I knew I’d regret consuming so much of the complementary champagne, especially as I rarely drink – only had a glass but it prevented me from sleeping, except of course when I should have been awake Northern Lights spotting! Breakfast in the igloo is a challenge. It is a lovely continental affair with holey cheese, yoghurt, cake etc. First I fling the rock hard butter on the floor, then I squeeze my carton of orange juice a little too tightly and end up with it in my lap. Chris is not impressed with the tea, which looks like chicken soup and is herbal in nature. We step outside to take photos in the beautiful sunrise, then back to Levi. It turns out that the settlement isn’t actually called Levi at all – that is the name of the fell. The town is in fact called Sirkka.

I go for another swim. I’ve not yet braved the outdoor pool – it isn’t so much the pool itself but the walk to it from the indoor pools in what is now minus 9 that is putting me off. The pools have several ‘effects’ – green lights, videos of people walking through snow and something that looks like effluent on the surface but tastes like washing up liquid.

Our afternoon excursion is to the nearby husky farm. We are instructed in ’mushing’. The waiting husky teams are very excitable and noisy and have to be prevented from starting off without us. Chris has first go at driving. It is pretty jolly speedy as our six huskies hurtle us off across the frozen lake into the forest and we are glad of every thermal layer we have. My photography is hampered by a) frozen fingers, b) contact lenses, which mean I can’t actually see what I have taken and c) attempting to not fall off the sledge. Half way round the 25 minute ride we swap over. This is not as easy as it sounds as it is essential that the brake remains on during transfer of drivers and the only way to do this is to stand on a metal bar. I nearly didn’t take the opportunity to drive, I’ve never even ridden a motor bike but I am really glad I did. It is real bucket list stuff, although my fingers are frozen solid. I do have some trouble bending to steer and braking at the same time – one or the other but not both. The sun is setting, the sky is an unbelievable turquoise and pink. I am encouraging Chris, who now has charge of the camera. When the ride stops I feel weirdly dizzy but once back in the warmth of the kota, with hot berry juice and ginger biscuits, I recover quickly. We are also able to toast sausages over the fire. Then we go and see the huskies at close range. Some are Alaskan huskies – leaner than the archetypal husky but more suited to pulling and others are the Alaskan Malamute ‘fluffy’ huskies. There are some 12 week old puppies, which are very sweet. Chris is enjoying talking dog training with the husky lady.

 We travel back to the hotel in time to eat. Chris has a range of cold fish and reindeer hot pot. I can’t quite bring myself to try reindeer – I don’t even eat game at home. I stick to vegetable stuffed roasted cabbage leaves – nicer than it sounds, pate on a lovely dark bread, berry compote (they like their berries here) and almond and chocolate cake. I also sample the home brewed ale, which is similar to barley wine.

Chris begins the day by watching a Finnish version of Strictly Come Dancing, followed by the Finnish shopping channel and finally BBC World Service. These Finns certainly like their sauna like conditions, the room temperature is still 26 degrees, despite us turning everything down and leaving the balcony door open. I am boiling without the thermals. It is only minus 3 so not yet as cold as Bideford Quay. We score a fail for producing our service card in exchange for breakfast. This is apparently the piece of cardboard that I nearly threw away and not the plastic card that opens our room. A range of food is available but I am not too sure about Chris’ combination of bacon and chicken nuggets. After breakfast we take the pretty route to collect our thermal boiler suits and boots. We discover the hard way that leaving the compacted tracks means one ends up knee deep in snow.

We attend the welcome meeting. This is held in the Dancing Restaurant – a misnomer – the restaurant appears not to be dancing at all. There is a nearby hotel called the Crazy Reindeer – we should probably have stayed there. The man in front’s phone goes off. According to his t-shirt he works for a Welsh animal feed company (large number of people from Wales here), how appropriate that his ring tone sounds like a sheep in labour. We are told that we are 170km above the Arctic Circle and that there is currently 50-60c of snow. Local cuisine consists of reindeer meat, salmon and a ‘long drink’ of gin and grapefruit. Traditional entertainment is karaoke and ballroom dancing (at the same time).

