Grande-Vallée – Day 8

Sep24 by thehistoryinterpreter

I wake early enough to see an impressive sunrise over Lac Témiscouata. By the time I have pulled on my clothes, I am just a few seconds too late for the idea photograph but it is still beautiful. There is no sign of life on the campsite. We think it is 7.30am. Our Canadian-set watch says it is 7.30am. Our bodies still think it is about midday but it might actually be 8.30am as we may have crossed into another time zone (turns out it was 7.30am). Either way, it is clearly too early for the site receptionist so we have no way of paying. We are due back at this site next week and plan to pay for both nights then. We have to be careful at the start of our journey as we are only twenty miles from the US border and although we have permission to take the van to the US, we lack the necessary visas for ourselves and whilst it would be nice to put our feet on US soil to say we had been, it is not worth the risk. We drive through acrid smoke coming from a factory that is subsuming the nearby houses; I decide that this is not high on my list of places where I want to live. There are patches of thick fog as we head north through the forest. By dint of a road closure we have found our way on to the 232 and the 55 north, just where we want to be and then a second day of the 132 est along the northern shore of the Gaspé Peninsula, complete with more lovely vistas of the river.

We draw in to a petrol station for more fuel, by the end of today we will have done more than 1000 miles. In the nick of time, I spot that the headroom under the canopy is eleven foot six. This may not bode well for our allegedly twelve foot high camper van. We decide not to test the accuracy of this measurement and go on to seek fuel elsewhere. I am fascinated by the yellow school buses, which look like something out of the 1950s. When one stops, traffic in both directions has to halt. Little stops signs open out from the sides of the bus to remind you. I manage to photograph a ‘beware of the moose’ sign, one of the typical barns with a double pitched roof and a church, albeit one with only one spire. Next on the list is a fire hydrant, also very old-fashioned looking. Today’s (un-photographed) wildlife haul includes a squashed racoon and a herd of captive bison in a field. Although today there have been a few more places where you are allowed to stop, it is virtually impossible to just pull over to take pictures or look at something of interest, or at least not legally. Not that Canadian drivers seem particularly law abiding. We have been told that double yellow lines in the middle of the road mean no overtaking. You could have fooled us. Judging by the number of people who have gone sailing past us when the lines are double we would never have known.

As we near the site which, guess what, the sat-van does not recognise, we spot an information bureau. Great, we can ask for directions. Chris volunteers, despite us still being in the French-speaking part of Canada but unhelpfully it is closed. He does manage to find someone who understands not just English but Devonshire and we are sorted. This site too is totally deserted and a notice tells us that someone will be on duty at 10am, by which time we hope to be long gone. At this rate we could be in for a cheap holiday. In fact, Chris later tracks down the site owner who is very apologetic because the pitch chairs and tables have been put away for the winter. This is our cheapest site yet and our new favourite. Chris even rates the showers as passable. Up until now these have been of the wooden hut variety, nothing like we would expect in England – not that we are too bothered as the van has its own. We have a wonderful view over the St. Lawrence estuary, which is teeming with ducks. I wish I had thought to bring the binoculars, as they are just too far away to identify, even with the aid of my camera on zoom.

We wage war on the flies that are a legacy from our site two days ago. My weapon of choice is a tea-towel 3:1 to us so far. Then we walk the few yards down to the shore. Despite the noise of the ducks, this is incredibly tranquil and beautiful – just what we came to Canada for. Driftwood forms strange patterns and there are wild roses and rosehips by the shore. I dip my toe in the St. Lawrence, which is swarming with tiny baby lobsters. My only complaint is the lack of wi-fi and I am in danger of running out of things to read. I thought I had stocked my Kindle up with enough books to last six weeks. Here we are at the end of week one and I am already on the last book. I am convinced that Kindle books are shorter than ‘real’ ones.

Témiscouata-sur-lac – Day 7

Sep24 by thehistoryinterpreter

We awake to mist and heavy dew, signs that it is actually autumn, despite the mid-summer temperatures. I have established that we want to be on road 312, which runs along the southern side of the St. Laurence River. We find the 312 without difficulty but I am unconvinced as to whether we are going in the right direction. I have even dragged out of a dormant brain cell the knowledge that east is ‘est’ and west is ‘oest’. I was helped here by having supported the Timor L’est marathon runner during the Olympics (he was a long way behind everyone else). We cross the same bridge three times but no sign of whether we are heading est or oest, so Chris says we have to ask someone. This is usually his job but he speaks no French at all. We find someone with reasonable English who points vaguely. I just look pathetic and say (in English – I am such a wimp) ‘little road please’. Sure enough, here we are on the 132 est and it is well worth it, with awe inspiring views of the mighty St Lawrence at intervals. What must my north Devon emigrants have thought? A bit different from the Torridge! I love rivers, in fact I think I like them better than the sea. Is this because four generations of my ancestors lived on the banks of the Tamar?

