Tag Archives: Travel

The Norwegian Saga Part 3

by thehistoryinterpreter

Just as a warning to those who are following along, there were seventeen days to this holiday and you may need to hold on to your seats,

Day 4 Ålesund

We wake up in time to see us drifting into the first port, which is Ålesund. Today, we are part of group three and our designated trip takes us through Ålesund, via a series of tunnels and bridges, to the islands of Giske and Godǿy. To be honest, I am not the world’s greatest fan of tunnels and some of these are quite long but I manage. We learn that blasting tunnels proved to be cheaper than building bridges. The tunnels are seventy-four metres below the level of the fjord. When they were first built in the 1990s, tolls were payable on both bridges and tunnels but once the construction costs were paid for, they became free. Taxes are at twenty-three percent, half of which goes to central government and half is local taxes, the equivalent of council tax. Good use was made of the excess granite from creating the tunnels, including as the basis for reclaimed land.

Our guide is Rudolph, of German and South African extraction and he asks us not to mention reindeer.  Ålesund is renowned for its Art Nouveau architecture, as much of the town was rebuilt after a serious fire in 1904, which fortunately resulted in only one casualty. One house, known as ‘the miracle house’ did not burn. Kaiser Wilhelm frequently holidayed here, so sent aid after the fire. It was stipulated that rebuilding must not be of wood but there was a lack of knowledge about building with alternatives. Expertise came from other European nations, notably France, hence the adoption of the Baroque, Art Nouveau style. Carvings of fish and dragons are a testament to old Norse heritage.

Rudolph imparts various nuggets of information about Norway. The population is about 5·8 million, 43,000 of whom live on the seven islands that make up Ålesund. It is Norway’s largest fishing harbour, with fifty percent of Norwegian salt cod exports leaving from here. Salmon is also exported, mostly to Japan. You are only able to buy up to 4·5 proof beer and cider in Norwegian supermarkets; anything stronger has to come from the equivalent of an off licence and these are government owned. There is also no ‘to the door’ postal delivery; letters are collected from boxes at the end of the street and parcels from the post office. Displaying flags is common in Norway but they have to be taken down by 9pm. There is no charge for water, only for waste water, when tanks are emptied. With the benefit of hydro-electric power, much of Norway’s power and transport is electric. The country was relatively poor until the discovery of North Sea oil and gas in the 1970s. Brown cheese is popular; it is made from goat and cow milk and is caramelised, hence the colour. Here, silage is wrapped in white plastic, giving the bales the nickname Trolls’ marshmallows, or alternatively, tractor eggs.

Giske, pronounced Yishker, is known as the ‘Saga Island’ and is famous for being the birthplace of the Viking Chieftain, Rollo, who was given Normandy by Charles the Simple of France in the hope that he would protect France from incursions by other Northmen. Rollo is potentially an originator of the Braund family. Giske is very flat, with just one hill at twenty-five metres above sea level. We arrive at Giske Church, which was built about 1130. It is Norway’s only marble church. Some of the marble is local, some came from Italy. It was probably ballast when ships returned from selling fish. The marble is covered in plaster to protect it from the salt air.

Enid is waiting to tell us about the impressive wooden carvings inside the church. By the eighteenth century, the church had fallen into disrepair and restoration began in 1756. A twenty-two-year-old man carved the altarpiece depicting scenes from the crucifixion to the ascension. The same carver, Jacob, produced the pulpit in the 1790s and both these were painted in 1801, using paint mixed by ‘Altarpieces Jacob’, who also carved altars elsewhere. They were later over painted in white, as the colours were thought to be a distraction but in the 1930s, the colours were redone, using Jacob’s recipes. There is also an altar cloth that dates from 1688 but this is too fragile to display. Outside, there is one of only six of the country’s protected gravestones, thought to belong to the church’s builder. Giske was a place of pilgrimage and crosses on the outside wall are believed to have been carved by fourteenth century pilgrims. The church has been Lutheran since the Reformation in 1536. Graveyards can’t be reused in Norway but fortunately there is space to spread. Rudolph is of the opinion that the idea of Viking boat funerals is a myth.

