.
Yesterday evening, after navigating to our B&B and depositing our possessions, we set out to drive the surrounding towns just to get a feeling for the area. Because this particular B&B doesn’t have WiFi (horrors!), we thought maybe we could find a place for dinner that could afford us the internet. Sadly, though we eventually landed at a hotel bar in Abergevenny that advertised WiFi, we were unable to attach to our blog, though I kept trying until I ran the laptop’s battery down.
Today we set off in search of a couple of castles near here and, as usual, it was raining. But we really didn't care since we hoped to be "inside" much of the day. Wonder of wonders, by the time we arrived at Caernarfon, the location of the first castle on our list, the sun had begun to pop out of the cloud banks and stay that way for whole minutes at a time. We could definitely get spoiled if this keeps up.
The castle at Caernarfon was built by King Edward the 1st in the early 1200s and his son, the first English Prince of Wales, was born at the castle in 1284. So, we're talking old here. The photo on the left is the Welsh flag with its emblazoned red dragon flying atop the castle gate structure. Most of this castle is taken up with museums devoted to the history of Welshmen in various battles throughout history, including our own war of independence. The displays are wonderfully done and interesting. But when we got bored with military topics, we headed into the town of Caernarfon and did some sightseeing. The town (see photo lower right) is very colorful and contains a multitude of tea shops and cafes arranged along narrow streets and alleys. We finally chose one called Molly's and bipped in for a sandwich and cup of tea.
I decided on the tuna sandwich and asked the waitress if I could have a few pickles on it please.
She said, "you want what?"
"Pickles," I said. "You know, they make them from cucumbers. I always have them on tuna sandwiches."
She shook her head and looked completely mystified.
"You must have seen them," I said, "they have sweet ones and dill ones. I personally like the dill ones on tuna."
When the waitress still looked blank, I told her not to worry, I'd do without this time. Who would have thought that a pickle would mystify the Brits.
For those of you who are reading this blog just to find out about the food here, I actually tried one of their favorite breakfast dishes this morning -- beans on toast. Yes, you heard right. They serve that dish here at our Clanberis B&B and I decided that if I didn't try it here, I might have to actually pay to try it elsewhere. So, try it I did. Let me just say that it was everything I expected it to be and I don't think it will become a favorite of mine any time soon.
We sought out our second castle of the day because Concetta wanted to visit one that wasn't devoted to military history. I thought that might be a tall order since most castles were constructed for decidedly military reasons. However we found a wonderful example just down the road in the village of Bangor. Though not strictly a castle, it certainly looks like a castle (see photo at left of the "small" end of the building). No, this castle, called Penrhyn, was actually a sort of "retreat" for the wealthy Pennant family who used the huge house mainly in the fall when family members wanted to go hunting. This place was so large, it had 60 bedrooms, hundreds of fireplaces, and it's own train station. It took something over 70 staff to keep things shipshape. I lost track of just how many floors it had because they had us going up and down constantly on our tour.
I heard one of the guides say that originally the house sat on over 4,000 acres of beautiful hills and valleys. I don't know how much of this land is left, but I can tell you that it took us ten minutes just to drive up the driveway.
Concetta and I were so enthralled with the place the staff literally had to kick us out at five o'clock. Each room we entered had a National Trust docent to answer your questions and make you feel at home. These folks were extremely knowledgeable and seemed to actually delight if you asked questions. One chap, an ex-history professor from the university here spent at least twenty minutes just answering questions about the Davis name in Wales. Another docent kept seeking us out whenever he wasn't busy to see if we had dreamed up any more questions. They truly did an outstanding job. Like Concetta, you may not be into the usual castle scene, but do give Penrhyn a try if you are in the area. It's a lovely and wonderous place.
This evening, to mark our first fantastic week on the road in the UK, we decided to celebrate and have dinner in a nice restaurant situated on a tree-covered hillside overlooking the village of LLanberis (prounced Clan-bear-is) where we're staying for a few days. We dressed up in our nice clothes, made a reservation, and were cheerfully afforded the white table cloth and twelve-pieces-of-silverware treatment. Concetta had the fish, I had the chicken, and we shared an apple crisp with our espresso. It was undoubtedly the best food we've had since we arrived in the UK. Last night, at a small cafe down the road, I ended up with some sort of spinach and cheese concoction that didn't taste like either one. When I ordered they asked what I'd like with the Spinach-Cheese surprise and I said salad. Not wanting to disappoint me, they threw on a portion of every salad they could lay their hands on in the kitchen, which sort of made the plate look like several plates full of table leftovers swept onto one dish. Tonight, however, I think we finally found out where the real chefs in Wales are working.