We go for a walk towards the frozen lake – not sure we reached it. We see some captive and very smelly, reindeer. Home via the souvenir shops. It seems to be obligatory that the shop assistants talk incessantly on the phone, not pausing to serve and they acknowledge you not at all when you make your purchase. Next we take the underground tunnel from our accommodation block, which is called Ounas, to the spa water world. Chris, as ‘party leader’ has already had to vouch for my good behaviour in order to get our wristbands to enter the spa. We find our respective changing rooms. This is all very odd. First we have to shower in open showers. To do so we are instructed NOT to wear our swimming costumes. I manage this – the place is deserted anyway. I enter one of the pools and I wait and I wait and I wait. Where is Chris? Has he collapsed or been abducted in the changing rooms? It turns out his swimming trunks are unacceptable. ’For hygiene reasons’ short-like costumes are not allowed. Has anyone seen Chris in Speedoes? Can one even buy these now? I swim alone for a while and we return to our room.

An early evening meal. I indulge in vegetable casserole cake and berry quark – which I thought was something to do with particle physics but turns out to be some sort of soft cheese. We meet up again with the young couple from the next room, who, like us, are to spend the night in a glass igloo. We debate the relative merits and demerits of wearing our thermal boiler suits for this. A minibus collects us and four others, including the couple we met at the airport and we head up out of Levi. I panic slightly. We are left in the middle of nowhere – what will happen if our igloo key doesn’t work?

Fortunately there is no problem with the key. We have igloo number 4 – this is out of this world – a 12 foot diameter glass dome, with kitchen and bathroom, panoramic views over the valley and a centralised bed, whose head raises electronically so we can gaze at the view. There is champagne in the fridge, mood lighting, the inevitable sauna like temperatures and even a glass hand basin that is lit from underneath. The fact that the plug is missing from the latter seems to matter not. We sit in fur covered chairs, sipping our champagne by the window – well everywhere is by the window of course. Somewhere nearby is a communal kota (traditional Sami tepee like structure) where we can light a fire and chat but we don’t want to leave our igloo and can’t actually see where it is anyway. It is noticeably colder up here and very windy. There is a thirty foot pine tree nearby that is swaying ominously but we ignore this. Previous occupants have left a strange variety of food behind, including instant mashed potato and several varieties of sugar. The 75 year old Welshman next door seems to be building a snowman. It turns out that he was trying to block out the light from the light pole – wasted effort as they turned off at midnight on a timer anyway.

The interior door to the bathroom is solid glass. This is most disconcerting in the night – as one leaves the bathroom there appears to be someone else trying to enter. We don’t sleep much but completely fail to see the Northern Lights. We learn next day that our companions have managed to take pictures of green lights in the sky. Nonetheless this is a spectacular experience.

Our room is opposite the stairs. This means we hear all the departing guests, leaving for silly o’clock flights. We are persuaded by the jolly receptionist, who is probably on commission, to invest a few extra £ in a taxi, as opposed to waiting for the shuttle bus. Snow is falling inconveniently steadily but the received wisdom is that flights will go. Gatwick has instituted something called operation ‘Polar Bear’ to cope, meaning, in theory, all staff from captains to cleaners will be wielding brooms on the runways hmmm, We arrive at Gatwick at 10am for a midday check in. We sit somewhere that resembles a soft play area that is back achingly uncomfortable.