We see a few of the historic, turf-roofed houses. Next, a brief sighting of some reindeer as we drive to the island of Godøy and the small fishing village of Alnes, site of the twenty-two-metre-high lighthouse, built in 1937. Then it was home via the island of Heissa. We go back to the ship for lunch and then walk round the town by ourselves, managing to acquire some sew on badges for my collection. There are several carved, plaster or wooden trolls on street corners.

Having sampled afternoon tea yesterday, it seemed rude not to do so again. My companion has what is billed as a cream tea, although the clotted cream isn’t quite what he is used to. Definitely more by luck than as a result of any informed choice, we have picked what for us seems to be an ideal cabin up the blunt end of deck 10, two floor down from the casual dining and three floors up from the main lecture hall. Despite no longer having stairs at home, three floors worth of stairs seems doable and helps to counteract the effects of the amount we seem to be eating. It is four floors down to the craft room, that’s when I decide that I prefer to take the lift.

The Norwegian Saga Part 2

by thehistoryinterpreter

Day 2 Thursday At Sea

For some reason, I didn’t sleep particularly well but it is lovely to watch the sunrise over the North Sea, at what was either 5.30am or 6.30am, depending whether or not one had already adjusted their watches. We are sailing with the Netherlands on our right, although the coast is too far away to be seen but we spot the occasional oil rig. There is just the slight sensation of movement, so perhaps the predicted ‘lively’ weather is still to come. The phone isn’t working but maybe I need to be on land, so we shall see.

I sample an odd looking combination of crushed biscuits, very sweet yoghurt and fruit for breakfast; I probably won’t be sampling it again. Here the butter is officially rock hard. We go to a presentation about the procedure for excursions. Apparently, you are not allowed to be early if your assembly point is on shore; I am going to struggle with that. Next, a video about our first port, Alesund; I will impart what I learned when I get to that day. Two women behind us are finding plenty to moan about.

Then a lecture from Martin Lunn aka the rambling astronomer, formerly of Yorkshire Museum, entitled The Sun and the Northern Lights. As with all my imparting of ‘facts’ that I learn along  the way, I take no responsibility for any errors in the information that I pass on. The phenomenon known as the Northern Lights was named by Galileo; Aurora being the goddess of the dawn and Borealis the wind of the north. The Chinese were recording the Northern Lights in 997-957 BCE. The Vikings thought they were the sun reflecting on the shields of the Valkyries. The different colours relate to different heights and different gases. It is caused by flares from sunspots. The amount of activity goes in cycles, peaking every eleven years; we are now experiencing a peak. In 1607, Kepler was drawing pictures of sunspots. When there are few sunspots, the temperature drops, for example during the period known as the little ice age in the second half of the seventeenth century. Solar wind also increases the likelihood of the Northern Lights, as does the equinox, which occurs whilst we are away. It does of course have to not be cloudy.

By the afternoon, it is a force 8 gale, with wind howling past our balcony door and a fair amount of rolling, hopefully, better weather is on its way. Another video tells us what to expect at Åndalsnes, on day five.

After lunch, during which I bemoan the lack of cookies, we listen to retired Detective Chief Inspector Rod Repton recounting anecdotes of his career. Next, we arrive early for a talk about whales and dolphins, not early enough it seems, as almost all the seats are taken. Some people are sitting on the floor, including those whose mobility suggests that it may be difficult for them to ever get up again. The talk is given by Alexandra Brown, an ocean conservationist from the charity Orca. There are over ninety species of cetaceans (whales, dolphins and porpoise), the largest being the blue whale, which can be thirty-three metres long. These can be divided into two types, those with teeth and those without. The ‘blows’ that are visible are not water but an expellation of air.

The possibilities of the cabin television are limited. We enjoy watching the ship’s progress and the view from the bridge. One channel is non-stop BBC news, which, especially at the moment, I would like to avoid, although my travelling companion would happily watch continually. I have to keep dissuading him from opting for that channel. There is a channel that shows the videos we’ve already seen and something called BBC Earth which is watchable but one can have too much of unremitting David Attenborough.