The houses are mostly clapperboard style, single story and with steep roofs, presumably because of the snowy season. Very few have what we would call gardens – just grass and the odd bush or tree. Like Australia, most settlements are linear with a deserted 1950s air. Now we are somewhere quieter we see our first pedestrians and plenty of election posters. Wherever we have been there have been masses of roadworks, accompanied by ‘stop-slow’ boards, as opposed to our ‘stop-go’. Fortunately some of the meagre French vocabulary that I have retained includes the difference between ‘arrete’ and ‘lentement’. I have huge respect for friends who are currently travelling round Europe on the wrong side of the road (for them) through places where, I am assuming, they cannot understand any of the written signs – unless their Albanian and Serbo-Croat is better than I think it is. Not being able to understand what is being said/written is like being deprived of ones senses and I find it very disconcerting. Even the 132 gets busier as we are south of Québec. This is not helped by the narrowing of the lanes due to yet more roadworks. Canadian traffic cones are larger than ours, in fact their tops are exactly level with our wing mirrors. I am not prepared to say how I can vouch for this fact but no traffic cones or wing mirrors were harmed in the course of writing this blog.

We see several twin-spired, silvery churches, maize fields and harvesting being done. The farmers are probably making the most of the weather, which is still lovely. All the farms seem to have two tall cylindrical structures that we presume must be silos. We even find the very occasional pull-in from which to admire the Saint Lawrence. We had programmed the sat-nav to find us a Walmart, the address of which we had ascertained when we had internet access – cunning eh? What seems to be at the end of our route is something rather more upmarket and thus more expensive, than Walmart but time is getting on so we purchase our supplies and then look for the campsite, which is at another address the sat-nav does not recognise. Ha! Now I am justified in having used up a fair proportion of my baggage allowance with the Google maps. Talking of Ha! Westward Ho! often claims to be the only place name in the world with an exclamation mark. Not so! We have just driven through St Louis du Ha! Ha! and it is written thus on the map too.

The sun is starting to set and flashing lights warn us of ‘elevated danger of moose’ but we see none. Probably just as well as at this point we are hurtling along road 85. The site is found just as the sun sets and we draw up on a pitch beside the lake at Témiscouata-sur-lac – beautiful. The place is deserted and the vans that are on site look as if they are semi-permanent; used presumably by weekenders. We are too late to book in so I lack the wi-fi password. I do some guessing but fail – this isn’t as daft as it sounds – I managed to nearly guess an appropriate password (well, I was one character out) when in Scotland; site owners are not known for their cunning passwords. One we have stayed in already takes the prize as their password was the name of a Canadian animal but spelling was not the tech guy’s strong suit, so he spelt it incorrectly – no one will ever guess that! This rates as our favourite pitch so far.

Things that go Bump – Trois Rivieres – Day 6

Sep23 by thehistoryinterpreter

The night is windy and rainy and there are loud thumping noises as if something is trying to break in through the roof. Are these the bears of which we have been warned or just very heavy chipmunks? It turns out that this is merely innocuous and very light pine cones falling on the roof from the tree under which we are parked.

We attempt to set the Sat-nav for our destination. Hiring the sat-nav was a very wise move. Despite my using half a tree to print off Google maps before we came, without it we would still be somewhere in Toronto. I attempt to set the sat-nav for today’s destination. The sat-nav doesn’t recognise it. Aware that we are entering French speaking Canada and the destination is Trois Rivieres, I wonder if perhaps the sat-nav is not biligual. Even my limited French can cope with Trois Rivieres but the sat-nav doesn’t recognise Three Rivers either. I try several other things including Québec with no success. Surely we don’t have an Ontario only sat-nav. After much fiddling we discover that each province has to be set separately and we are off.