Today we rode the cog railway to the top of Mt. Snowden, the highest peak in the British Isles. Fortunately, though the sun didn't show up for much of the day, we didn't have any rain either. The ride, should you ever make it over here to northern Wales, is absolutely thrilling and breathtaking. In service since 1896, the little narrow gauge trains relentlessly huff and puff their way to the top while affording riders the most magnificent scenery you're likely to see anywhere.
Unfortunately, due to work being performed on the upper terminus of the line, they didn't quite haul us to the summit of Mt. Snowden. However, in the end I was rather happy they didn't. The wind was blowing so hard just down from the summit where they halted that it was difficult to remain on your feet without holding onto something stationary. I definitely kept well clear of the edge of the cliff for fear that I'd be swept over.
Later, back on the valley floor and after our usual tea break, we headed off to ride yet another train which ran from approximately the same part of town but this time out around the lake instead of up the mountain. The ride behind the little steam locomotive was neat but rather tame in comparison to our morning adventure.
The most interesting part of our afternoon involved a visit to a wonderful museum dedicated to those Welshmen who made their living in the Slate industry. They have a complete facility here, much like we Nevadans have with Ely's Nevada Northern Railway, that looks as if the workers just clocked out for the day and left their tools on the workbenches. All the machinery still functions, some was even in operation as we passed through. For those of you who don't know anything about slate, at one time it was a highly sought-after building material for roofing before the days of asphalt shingles.
The slate operations in Clanberis, Wales, were known world-wide for their superior quality. Beyond that, the artistry that it took to hand split single roofing shingles out of large blocks of slate boggles my mind. Our ancestors were truly talented folks, one and all. In the bottom photo, look above the crane to see the big "V" in the hillside where they quarried the slate from the mid 1800s.
Today was our transit day from the Hadrian's Wall area in Northumberland to the Mt. Snowden area of Northern Wales. I knew there would not much time for wandering down back roads or stopping to see the sights. We just had to put the pedal down and put some miles on the Mini. As you may remember if you've been perusing this blog for any length of time, most of my ancestors from my Dad's side came (as far as I can tell from the census data) from southeastern Wales and southwestern England. The sole exception was Paul Brown who was born in Scotland and lived in the 1820s in Northumberland. Thus, our motivation for flying to Edinburgh and staying for a number of days near Hexham and Corbridge, the latter being the village where Paul lived for a time. Our explorations in the Corbridge area finished, we now have to head for southern Wales. But I didn't want to marathon drive directly there so, instead, we headed a couple of hundred miles west to northern Wales just to see the sights. In a few days we'll drift southward and stay a few more days in the area where the Davis family lived before they emigrated in 1873. So, save a lunchtime stop at a wonderful transportation museum in village of Leyland in Lancashire (see top photo), we headed straight here. I have to report that in Leyland we finally managed to find someone who could make a decent potato-leek soup this noon. After the first two attempts, I thought we'd have to give soup up for good. An unfortunate decision in this rainy climate. Naturally, I felt compelled to ask our waitress if she had tasted the soup and what she thought of it before I ordered any.
She replied with rather firm conviction, "Oh, I never eat vegetables."
"Never?" I asked, I'm sure sounding somewhat incredulous.
"No, never," she said. "Not in all my life."
I wondered how she could possibly know if the soup she intended to serve was any good if she wouldn't dream of tasting any, but I decided against asking that. Throwing caution to the wind, I went ahead and ordered the potato-leek anyway. It turned out to be great, as did the somewhat unusual sandwich that came with it, a concoction of brie cheese, bacon, and cranberry sauce on a baguette, and our usual beverage, a steaming mug of tea. Not counting the prizewinning order of fish and chips that Concetta ordered in the tiny burg of Earlston in Northumberland, our lunch in Leyland is perhaps the best we've had yet.