Our evening meal choices are roast lamb and salmon, not together I hasten to add. My travelling companion is setting out to consume his body weight in custard during the trip. The swell increases with the evening, sending glasses sliding off tables.

Day 3 Friday At Sea

The day dawns with cloud and rain, although it is considerably calmer.  There is a slight struggle with the shower, which today seems to vary between incredibly hot and boiling. I do like my showers hot but I’d like to have some skin left. I join Pam in the craft room to make an AB necklace, which is apparently an Aurora Borealis necklace and Pam is annoyed that it hasn’t been billed as such. Pam is aided by her ’glamorous’ assistant, Paul.  There are about a dozen participants. One lady on my table is from Devon and has an identical notebook to mine, another is the sister of someone I’ve come across in the family history network. We are supplied with lengths of ‘tiger tail’ (wire) and crystal roundels (oval beads) to make a choker-style necklace and Pam compliments me on my crafting prowess. We pay a nominal sum for the materials. This is my fourth cruise and this is the first time I’ve ever charged anything to a cruise card. The day brightens considerably and we are now off the south Norwegian coast, although still too far away to see it.

I’ve missed the video about Trondheim in order to join Pam but I’ve learned that, if you are patient, these appear on channel 6 on the cabin TV, so have resolved to catch up there. I do listen to the one on Tromsǿ. By staying put after this, I am able to reserve seats for the showing of the film Hamnet, which is understandably popular. A man near the front is trying to attract the attention of his other half, to direct her to the seat he is saving for her. He does this by standing up and clapping loudly; the poor woman must be mortified. To be honest, despite its many awards and nominations, I am a bit underwhelmed with Hamnet. I was aware of the story and had read the book, so I knew that it wasn’t going to be sweetness and light but there was a great deal of angst-ridden screaming. There was also quite a bit of arty, mood lighting, or rather lack of lighting, authentic for the period but a bit overdone I felt. What really jarred were anachronisms such as the use of dialogue like ‘okay’ and a shot of a very modern looking graveyard, complete with gravestones that would be unusual until the eighteenth century at the earliest. Although the cast looked realistically grubby, I wasn’t convinced by some of the costumes; I am sure I spied a zip fly for example. The heroine did seem to wear the same dress for fifteen years, probably not likely for someone of their social standing. I did warm to it a bit more with the sections from Hamlet but overall, I’d say overrated.

Then up to Borough Market for what is billed as ‘tea’ but for me was lunch, as I’d been seat-keeping over lunch. A very acceptable egg mayonnaise roll and some pound cake. Back in the cabin, we managed to catch the Trondheim video we’d missed early. Evening meal today is spaghetti for me and plaice and mash for my travelling companion. Inevitably, we are eating far too much.

It transpires that one of us now has a suitcase with only one of two working wheels. I’d like to put it on record that that isn’t me. We are debating the logistics of how we might get a one wheeled suitcase home.

The Norwegian Saga Part 1

by thehistoryinterpreter

We’ve just returned from a cruise to Norway and thought you’d like to come along for the ride, or in this case, sail.

Day 0 To Basildon

Normally, when I am going away, I always feel that, with just one more day, I would be really up together. Unusually, this time, apart from the garden, which has been abandoned due to incessant rain and a bad back which is now almost better but which I really don’t want to aggravate, I am remarkably well prepared. This probably means that I have forgotten something vital but as of now, I am blissfully ignorant of what that might be. The only thing is that, two days ago, I made a mini breakthrough on my Smith family history, which I will not be able to pursue until I emerge from a seventeen day wifi and phone black hole. I did think that £200 for internet was excessive and as my phone contract is too basic to support roaming, cold turkey it will have to be.