The disadvantage of the sat-nav is that it takes you along the direct route and we are yet to find the ‘avoid highways’ or ‘seek alternative route’ function. My lovely maps had opted for slightly less main roads but we fail to find these. This means that we spend the day on the not especially inspiring and monotonous road 417. This despite being Sunday, gets very busy as we get to Montreal. This journey is turning into the equivalent of one long high-adrenaline theme park ride. Did I say I don’t like theme parks? My stress levels are not reduced by two cars directly in front of us crashing into each other. Miraculously, despite bits flying off in all directions they career blithely onwards and Chris slows down in time, as does the vehicle behind us, so we emerge physically unscathed, if slightly un-nerved.

We are now in to our second Canadian province – Québec. Although we pronounce it Qwebec, it seems we should be saying Keybec instead. I had expected road signs to be in both French and English, a little like Wales but no; French alone. I just about know my droit from my gauche so can cope with most of these, including the ones that tell us we are going to die if we don’t rest. That is as maybe but stopping on Canadian roads does not seem to be an option. Even the slightly less busy sections don’t have lay-bys. There is also a distinct lack of garages and shops. We do eventually find the former and refuel. We press on to Lac St-Michel Campsite, where we opt for the pitch of the receptionist’s choice. This is not the most inspiring and today’s unwelcome wildlife is a plague of flies but we are close enough to the site office to intermittently pick up the free wifi, which is normally only accessible from the public buildings, from the van. It does keep dropping out which is frustrating but its occasional presence may be the highlight of today. We wander to the bottom of the site to look at one of the three rivers (Riviere Saint-Maurice) and then call it a day. I use the sporadic internet access to try to work out how we can continue east on anything except the Trans-Canadian Highway, of which I have already had more than enough.

Day 5 19 September 2015 Many Connections BIFHSGO Conference

Sep20 by thehistoryinterpreter

We set off early (inevitably) to find the venue for the BIFHSO conference. This accomplished without much difficulty, we go forth to meet our lovely hosts. It was great to meet people who and previously only been names on the end of a computer. I could not believe how many connections we made. I knew I would meet again friends who had made the trip to the UK, including those with combined Buckland Brewer/Braund links. I also encountered people originally from the Isle of Wight those who share my Braund ancestry (rare), a descendant of one of the emigrants who features as a case study for my Cobourg talk, two people with connections to Bucks Mills and others with North Devonian links. I am well away of the strong connections between the two areas but I wasn’t expecting so many – it truly is a small world.

Much was made of my silver Rockstar status and I was presented with an appropriate ribbon, courtesy of Thomas MacEntee, as well as with red and white beads denoting me as a geneablogger. There were several rockstars present and our beads incorporated a strand of the appropriate metallic hue – so silver for me. Getting internet access at the venue revealed that I had also been awarded the silver Rockstar accolade for the Commonwealth – what an honour. Thomas then gave a very entertaining and thought-provoking keynote plenary ‘Genealogy: the future is now’.

My first session on ‘Harnessing the Facebook Generation’, about encouraging young people to take an interest in history and family history was very well attended and the number of questions afterwards suggested that I achieved my aim. After a break I went to listen to Sher Leetooze, who I had ‘known’ for some time through her books on Bible Christians but who was speaking this time on Lowland Scotland. This was followed by my own session on One-place Studies. There was plenty of interest in this branch of research and I think I may have started several members of the audience down a one-place path. As I said in the talk ‘I take no responsibility’!

We were then whisked off for a lovely meal and more getting to know people. I wish we had had more time to socialise. Then we had to find our way back to the campsite in the van. As it was now both dark and raining, this did involve a certain amount of detouring and some moments when my eyes were very firmly closed (I would like to reassure everyone that I was not driving). Fortunately Chris had already worked out how to make both lights and windscreen wipers operate but the conditions made the journey heart-stopping (for me at least) at times. I am wondering if it is possible to continue our route without encountering any more main roads – or in fact any roads at all would be good.

Wildlife Encounters – Day 4

Sep19 by thehistoryinterpreter

We head east from our campsite, along road 60, through the beautiful Algonquin Provincial Park. This is (according to the AA) one of the 10 things not to miss in Canada. Sadly we haven’t had time to explore properly but we haven’t entirely missed it. This is much better than yesterday’s travelling, a very quiet, single carriageway road through forests that are just beginning to suggest that autumn is around the corner. It is another beautiful day; we pass lakes and rivers and logging lorries pass us. We see signs warning us to beware of deer and moose but our usual jinx on native wildlife (see previous holiday diaries) means that we see neither. We pause at the Lake of the Two Rivers and I have a quick paddle, expecting it to be very cold when in fact it was warm. We are supposed to display a permit in order to stop. We do have a piece of card given to us by the site manager. We have no idea if this constitutes a permit but we boldly display it anyway and hope for the best. Paddling does mean that I get sand between my toes, which inevitably ends up in the van – another reason why we should have gone for the very expensive valeting service.