At this point you're probably wondering just how we like the Mini Cooper (see picture of same with Concetta) now that we've driven it for a week. My overall opinion of the tiny vehicle is positive. I like the way it hugs the road. If you so much as nudge the steering wheel left or right the car turns immediately. I like the way it accelerates. Of course up to now I haven't had the courage to do much accelerating, especially since most of the roads we've been traveling have been about 1.5 car widths wide. On some of those rural Northumberland roads you'd have trouble getting the car and a bicycle side by side. But today, on the expressway, I did a lot of accelerating. I Got it up to 80mph at one point and it wasn't even straining. If you press down on the accelerator, no matter how fast you're going, the car leaps forward. The visibility is good in the car and I haven't encountered any blind spots. Of course, I have to warn you that half the time I don't know what direction to look in. It's nothing but strange sitting on the right side of the car and even looking in the side mirrors at the proper time takes a lot of thought for me. This causes me to cut some folks off in the roundabouts every once in a while, especially the ones where two lanes of traffic enter the roundabout simultaneously. The car is darn easy to park. You can put it just about anywhere. I love the heater/defroster. It works better than any car I've ever owned. You turn it on and the windshield is clear seconds later.
Now for the negative things. I don't like the seats. In my opinion they're as uncomfortable as the yucky seats in our Fiat van two summers ago in Italy, and those were pretty bad. There's not enough padding and the seat itself is too short. The various release mechanisms and handles are cheap-feeling and sort of "floppy." I should note at this point that Concetta thinks her seat is just fine, but I suspect the shortness of the seat wouldn't trouble her as much. I should also add that the short seats make for tons of leg room which is nice
My other complaint, which in fairness might be related to the fact that I'm learning to shift this 6-speed car with my left hand, is that there isn't enough room between reverse-first-third gears. I'm getting better now, but for most of this week I've been throwing it into reverse when I want 1st gear. Not at all a calming thing when you're trying not to look like a dumb tourist in the first place. Some day I'd like to drive a left-hand version of the Mini to see if my right hand is smarter than my left hand after owning manual shift cars since 1967. It's possible.
The last thing is pretty inherent in tiny cars. The suspension is pretty stiff and you feel just about every object bigger than a jelly bean in the road. But if you're a fan of sports car-like driving, you most likely expect some of that.
So, if you're thinking about buying one, I'd say go ahead and test drive one. At our last B&B they had a group of 20-something boys staying for several nights. When they arrived they, of course, wanted to know who belonged to the Mini Cooper in the parking area, expecting, I'm sure, to be meeting one of their own generation. When Concetta and I were pointed out as the owners, one of them said, "Oh, I expected someone much younger." They would have loved to test drive it, but I just smiled and kept mum. Youth may have it's rewards, but none were to be seen that day!
Ciao, tutti.
Today Concetta and I had our best day in the UK yet. Not a drop of rain greeted us when we set out today and we even had blue skies and sunshine off and on. Our hostess at the Dene Guest House suggested that we motor over to the vicinity of Newcastle-on-Tyne and visit a sort of open-air museum (Concetta and I love historic things as you probably know) that comes complete with working teens-era trolleys to transport you about the grounds. If you've ever been to Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan, you'll have some idea of what this museum is like. Imagine a sort of Disneyland for history-lovers without all the Disney-like crowds. Located throughout the grounds was a steam railroad operation, a wealthy landowner's hilltop mansion, a working farm, a
coal-mining operation, a railroad yard complete with station and engine house, a schoolhouse, workers cottages complete with greenhouses and gardens, and a complete 1913-vintage main street complete with workers in costume to explain the workings of each and every shop. I especially loved the working print shop as it contained many of the pieces of equipment I used in Nevada in the 1970s, equipment which the shop had inherited from the Nevada Appeal and dated back to the 1800s. Other shops included a motorcar garage, a candy store, a masons hall, a hats and linens store, a grocery and dry goods store, and a saloon.