As usual, I am deposited at the coach stop ridiculously ahead of time, while my travelling companion drives the car to his house and walks back down the hill. Yes, we could get a taxi but as it is dry and we can still walk, we choose not to. The stop has moved since we last did this and instead of seats, there’s this odd sort of perchy bar thing to rest oneself on. It’s March, it is not yet warm and an hour on a cold metal perch is not ideal, five minutes in and despite a brief appearance from the sun, I am already wishing that I’d worn my thermal trousers but I cope womanfully, even though it probably isn’t the best thing for my recently bad back. I amuse myself by starting to read a new book and watching the road sweeper, named ‘The Grim Sweeper’, doing its work. I always panic that himself is not going to walk fast enough to arrive in time for the coach. I should be able to track his progress on what is lovingly called ‘the spooky stalking app’ but for some reason, this was temporarily not working. Nevertheless, my fears are unfounded and he arrives in record time.

Coaches have moved on since our last trip and I can keep my phone charged as we go. It also has what is described as a ‘light use’ toilet. I don’t know who needs to know this but do not attempt to use such a facility when the coach is going round a roundabout – just don’t. After three stops we are heartily sick of the safety briefing that greets all those just boarding. It is especially irritating that this includes stressing that it is the law that seat belts are used and I didn’t spot a single passenger, apart from ourselves, wearing their seatbelts. I have no problem with them putting themselves in danger but who else are they going to take out when their unsecured bodies are flung round the coach in an accident? Rant over. Another minor irritation is that the driver’s large CCTV screen isn’t working, so it flickers constantly in a headache inducing manner and it is really hard to keep it out of the field of vision. I hope that no one on board suffers from epilepsy. Six and a half hours on a coach seems like a very long time but there are plenty of spring flowers to look at, with magnolia, blackthorn and daffodils in full bloom. We consume our sandwiches to pass the time, coronation chicken for me and tuna and sweetcorn for himself. Miraculously, my travelling companion manages to stay awake for the first three hours of the journey. As we drive by Heathrow, some newly arrived tourist has clearly just collected a hire car and hasn’t worked out the right side of the road thing, cue lots of horn blowing.

By the dint of various messages, we co-ordinate our arrival at Earl’s Court with that of our lovely friends who are meeting us, so we don’t have an horrendous cross-London journey on public transport, with rather more bags than we can cope with. Fair play to National Express, they arrive exactly on time. We are whisked across London, just as dusk settles and the lights are coming on. We pass Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Number 1 London aka Apsley House and a beautifully illuminated Tower Bridge. We check in at a Premier Inn at Festival Leisure Park, an area known as Bas Vagas. Then off to eat at the nearby Harvester. Some of our party have mini desserts; do those two words belong in the same sentence?

Day 1 Sailing from Tilbury

After a comfortable night’s sleep, we investigate the workings of the shower. I aways have difficulty with strange showers as, once in the shower, I can’t see how the controls work. After my shower, my companion complains that I’ve used all the hot water. It turns out that I haven’t but I have somehow turned the setting to cold. Next, breakfast and we arrive just after the ‘rush’. As butter is often rock hard, I rest it on my toast to defrost. It turns out that the butter wasn’t rock hard at all and I am now contending with molten butter.

We are collected once again by our friends and taken to Thameside Nature Discovery Park, created on a landfill site in 2010. Although the main viewing platform is closed for repairs, there are interesting views of the estuary and plenty of birds. I managed to get a half decent photograph of a long-tailed tit. Next, we view Coalyard Fort, in Thurrock, constructed in the 1860s and 1870s to protect the Thames Estuary at a time of threat from France.

Then it is off to Tilbury Dock for first sight of Ambassador Line’s Ambience, our home for the next sixteen days. This is where the Windrush arrived and the iconic terminal building is recognisable from newsreel footage. We go through security and are ushered to the check in desk, where the staff wave a numbered Strictly Come Dancing like paddle to indicate that they can accommodate the next person in the queue. Our check in window starts at 1.20pm. It is about 1.30pm. The tannoy has announced that anyone with a time up to 1.40pm should get in line and everyone else should wait. The woman in front of us has a check in time of 3pm. This is causing consternation and hold ups. Chris bleeps when he goes through the security scanner. He has a credit card sized, metal spanner thingy in his wallet. After a pat down he is free to go and we are on board.