We continue through lovely scenery (this is more like it) and stop in a lay-by, which are very few and far between, at Wilber Bay. A police car draws alongside. Are we to be arrested for an inappropriate permit? It seems they are not looking for us, phew – it is so easy to feel guilty isn‘t it? Understandably, the driving gets less pleasant again as we near Ottawa but we are on another lovely site. As we are here for two days I take the opportunity to wash some clothes. I had checked with the receptionist when we booked in whether or not it was permissible to peg out clothes on site, as on some UK sites this is not allowed. I might as well have asked if it was acceptable to launch a rocket from our pitch. She looked incredulous and hurriedly consulted the pitch information; clearly no one hangs out laundry in Canada. In the absence of instructions to the contrary, we can erect a washing line. The only trouble with doing the washing is that I am now left with a choice between wearing thick cords or thermal lined walking trousers. Neither seem an attractive option in this heat so I end up sporting Chris’ swimming costume shorts – tasteful!

The only van related issue we have had today is the inability to turn the radio off when it came on of its own accord. After mass button pressing it turns out that if you leave it alone for a while it turns itself off. This site has free wifi. At least it does if you stand on one leg at the top of a specific tree. I manage to identify the one bench where a signal is possible. As regular readers will know, for us a good holiday involves engaging with the local wildlife. I wish to place on record that sitting on a bench that appears to be the home of some unpleasant biting sort of termites does not come into this category, On a more pleasant note I did see a black squirrel and several chipmunks on site, It is apparently possible to take a great many very blurry photos of chipmunks without much effort.

Beware of the Bears – Day 3

Sep18 by thehistoryinterpreter

Last night we managed to stay up until 1.30 English time – goodness knows how as I can count the times I’ve been up after midnight in the last year on one thumb. We have however failed to crack the jet lag and at 4.30am Canada time I am working on the job we must not mention, trying to earn enough to buy food for the last part of our trip. I may need that sooner than I think. Whilst Best Western is superior (and cheaper) in most ways to the UK equivalents I don’t really rate their breakfast. Chris happily consumes five sausages, in his defence they were quite small. It is nominally ‘free’ however so I suppose one can’t complain. In the process of said breakfast I manage to spread plenty of Primula on my clothes – this was of course an accident. Who knew that Primula was so jolly indelible? Clothes are already an issue as, whilst we have plenty of thermals we have virtually nothing suitable for the current Toronto heat wave, now I have even less.

We have been given a number to ring at 8am, so the Campervan firm know to come and collect us. At 7.59am we are poised phone in hand (it would have been 7.30am if I’d had my way). The number we have appears to be unobtainable. Reception gives us another number which elicits the automated message ‘this office is now closed’. Amidst rising panic (you knew there would be some) and thankful for free wifi, I Google for alternative numbers – these don’t work either. Finally I get the Calgary office who give me yet another unobtainable number. At this point Canadream’s live chat comes online and I get Sarah, who I am nominating for sainthood. A proper number, a proper person on the other end and she will be with us at 11.30 – even better as we had thought we would have to wait until 1.00pm.

We arrive at the depot and meet our van – all 33 foot of it and with only 15,000km on the clock. Amongst other things the arctic settings are explained – it is now 28 degrees. I appreciate that it is likely to get colder but……. We head out of Toronto on road 400. This is really very large, very fast and very very scary and I am not even driving. After ten minutes I open my eyes but it takes best part of an hour for me to prize my finger nails out of the palms of my hands. I am feeling very guilty at putting my travelling companion through this and quite want the next 21 days to pass in a flash so we don’t have to be doing it anymore. Why didn’t we go somewhere stress free, like Scotland? Oh, I forgot, we tried that last year (see July and August 2014 of this blog for all the gory details). Said companion is however unconcerned – well, he is a little concerned about the apparent blind spots in the wing mirrors. This means I sort of have to help with the driving by checking in the right hand wing mirror for approaching traffic on our near side (I think it is our near side – can’t get used to this wrong side off the road thing – flaming Napoleon – historical reference there for some). There are reasons why I don’t drive on motorways.