Perhaps the most unusual part of our day was meeting a lovely Norwegian student on Holiday in England who took an interest in Concetta and me and decided to spend her day with us as we strolled around the grounds. Caroline (pictured here in the photograph with Concetta) turned out to have been born the very same year as our son Robert. We liked her right away, especially since she shared our avid interest in history. We toured all the attractions together, even stopping for tea and scones in the tea shop. Later, we dropped her at the bus station in Durham where she expected a ride from her sister that afternoon. Concetta and I certainly wish her the best on her solitary travels (her boyfriend doesn't like airplanes, she says, and won't travel with her). Still, Caroline says she intends to visit Vietnam, Singapore, and Australia this coming year, as well as a few other places that I've forgotten now.
Yesterday was the day that we had planned to explore Hadrian’s Wall come hell or high water (we sort of knew which it was to be). So, even though it was still raining (surprised?), we set off after breakfast to do just that. We were a little discouraged when we first fired up the Mini Cooper because the downpour appeared to have abated not an iota. Water coursed down the street in great rivers and filled up the low spots in the roads to a depth of ten inches or more. Everywhere the countryside looking soggy and half-drowned. Still, we motored off toward the main highway hoping that we’d be able to find a wall site with an indoor museum if nothing else. However, we’d only driven perhaps a couple of miles when we broke out into the long missing sunshine. Immediately it got very warm in the car and I had to stop so we could discard our jackets and I could dig around for my sun glasses. Wonder of wonders, the sun was shining! Tell Noah it was a false alarm.
Well, long story short, the sun didn’t stay out ALL day as you probably already guessed. Still, it didn’t rain too much – just a light drizzle once in a while. We had an absolutely marvelous day learning about the Roman occupation of Britain which lasted from around 47 A.D. to around 400 A.D. We visited a couple of lovely museums containing some truly wonderful finds. The soil here around Hadrian’s Wall is so damp that things that get buried tend to be preserved darn near forever. When the Romans wanted to build a new building in a fort enclosure somewhere, they tended to knock the old structure down, bring in dirt and clay and cover the remains to a depth of a foot or so, then start the new building. This demolishing and filling technique insured that all the artifacts connected with the first structure were preserved in an anaerobic atmosphere that virtually insured their survival. They’ve found everything from 1000 leather shoes and a host of other leather items, to actual letters written by the soldiers on tree bark. Keep in mind that these letters date back to the year 100 A.D. or so. Imagine finding anything 1900 years old, let alone something as fragile as ink on slender shavings of bark!!!!
The wall itself is pretty darn impressive. I had wanted to see if for years. Imagine building a stone structure 10 feet wide and up to 36 feet high for 73 MILES across the hilly/rocky/boggy terrain! There were three Roman legions stationed in Britain. Incredibly, it only took them eight years or so to complete the wall. Nowadays it would take engineers that long to do the environmental impact study. Of course, the wall wasn’t all they built. Every mile or so they constructed a small fort large enough to house 25 or 30 men. These structures would be approximately 100 feet square (see photo of the wall and adjacent enclosure) and would most often have guard towers in addition to the crenelated walls. But even this wasn’t all the Roman legions accomplished. In addition to the wall they dug deep ditches on the Scottish side of the wall to further discourage potential attackers.
Of course, once the Romans left near the end of the 4th century, the wall began to deteriorate. Subsequent residents mined the wall for building materials for their houses, barns, and stone fences. After all, why quarry your own stone (the pictured lake is an old Roman quarry) when the Romans had done such a good job of it already. For that reason the wall in most places, if not gone completely, has been reduced to wall sections only a few feet high. Still, we found it very, very impressive.
Certainly, that most famous of boat-builders must have experienced just such rain as we've seen here in Northern England in the last couple of days when he set about constructing a sanctuary from the rising waters. Here, as in biblical times, it just keeps coming down.
Resisting the temptation to set the GPS for some place like Greece, Concetta and I put aside our plans to explore the length and breadth of Hadrian's Wall this morning, and instead decided to visit the local museum dedicated to the Roman town of Corbridge. You may remember that the reason we're here in Northumberland is that my great, great, great grandfather lived in Corbridge in the 1820s. Eighteen some odd centuries before Paul Brown helped bring three children into the world in the tiny town, the Romans were busy establishing a frontier garrison between the conquered Bretons and the hated and feared Picts and Scots to the north. Though we were unable to tour the actual archaeological site due to the downpour, the museum was one of the finest I've ever seen. Archaeologists have found just about anything and everything you can imagine, including a wooden box with a soldier's third century armor inside. They've found beautiful pottery, glassware, medical instruments, gaming pieces, carved stone tablets and statues, food prep items, and thousands of equally interesting things. All were expertly displayed and clearly explained. Just wonderful.