There’s a short wait for our cabin, so, as if we haven’t already eaten twice as much as usual in the last twenty-four hours, we go to check out the casual dining. This is not so extensive as the equivalent on previous cruises but it looks like it will suit us. We don’t do the posh clothes and eating artfully arranged meals accompanied by a bit of drizzle thing. Maybe it is having been a waitress for one summer in the very dim and distant past but I also feel quite uncomfortable being served, so casual dining it will be. We do a quick recce of the ship, as we have eight sea days but given our cabin and its balcony I think we may be spending those days relaxing and looking at the view. This is a smaller ship than those we’ve been on before, with a capacity of 1400. We attend the compulsory safety briefing. The captain says the weather is ‘lively’ for our first two sea days. I have brought assorted medication for almost all eventualities but it never occurred to me to bring sea sickness tablets. We watch the view as we travel up the Thames estuary in the dusk. Suitcases have been arriving at cabins since 2pm, 4pm and no sign of ours, which were whisked away from us on arrival at the terminal. Finally, Chris’ turns up. Unlike when we fly, we haven’t done the thing where we put one outfit in the other person’s case, just (pardon the pun) in case. At least though, the appearance of his case suggests that the trolley with our luggage on must have made it on board. Just as I am mentally assessing how much of Chris’ apparel I can utilise, mine arrives too. Then an evening meal in the Borough Market informal restaurant, vegetable curry and chips for me, slow roast belly pork for Chris.

My phone is suggesting that, for a fee of £8, I can have 37 days of European coverage. This seems worth a punt, so I part with cash. I learn later that I might not have needed to do this but either way, I will now have some phone contact, so not quite the technology black hole that I was anticipating.

A Few Days in Shrewsbury

by thehistoryinterpreter

We’ve just returned from a few days in Shrewsbury. We were staying on a very posh-for-us caravan site because the same complex also had ‘barns’ where caravan-less members of the family could stay. I was a fail at this kind of location from the start. We checked in and were given a card to access the site barrier, no problem, we were used to these. I was also given two ribbon like bracelets to indicate that we were paid up residents. For safe-keeping, I hurriedly put both on my wrist, one for me and one for the fisherman of my acquaintance. Caravan pitched I attempted to pass his to him. Ah. This was the problem. I had tightened the bracelets to ensure I didn’t lose them by sliding a plastic ring up each ribbon. It turned out that these were one way fastenings, a little like cable ties – hindsight and all that. I managed to wriggle my way out of one bracelet but the other was firmly affixed. Not wanting a bracelet on day and night for four days, I had to return to reception and ask to be cut out and have a new one, which I made sure was looser.

The barn, for younger members of the family, came with a firepit and hot tub, both of which had to be fully explored.

The weather was kinder to us than the forecast promised and we explored the delights of Blists Hill Victorian Village. Obtaining advance passes online was an intellectual challenge in itself but we managed it. The Ironbridge complex is due to be taken over by the National Trust, which caused a hiatus in the booking system at precisely the wrong time. It was interesting to chat to the various shopkeepers and tradespeople ad to spend the ‘old’ money that we had exchanged in the bank. Mind you, the existence of a bank seems to be something that is now consigned to history. The traditional fish and chips, fried using beef lard were probably not the best thing for our arteries but were delicious.

The next day was a Shrewsbury Trail, or at least part of it before it got too much for some of our party. The first challenge here was ensuring that both cars were parked in the same place (they weren’t) and then finding our way out of the shopping centre adjacent to the carpark we ended up in. We did manage a quick game of rockets and meteors (like snakes and ladders) in the shopping centre first.

Then a visit to see the Ironbridge in glorious autumn sunshine; the first iron bridge to be constructed in the world, in 1779. This is now a world heritage site. We moved on to Enginuity Science Museum, where we virtually made pig iron, moved locomotives using levers, solved (or didn’t) puzzles and other excitements. There were plenty of other museums in the Ironbridge family for those with more stamina but we decided to quit while we were ahead,

Now we are back home for what might laughingly be called a rest.