Road 400 goes a very long way in a very straight northerly direction. Somewhere en route it becomes road 11 and slightly less scary and smaller. So far Canada is actually a bit like a larger version of Scotland but flatter. We need supplies. Retail outlets that we pass allow us to buy canoes, kitchens, cars or wood and to eat numerous MacDonalds but not actually to buy food. After a stop at a wayside fruiterers, that claims to also be a grocers, to acquired something we can drink, we find Walmart in Huntsville. This is our first encounter with Walmart. Not sure if Canadian Walmarts have the same reputation as the ones in the US but basically this is Asda. I am hopeful of being able to buy something cool to wear but of course this is winter and the clothing range reflects this. One thing Walmart do not do is stint on carrier bags and they pack your shopping for you. Thinking Canadians might be ultra environment conscious I had packed assorted carrier bags to use as rubbish bags, in case they weren’t given out here – that was a waste of baggage allowance then. We discover another van issue, it is very temperamental to start, so far we have managed to get it going four times – eventually – long may this continue.

We turn east along road 60 and arrive at Algonquin Trails Camping Resort. This is a very pleasant forested site. Last night our friends came out to say hello at Best Western and warned us that we are in bear country here. That’s fine, I have Googled what to do when encountering a bear. This helpful and deadly earnest advice includes, ‘identify yourself by talking in a normal voice.’ Seriously? ‘Hello bear, I am Janet’? There are also supposed to be chipmunk and moose but I don’t suppose we shall see any. We really aren’t in any place long enough to see much. We take a short walk through the forest and the best we can come up with is a black rabbit.

Now for food, lighting the oven proves to be another challenge. It requires two people, a torch, the flexibity of a contortionist and brute force. We debate whether or not you can microwave pizza. The enormous microwave suggests that you can but we have no idea how long for. Once we crack lighting the oven, lacking anything suitable to cook it on, we place the pizza on a shelf. This dear readers was THE WRONG THING TO DO! Smoke, smoke alarms and strong smells of burning. What we thought was a shelf appears to have been some sort of element, an element that now has a considerable amount of pizza adhering to it. ‘Saving’ money by agreeing we would clean the van ourselves now seems like a bad idea. I can however vouch for the fact that blackened pizza is edible.

Crazy with a Smell of Mothballs – Day 2

Sep16 by thehistoryinterpreter

Our room in the Travel Lodge ‘conveniently’ has serious double glazing and non-opening windows. This is to protect us from airport/traffic noise. Unfortunately, the air conditioning that is therefore necessary is far noisier than trying to sleep on the M25 – although I’ll admit a tad less dangerous. I never sleep well at the best of times. In fact it wasn’t until I was at college and sharing a room for the first time, that I realised that people went to sleep at bedtime and woke up in the morning, without waking up several times in between – something I have never done. Just because I could do with a decent sleep, inevitably insomnia kicks in big time. Normally I solve this by reading myself back to sleep. On this trip I have reduced the strain on the baggage allowance by leaving books behind in favour of a well stocked Kindle (other electronic readers are available). This would have worked well if my Kindle hadn’t magically uncharged itself. I can’t read it whilst charging as the plug socket is too far from the bed, so I spend the next hour or so restlessly wondering why hotel rooms are always so hot and discovering that it is possible to turn the air-con down to a slightly less raucous level.

The alarm was set for 5.15am but as usual we are awake before it goes off (have I actually slept at all?) and attempt to check out. The trouble with the lift is that it always goes up to the very top (level 6) before descending. This means that every time it gets to us on level 4 it is already full. We watch four crowded lifts pass us by, deciding that we really don’t want to attempt four flights of stairs with our luggage and sit it out until we finally manage to squeeze ourselves in to an already full lift. Eventually we are outside waiting for our taxi……….and waiting………and waiting. This is seriously annoying as we were actually ready in time for the 5.32am Hoppa bus. The other difficulty is that the taxi pick-up point is also ‘smokers’ corner’, so our lungs are being imperilled as we wait in rising panic (well I was panicking). Why do places put the smoking zone in such a position that those entering and exiting have to run the gamut of toxic fumes? I abandon Chris and the luggage and run up a flight of stairs to ask reception why our taxi is 15 minutes late. He says he will chase the taxi up. The 6am Hoppa arrives – we should have been at the airport half an hour ago. Of the mindset that a Hoppa in the hand is worth several taxis that are goodness knows where, we board the bus, only to see our taxi arrive as we pull away. We are now keeping a low profile and a sharp look out for irate taxi drivers. Today’s panic 2 (panic 1 was the non-appearing taxi) will they trace us through our room number (which they have) and try to charge us?