A Snowy Gatwick

We check in on time. This is the usual farce. Despite notices saying you can have one large or two small pieces of hand luggage, when we approach with two we are told no, one. We cram two bags together and Chris takes boots out of his boot bag and puts them on, shoves shoes in his rucksack and boot bag in his case. Then Miss not-very bright Monarch Airlines says ‘do you have a boot bag to check in?’ – well we did…. Security is as bad. Chris still hasn’t quite grasped the ‘no more than 100ml of liquid’ rule and jettisons his deodorant. Shall I have to keep my distance for the rest of the holiday? He is carrying my camera case. He obviously looks dodgy as this is removed to be swabbed for drugs. Fortunately I haven’t been photographing any cannabis lately, so there are no issues. We wait for some time to learn which gate will be ours. At this time there is said to be a 45 minute delay. Once at the boarding gate we chat to some others heading for Levi. One lady passes the time discovering new pockets in her thermal trousers. In the end the delay is longer than expected as the walkway is wet but we are just pleased to be going at all as 20% of Heathrow flights have been cancelled. Operation Polar Bear is obviously working. Everyone we have spoken to has been to Finland before and all seem to think we will have a good time. Next we need to be de-iced. This conjures up visions of armies of people with bottles of blue liquid. Pity Graeme’s PhD (something to do with ice on aircraft wings) didn’t make this unnecessary. Flight MON4218, after an interminable taxi, finally takes off two hours late, Not sure what this bodes for our evening meal. Good job we took full advantage of the all we can eat breakfast at Premier Inn Gatwick South.

My in-flight reading is Antonia Fraser’s The Weaker Vessel about the role of women in the seventeenth century, chosen for its length. The delay means I am already 150 pages in to its 600 pages. The (expensive) in flight café takes ages to arrive. It is bad luck if you were expecting food as almost everything anyone orders is in short supply and they have no change, so the whole procedure is a lengthy one. The gentleman in our row is planning to consume two cans of lager and two brandies in what is left of the three hour flight. Good luck to him – ah no after ten minutes he is on to his second can of lager and his second brandy. After some turbulence I get my food out of my bag. My Graze boxes have blown up with the pressure. More turbulence. What part of ’return to your seat and fasten your seatbelts, the wash rooms are closed’ do a large number of people in a queue for the toilet not understand. In the end the stewardess locks the toilet so it appears engaged – that fooled ’em.

At Kittila we meet our Inghams’ reps. I am convinced I have seen one of them before, Chris says I can’t have and I am racking my brains to work out why he looks familiar. We are transferred to Levitunturi Spa Hotel, passing snow clad forests and beware of the reindeer signs. We hear of frozen lakes with 80cm deep ice. It is by then 9.30pm their time. It feels like about midnight, although for us it is 7.30pm. Our room is, as promised in the brochure, ‘superior’. It has mood lighting, a balcony, random bits of decorative wood, sauna like temperatures and a mini bar. Don’t think I’ve stayed anywhere with a mini bar before but I’m not sure their putting Pringles in the fridge was a good idea. A Eureka moment, I remember that the rep appeared on heavily trailered reality TV programme. A quick Google shows I am not wrong – vindicated! We even get a meal – kiev, broccoli, thin chips and rice in a bizarre sauce. It had probably been kept warm for the two hours we’d been delayed but it was food. The accompanying hot berry drink was very tasty.

Saturday 19^th January 2013

We seem to make a habit of travelling during extreme weather conditions. Hottest ever October day when we left for Australia; floods on the way to the Lake District and now hyperbolically ’the worst snow for thirty years’. Fortunately no more has fallen overnight and Chris can get through to collect me. I am ready at Martha o’clock (several hours before necessary) and we are off. I was under the mistaken impression that I had acquired a scarf or two in the bundles of hand me up clothes that arrive periodically from my daughters but no. So we stop off at A**a to acquire one. It seems that ladies’ scarves are designed for ornament not function – plenty of glitter but a distinct lack of fleece. I move to the girls’ section – fleecier but emblazoned with Hello Kitty or princesses. I am about to give up when Chris suggests the men’s department. No, men are obviously deemed too, well, manly, for scarves. There are however sets of scarves, hats and gloves for 8-12 year old boys. If anyone has an 8-12 year old boy of their acquaintance, I have a hat and gloves set that is surplus to requirements. The orange pattern doesn’t go too well with the red coat but that is as nothing compared to the florescent yellow and pink patterns on my cosy hat.