After our museum trip in Corbridge, we moved on to the village of Hexham where we visited The Abbey of St. Andrew, first begun in the 8th century. It wasn't quite as grand as the churches and basilicas we saw in Rome in 2006, but the carved stone Gothic arches were truly magnificent and the stained glass windows took your breath away. The open-beamed wooden ceiling towered above so many stories that I found myself wondering just how those 8th century craftsmen worked way up there. Very impressive!
Our respite from the rain was short lived and when we emerged from the abbey we discovered that, if anything, it was raining even harder. We decided it was time for a tea break. Spying a cafe just down the block, we huddled under our umbrellas and made a dash for it. Then for the next hour we enjoyed fruit scones, strawberry jam, and that ever wonderful (and plentiful) English drink while we watched the sea of umbrellas flow by outside.
Casting about for some other "dry" diversion for the balance of the afternoon, we decided to check out the local cinema which happened to be showing a film we hadn't yet seen, "The Duchess." If you haven't seen it, we recommend it. Some fine acting by Keira Knightly, Ralph Finnes, and the rest of the cast.
After the movie we emerged from the theater to discover that the rain had tapered off to a slow drizzle. Feeling in the mood for soup on such a cold, rainy night, we prowled the tiny village of Hexham until we spied a sidewalk sign indicating the sought-after item was on the menu.
"Potato Leek," the waitress said, in answer to my query about the day's fare.
When the soup arrived you can probably guess the way the conversation went. "What kind of soup did they say this was?" Concetta asked, after she'd tasted the first sip.
"Ah, potato leek," I said.
"Doesn't taste like any potato I ever cooked," she said. She made a face.
"Eat it anyway," I said. "You don't want to hurt their feelings."
As you can see, finding tasty (even readily identifiable) food here in England is just about as difficult as most folks advised us it would be. Breakfasts seem to be the easiest meal for English cooks to master, so maybe we could just eat nothing but breakfasts for the next month. The strawberry jam is especially good and I could probably live on jam and bread if I had to.
We're back at the B&B now, sitting in front of a cozy fire, reading and filling out our journals. Everyone else is out attending a wedding and we have the house to ourselves. So, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. I got a little better with the driving today. Still a little trouble with the left-handed shifting. But our trusty GPS, however disdainful it sounds when I make a mistake, faithfully guides us to and fro down these tiny country lanes in search of adventure and I expect tomorrow is going to be another exciting day.
ciao, tutti.
Today we bid a reluctant farewell to John, our host at Webster’s B&B in Salisbury, Wiltshire, England. Concetta and I thoroughly enjoyed all things about Websters. Even though all our hosts over the past two weeks have been friendly, accommodating, and eager to please, John impressed us with his enthusiasm, willingness to take time to chat, and for the obvious joy he took in running his guest house as expertly as he could. John and Veronica have one of best B&Bs we've encountered so far and I unhesitatingly recommend his home to anyone headed to Salisbury. 
Of course, after having spent over a year living aboard a boat myself, things to do with the sea always get my attention. But listening to the various biographies of many of the passengers and crew, both survivors and non-survivors, made our visit extremely interesting. Seeing the photographs of crewmen and reading their last cards and letters home had a huge impact on me, I’ll tell you. Museum staff seemed to think that there was still an old lady living in Southampton who was an eight month old baby when the ship went down and is the last known survivor. 
The last thing we did in Southampton was visit the marker erected to commemorate the departure of the Mayflower in 1620 (photo 3)for that place we all know and love, North America. One of the wonderful aspects of traveling in the UK is the age of everything you see. When we were in the Maritime Museum, one of the guides told us that their building was 400 years old when the Mayflower set sail just outside their door. The other night in Salisbury, we had dinner in a restaurant that had been a bar serving the workers who built the city’s cathedral over 700 years ago. Now that’s OLD! Fortunately, the food and ale was great and obviously hadn't been sitting around that long.