The Hoppa bus careers through a red light. Chris thinks this is ok as we are in a bus lane. It clearly isn’t ok as the driver apologises – he ‘forgot’ where the brake was as he thought he was driving his car. This doesn’t appear to be a joke. Is this supposed to be reassuring? Perhaps this is retribution for not waiting for the elusive taxi.

We arrive at the airport at 6.30am – an hour after the time advised and have to serve ourselves to get baggage labels. This involves inputting our booking number – which is not recognised. This is definitely the point at which we vow to remain in Britain henceforth. Fortunately, we are able to use our passports in lieu of the non-existent booking number and have negotiated this hurdle We are invited to press an appropriate button to rate our check-in experience. I firmly press the red frowny face button. Instructing the laptop bag to look small and rather wishing I had brought the cat instead, we go to abandon our luggage. Not a tape measure or a ‘cram your bag in here or else’ box in sight – hurrah. It is a relief that we have decided to circumvent the juggling with plastic bags of ‘liquids’ by putting these in our cabin baggage. I still can’t understand how toothpaste and lipstick can be classed as liquid. We pass through the scanner and there is a loud bleeping – but it isn’t us!! This time I press the pale green almost smiley face when asked for my opinion. I even manage to access the free wifi.

Boarding next. I approach with two passports and boarding passes in hand – Chris’ is on top. The security guard looks at Chris’ picture, looks at me and waves me through. He then realises that I am holding two passports. Either my facial hair problem is more serious than I thought or this is acutely worrying – look out Canada, this guy is responsible for your security. We board late and some people clearly haven’t measured their luggage and are having trouble fitting it into the overhead lockers, fortunately I am not one of them. For a long time the third seat in our row is vacant; at the very last minute it is occupied by a gentleman with very little English and even less idea of what he is supposed to be doing (it later transpires that he hasn’t made this journey (or probably any other journey) before and he has my sympathy, going through all this in a language he barely understands. With him comes a distinct aroma of mothballs – well at least our nasal passages will be clear for the duration. A woman has lost her toddler. How can you lose a toddler on a plane? Said toddler is retrieved. The cabin crew are having difficulty persuading a passenger to take his seat. He too appears not to understand and keeps asking for water. He finally gets the idea and we begin to taxi. We are told that the journey will be approximately seven hours nine minutes long. That doesn’t sound very approximate to me.

At last, breakfast. I am so hungry that egg (cooking method unspecified and it was anyone’s guess), anaemic frankfurter and what appeared to be spinach (strange combination) initially seemed appealing but was about as revolting as it sounds. This was accompanied by the crumbliest roll in the world – whose stupid idea was this? Now all the passengers are liberally besprinkled with crumbs. All in all it is a trouble free flight for us and seems disappointingly short compared to our Antipodean long hauls. Highlights are great views of the Lake District, Scotland, Greenland and Canada. The Canadian lots are clear to see and everything looks so ‘square’. I am aware that this is how land grants were issued but it is even more marked than I expected. I manage to do the final proofing of a good proportion of my book then it is time to land. Our neighbour is struggling to fill in his customs’ declaration card. I have already done mine and Chris’ as he has forgotten his glasses. Chris then of course can’t see to help our neighbour. I am on the far side and a bizarre game of Chinese Whispers ensues. I copy the names of our neighbour and his wife from their passport on to the form. Their names have about 15 characters each and their addresses aren’t much better – you obviously aren’t allowed to live in a town that has more than ten letters. I read the ‘have you got guns?/are you carrying food?/have you been on a farm? questions to Chris who tries to relay them to our newfound friend. There is a lot of nodding and smiling going on but I am really not at all convinced he knows what he is saying yes and no to and our Gujarati is on the minimal side. You’d think they’d have the questions available in several languages. Goodness knows if the poor couple will ever get through customs.