Then comes the bit where I sit and freeze on Bideford Quay whilst Chris, having deposited me and the luggage (the luggage and I?), takes the car home and walks back down. Oh, I am mistaken, it can’t be cold – the postman is wearing shorts.

We leave Bideford in sunshine and initially no signs of snow at all. The journey is boringly uneventful with leaden skies, glimpses of deer and lapwing and plenty of dozing but no more falling snow. Unfortunately more is forecast for tomorrow but let’s hope the forecasters are as incorrect as usual about this. Taunton bus station have altered their ladies’ toilet so it no longer requires one to open the door to active the flush. This has reduced queuing time significantly as it always used to take folk a while to work this out. Tediously, the coach travels to Gatwick via Heathrow, so it takes forever. Then a long cold wait for the H3 shuttle bus to Premier Inn South. I am conscious that I have failed to print out my booking confirmation and I am convinced that we won’t be able to book in but all is well. Exhausted and starving we find that the restaurant is full for the next two hours. Having had breakfast before 7am, we are not keen on waiting until 9pm for food, so we arrange to have our food covered in tin foil and take it to our room. Whilst we are waiting, a table becomes available. The head waiter tries to make the fact that it is hidden under the stairs on top of a radiator sound like an advantage but we are past caring.

Back in the room, I go to unlock my suitcase. I had used one of those small ‘out of a cracker’ padlocks to secure the zip. Unfortunately, instead of bringing the key, I have inadvertently brought an additional padlock – awkward. I fruitlessly search through bags and pockets but no keys. I wonder just how strong out of a cracker padlocks can be and if it is possible to saw through it with an emery board or whether unpicking the stitching holding the zip is a better option. Chris quietly produces a selection of case keys and one fits!

Been spending time on my contribution to the Clovelly Community Archive Association Heritage Lottery Funding bid. Suffice it to say that if I never see another lottery application form it will be too soon. Also gave a Healing Herbs talk to a local WI. A refreshing change to find the average age of my audience was thirty something. We were however sharing the venue with the most raucous Parish Council meeting imaginable. Good job I can talk quite loudly!

I’ve offered to co-ordinate references to disease, injusry and death in the High Court of Admiralty depositions for the Marine Lives project – looking forward to that one.

Snow Day? These are a recent invention. I can remember being at infants school in the bad winter of 1962/3 (that gives my age away). We walked to school and back twice a day – no school dinners – climbing up and down piles of snow as we did so. Never any suggestion that schools might close. Ok so the snowy weather is good practice for Lapland but will we actually get that far? We just need the coach to run – please. Maybe I could just import a few reindeer and huskies and we could stay at home. Ah but then we would miss spending the night in minus 5 temperatures in the ice hotel and the igloo with the rotating bed. The brochure tells us we may want to follow our sauna by rolling naked in the snow – or maybe we won’t.

Now time to get back to what passes for ‘normal’ in my post-Christmas mad historical existence. The transcribing and indexing of the gravestones in the three churchyards in Buckland Brewer is almost at the point of being made available online – watch this space.

Two thirds of the ‘Enquire Within’ alphabet is now completed. ‘L’ threw up some interesting websites including a growing database enabling online searches for apprentices and freemen of various London Livery Companies 1400-1900. Allowed myself to be diverted looking up the World War 2 damage to my grandparents’ Battersea home on Bomb Sight – couldn’t make the search facility work but found them by moving the map around. Bit disappointed that they had no date for the incendiary falling in the adjacent graveyard but I can probably help with this as I have a letter from the landlord concerning the house repairs. Only snag was there didn’t seem to be a ‘contact us’ on the site. How is this ‘L’?, you may ask – ‘L’ is for London and rather a lot of other things unfortunately. ‘M’ is next – manorial records, maps, marriage and medals, to name just some that will take a bit of editing.

Just taken part in a forum for the Marine Lives Project. Some interesting possible uses of these C17th admiralty documents were suggested. Fortunately conference skyping means no accompanying video so I didn’t have to dress for the occasion.