Peterborough Days

by thehistoryinterpreter

A few days in Peterborough allowed me to meet up with some of my descendants and see some local sites. First, a trip to Kirby Hall that nearly didn’t happen. As we neared the Hall there was a road closed sign. We followed the, very long, diversion to the other end of the closed road only to find …… a road closed sign; there was no indication that there were exceptions for access. This time there was a man sat in a works van and on enquiring he moved a few cones and we were told we could drive through to the Hall. Wondering if we might actually be able to get out again, we proceeded with our visit. The Hall were going to be in for a quiet day.

Kirby Hall is a ruin that was one of the first buildings to be acquired by the state for preservation, under the auspices of what is now known as English Heritage. It was built for Sir Humphrey Stafford in 1570; the architect was John Thorne. Five years later, Stafford was dead and four generations of Christopher Hattons went on to own the house. The first Christopher Hatton was a great favourite of Elizabeth I, allegedly first coming to her attention because of his dancing prowess. Yet, although he became her Chancellor, she never visited the Hall. What Hatton lost in prestige over this he probably made up for in the money that he saved by not having to host the Queen. James I, on the other hand, visited more than once. Christopher Hatton mark 3 was a great antiquarian and had the Hall remodelled, including the addition of a library. Inigo Jones provided plans and the appropriately named royal stonemason Nicholas Stone, was hired.

Ardently Royalist, Hatton fled to France during the Civil War and spend years trying to rebuild the family fortunes after the Restoration. His grandfather had been given land in London by Elizabeth I, which CH3 developed into Hatton Garden. Like his father, Christopher Hatton 4 was the governor of Guernsey and his wife and mother were killed when the gunpowder store at Castle Cornet blew up. Hatton himself was saved  by a black servant, John Chappell, who was left a pension of £20 a year in Hatton’s will. Between 1772 and 1831, most of the contents were sold, the owners ceased using the Hall and it was given over to estate workers. It gradually fell into disrepair.

Notable features were the bay windows and the gardens, which are believed to have been designed by George London, who name was familiar from my seventeenth century gardens talks. There were also the most enormous pears and apples I’ve ever seen in the garden, both the size of your average grapefruit.

I can report that we escaped via the ‘closed’ road and that zero work appeared to be happening, or to have happened. Disclaimer – I take no responsibility if I have confused the various Christopher Hattons.

The next day and it was a National Trust destination this time, in the shape of Lyveden Lodge. In Elizabethan times, the manor here was owned by Thomas Tresham. He was orphaned at a very young age and was brought up by and married into the Throckmorton family. Tresham was knighted by Elizabeth I but by 1580 had converted to Catholicism; thus just six years after his knighthood, Trensham was in prison for his beliefs. Trensham had his staff begin to build an impressive lodge for his guests, with plans to surround it with gardens and vistas; directing some of the proceedings from prison. The garden is held out to be one of England’s oldest garden landscapes. The lodge, manor and garden were full of Catholic symbols. Recusancy fines, a lavish lifestyle and having to provide dowries for six daughters meant that, when Trensham died in 1605, he owed the equivalent of a million pounds in today’s money. Realising that they wouldn’t be paid, the workers downed tools and the lodge was never finished. His son rebuilt the manor but abandoned the lodge. It was Thomas’ son, Francis Trensham, who became embroiled in the gunpowder plot. It is likely that it was Francis’ letter, warning his brother-in-law Mounteagle to stay away from Parliament, that led to the plot’s downfall. We planned to go to a garden after leaving Lyveden but it wasn’t open, so back to the van it was.

With a nod to my experimental archaeology course and our neolithic house-building experiences, our final visit was to Flag Fen. This is the site of a bronze age causeway, one kilometre in length, constructed when water levels were higher. The causeway was built from oaks, alder and ash, felled between 1280-920 BC. The uprights and platform required two million timbers. The causeway was in use for 1300 years and is thought to have had a religious significance as many objects found nearby appear to be offerings. There are also some prehistoric logboats being preserved on site. The staff were very informative and there were plenty of volunteers and conservationists on site. They have just been taking core samples and we were able to see wood that has been submerged since the bronze age. Having survived for thousands of years, the causeway is reaching the point where it is almost beyond further preservation due to changing conditions.