We are told that, as the flight is more than four hours long, all security information has to be repeated. Is all collective memory erased after three hours fifty nine minutes then? We escape customs unscathed and after a slight detour to find our pick up point we are transported by a silent lady shuttle bus driver to the Best Western. Lovely comfortable hotel, free unlimited wifi – what more could one want? The only slight snag is that my plug adaptor won’t stay in the socket so we have had to rig up a Heath Robinson solution wedging the chair leg against the adaptor. Tomorrow’s panics – will we get our camper van without a hitch? Will it really be 33 foot long? Will my travelling companion, who is very confident, be able to cope with the wrong side of the road? Will we get where we need to be so I end up in Ottawa by Saturday? Always like to leave my readers with a cliffhanger.

Getting Set Day 1

Sep15 by thehistoryinterpreter

The vital paper work for our trip finally turned up with three days to spare. Unfortunately it turned up at the travel agents sixteen miles away and with a weekend in the way, posting it on was risky so we waste two hours of our lives going to collect it. This is the point at which we realise that the second part of our trip, a ‘package’, does not entitle us to food. Well, it entitles us to three breakfasts in seventeen days. I know I need to eat less but this is somewhat excessive. This means we need to get more cash. We get a favourable rate at the travel agent with whom we booked – another thirty-two mile round trip and another two hours only to find that their computer will not allow them to put cash on a travel card. What else can go wrong? Well, this – it seems that the coach station is closed for renovation so our coach will be depositing us somewhere else. It is not clear how far ‘somewhere else’ is from where we need to be.

I have arranged to close a bank account while I am away, writing to give the requisite notice. I decide to telephone to check this will happen and exactly when the funds will be in my other account. Never, it turns out, as my signature didn’t match – must have used my ‘best writing’ when I opened the account. Why was I not informed of this? I ask. Had I not phoned I would have remained in blissful ignorance. Allegedly a letter was sent – a letter I did not receive. Who failed to deliver this letter? The Post Office. Who sent the letter? The Post Office. The irony is not lost on me. Now my only option is to pay these incompetents in order to release some of the funds. Post Office savings to me: I will need your 6 digit security code. Me: ****** (the correct six digits). Post Office savings: No that won’t do – I need to ask you for certain numbers and you have to give me them!

Then there is my usual anguish over baggage allowances and security issues. We are allowed a carry-on bag and a ‘personal item’. Descriptions of what constitutes a personal item vary from laptops, to musical instruments and cats – cats? I debate taking the cat instead of the laptop, after all I survived a fortnight on the cruise without internet with only a slight twitch as a result. Then I realise that in order to take the cat I will have to perform an exhumation first and decide against it.

Amongst all this pre-holiday mayhem I learn that I have been awarded the silver medal for Britain in this year’s Genealogical Rockstars competition. A great honour and some megastars and friends are amongst the other awardees. I am honoured to be in such illustrious company. Congratulations to all and many thanks to those who felt that I warranted their vote.

We are off! As usual this involves me sitting on Bideford Quay with all our luggage while Chris takes the car home and walks back down the hill. Panic 1 – will he arrive in time? He does. Our ticket informs us that we should be at stop B. Chris insists it is stop A. We wait at stop B. The coach stops at stop A. I point out that our ticket says stop B. Apparently the driver has stopped at stop A so passengers get used to it before the stop is changed to A next week. How many people do this sort of journey on a weekly basis? Standing at Bideford Quay I realise that the emigrants I am due to talk about would just be arriving in Canada after their voyage as I will be arriving home again – and I think my journey is bad

We begin the long haul to Heathrow. A lady alights at Tiverton with an identical bag to mine. Panic 2 – will she take the wrong bag by mistake? This is not so irrational as it sounds – it has happened to me before, when the bags were not even similar. Turns out my fears are unfounded. Panic 3 – will we find our way from the wrong coach stop to Hoppa bus 7? We do. Panic 4 – will there be food at the Travel Lodge? (again this fear is based on past experience) – there is. They even refund our breakfast money, which we paid when we thought our flight was mid-day instead of at an unearthly hour. Panic 5 – will we be in time for check in? We are advised to be there three hours before take off; this is 5.30am. I am very law abiding, if it says be three hours early, I am four hours early – on a calm day. This does seem very early even to me and I am almost always awake before 6. We can get the return Hoppa at 5.32am. On the strength if the refunded breakfast money we book a taxi instead for 5.45am – WE WILL BE LATE! Oh the stress. Panic 6 – My laptop bag (my personal item in lieu of the cat) is fractionally larger than the approved size – will I get away with this?