Things are hotting up in regard to our Lapland preparations, although ‘hotting up’ is probably not the term to use. Have just spent a fortune on thermal everythings you can imagine in the sales. Then comes a brochure warning us that our night in the Ice Hotel means a night spent at minus 5 degrees. They recommend merino wool undies. That does sound a tad scratchy not to say very expensive – have to hope the thermals and thoughtfully provided ‘artic sleeping bag’ will suffice. Have just looked at the 10 day weather forecast for Kittila – with wind chill, minus 25 on the day we arrive! At least it will mean the ice hotel will feel cosy by comparison.

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 5,700 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 10 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Spent the last few days breaking the back of indexing the transcripts of the local memorial inscriptions that my helpers and I (well mostly my helpers) have completed. The end is in sight but there is a fair bit of checking to be done. The sun came out – you may remember  this – it is a circular golden object that used to appear in the sky sometimes. Ideal, we can start some checking. Ah – sunny it may be but juggling lap top, pen, camera and sheets of paper in a force 8 gale with a wind chill factor of minus quite a lot, means checking was abandoned for another day. My companion was heard  to mutter ‘this is warm compared to Lapland’ – still worrying about that one. We are combining the information on the gravestones with that in the burial register and I am surprised by the level of discrepancy – different ages, different versions of names and several poor folk being buried a year or two before they died!

Still struggling through ‘C’ on my re-edit of Family Historians’ Enquire Within just how many things related to family history can begin with C? And they include many entries that need severe revision since the mid 1990s – ‘Canada’ and ‘Census’ accomplished now preparing to bite the bullet that is ‘Civil Registration’.

The holiday season is obviously prompting people to revisit their family history and I have exchanged useful information on Buckland Brewer families, including additions to my ’emigrants’ collection.

Had the first ever refusal of one of many corrections to Findmypast. Resubmitted  it with War and Peace in the ‘comments’ box. I did find ‘Seamster’ (if this exists as a word – presumably the masculine of seamstress) an unlikely occupation for a 19 year old male on a farm. I then worked back a few pages to find other upper case ‘T’s that were identical to the initial letter – this time mistranscribed as ‘L’ so another correction has gone in.

Enjoyable first Christmas Eve for our community shop. Now sat in front of the woodburner half watching Christmas TV and yes, indexing memorial inscriptions and burials from transcripts. Before you suggest I should get out more, one of my party has succumbed to yet more plague so it will be a quiet Christmas. West Country rail routes are still impassable so I hope everyone has got to where they need to be. I am happily tracking Santa as he speeds across the globe – he’s currently approaching the Taj Mahal. Looking forward to Skyping friends and family tomorrow.

Happy Christmas and a peaceful joyous 2013 to all – thanks for following my ramblings – more historical trivia soon.

Wren hunting

Hunting a wren by wren boys on 26^th December, primarily in Ireland and on the Isle of Man, has possible associations with pagan or druidic rituals. The live wren would be tied to a pole and donations sought from townspeople, often in return for a feather, to pay for a dance that evening. Later the live wren was replaced by an artificial one.

Yule

Jol or Jule was the feast to honour Jolnir, another name for the Norse Odin, god of alcohol and ecstasy. It commemorated the winter solstice and was celebrated on 21^st December. Large logs would be dragged in and burnt to create light on a time of darkness. The feast lasted until the Yule log burnt out.

Despite generally enjoying watching ‘Merlin’ on BBC TV, I was somewhat irritated yesterday when King Arthur, presumably speaking at some point during the Dark Ages, referred to the United Kingdom!

Waits

Waits were the night watchmen who played instruments whilst they patrolled the streets, to warn townspeople of danger. From this they developed into minstrels who gave performances in private homes or innyards. Villages often had their own band of waits.

Wassailing

Wassail was a traditional toast ‘waes hael’ (be well), to which the response was ‘drink hael’ (drink and be healthy). Wassailing, also known as apple howling, was particularly common in the west country. The apple king and queen, followed by a rowdy procession, would go from orchard to orchard blessing the trees. This was accompanied by shouting, the banging of drums and the firing of muskets.