Rockstars, Writing and Holiday Preparations

Sep8 by thehistoryinterpreter

It is all go on the getting ready for Canada front. I am slightly concerned about a) having the wrong flight time on our documentation, despite having had what appears to be the ‘right’ time confirmed b) the 33 foot long camper van (which when extended will be greater in area than the ground floor of my house) c) the ‘to do’ list that has to be tackled before departure – you know that sort of list where you cross one thing off and add two more on d) a trillion other things. At least the talks I am due to give whilst away are prepared – not much else is!

This week has seen the announcement of the Genealogical Rockstars Poll for 2015. Last year I was flabbergasted, grateful and truly humbled to be awarded the gold medal for England. I don’t know how this happened but many thanks to all those who felt that they could cast their votes in my favour. This year’s list of 151 contains, understandably, the ‘big’ names in the English speaking world of genealogy. Some of these lovely people I have known for many years, others are new friends, some I have not come across. I thought very carefully about where my votes would go. You can vote for as many names as you like but you need to get it right first time as the system will only let you cast one set of votes per device. The instructions say we are to vote for ‘those who give “must attend” presentations at family history conferences or as webinars. Who, when you see a new family history article or publication by that person, makes it a must buy. Who you hang on their every word on a blog, podcast or newsgroup, or follow avidly on Facebook or Twitter?’ That is quite a tall order and I resisted the temptation to vote for everyone I had heard of, restricting myself to people I feel have made a special contribution to my world. In particular I tried to think about who had made a real input, giving their expertise with enthusiasm and going ‘above and beyond’. I still can’t quite work out how I get to be mentioned in the same breath as some of the iconic nominees. Perhaps there is someone else with my name that I am not aware of and it isn’t me on the list at all! If you’d like to vote for your own favourites you only have until Sunday so click on the link and make your choices.

I am still hoping that Remember Then: women’s memories of 1946-1969 and how to write your own might be out in time for Santa to tuck a copy in your stocking. The publisher has really pulled out all the stops and I can see that my flight to Canada might be spent proof reading! Also due for publication soon is an article I wrote for Devon Historian so long ago that I had forgotten all about it. This one is about the impact of the Bible Christians on rural communities just in time for the bicentennial of the founding of the Bible Christians. Sadly I shall miss the commemorations while I am away. Stand by for my random meanderings as we make our way across Canada – assuming we get on the flight in the first place.

Fame at Last – shame about the fortune

Aug30 by thehistoryinterpreter

What a couple of weeks it has been. Firstly, frantically preparing for our trip to Canada, when I still haven’t quite got my head round not being at sea on the Baltic Cruise. I polished off my school-girl French (never a strong point) in order to book camp sites in Quebec – only to get the replies in English! Be fair, I tried.

Before that I have my talk at Cambridgeshire Family History Society Fair to look forward to. This involved creating a Swords and Spindles display. Thanks to Jo Rutherford and her Alter Ego project, I had some great material to work with. I also have a school day in the seventeenth century coming up – a great start to their (and our) school year.

And the fame? Well, in the space of a couple of days, my Canadian presentations were mentioned on the Anglo-Celtic Connections blog, a blog post that I wrote was referred to by Dear Myrt and then this is picked up in Randy Seaver’s blog. To add to this, today I find that my cruise presentations and Coffers, Clysters book have been mention in Jennyology’s August podcast. For non-genealogy readers, who are now totally bemused and going, ‘So?’, these are some of the big names in the world (and I do mean world) of family history. What am I doing being mentioned in the same breath?

I have also been struggling to finish ‘editing’ the Braund Society journal. Why is it that sometimes ‘editing’ just means ‘write the whole darned thing yourself’? That is a little unfair but I did seem to have to do the lion’s share this time. In the course of this though I found an interesting and comparatively recent, murder accusation that did not seem to come down in family or local gossip and was all over the newspapers in 1919. Such are the excitements of an historian’s life.

Then there was the spectacular Torrington Bonfire last night. These extravaganzas take place every few years and are truly bonfires like no other. This year they were setting fire to a life sized model of Trumpton – as you do. It was amazing but also a chilling reminder of how fire would have spread through, predominantly wooden, towns in the past.

The History Interpreter – Janet Few

Presenting and Preserving the Past

Author Archives: thehistoryinterpreter