A Family History Weekend and a Missed Opportunity

by thehistoryinterpreter

The Malvern trip continued with Gloucester Family History Society’s open day at the Heritage Hub. It was lovely to be able to see people in real life and chat about family history. I listened to Simon from WeAre.xyz, talking about his software (quick resolution to do more with my site), then gave my A to Z talk. After that, it was out for a meal and a catch up with family history friends. This is the first of four in person family history weekends in four different counties this month. A bit like buses, you wait for ever, then they all come at once,

Sunday was rainy. I mean seriously rainy, so rather than  head off early, as we prefer to do, we sat it out, while I looked at the Withenbury family goodies I’d found at the Worcestershire archives. Note, I did not look back at earlier notes, a big mistake. The rain cleared up eventually, giving us just time to visit Hanbury Hall, a nearish by National Trust property and former home of the Vernon family. The most outstanding features are the wall and ceiling paintings by James Thornhill, which, unusually, were painted on dry, not wet, plaster. There are also traditional, knot-garden style gardens, with plenty of topiary, which I photographed for use in my seventeenth century gardens talk. I was also quite taken with a 1715 election ‘poster’, when Thomas Vernon was standing for the Whig cause. This, I thought was about all Hanbury Hall had to offer, how wrong I was.

We returned home. This involved me driving through storm and tempest, with torrential rain meaning that I could barely see the road. Fortunately that was just the last couple of miles, as I am chauffeured most of the way. I then continued to look at the Withenburys. Something I had noted before, when I was trying to prove that they are actually my ancestors, rather than probably my ancestors, was that a James Withenbury was an architect and sculptor. This chap is likely to be my 6x great grandfather’s brother, or maybe a half-brother. ‘That close’, I hear you cry. He is at least on the family tree of the ‘almost my ancestors’. He also, said my notes, which I was viewing from 150 miles away from Hanbury Hall, designed the frontage of the hall in 1718. It is likely that I walked past his architectural sketch while we were at the Hall! Another trip is on the cards.

The Last of the Cornish Saga

by thehistoryinterpreter

Posting these accounts from the comfort of home always makes holidays seem like such a brief interlude but I didn’t want you to think that I was still stuck in the midst of Cornwall.

Day 7 Round and About

Initially, we thought we’d go to Marazion Nature Reserve but on the way, remembered that this was somewhere we’d been before, so we had a change of plan and headed to Trengwainton, which turned out to be closed. Never fear, we thought, we’d go on to Carn Euny Iron Age Village, open at all times. We followed the signs, we drove for a mile up a single track no through road. We were in the right place but the car park was full. Annoyingly, inconsiderate parking, meant that fewer cars could park than the space warranted. It looked like most of those parked were locals rather than visitors. It also made it extremely difficult to turn round but after a several point turn we escaped. At this point, we decided that we would chalk the day up as ‘a nice ride round the far south west’ and we headed back to the site.

So we weren’t sat down all day, we went for a walk from the site. Still mapless, we had to be careful not to get lost. We followed what was signposted as a footpath. I don’t think anyone had walked part of this for some considerable time as it involved battling through stinging nettles. Bit of a shame I’d decided to put shorts on. We passed a lavender farm and went downhill until the path turned into a steam. A series of well-spread-out stepping stones reached into the distance. We watched a man and two teenaged boys leap agilely from stone to stone. We asked where the path led to. It seemed nowhere much, at least not for a couple of miles. We decided our leaping days were over and retraced our steps.

Day 8 Windmill Farm Nature Reserve

The nature reserve of choice was one nearby at Windmill Farm. It turns out that it was nearer by than the sat-nav would have us believe and we had to give up and use Google maps instead. We headed off across a field of cows, having carefully read the instructions to chat to said cows so they knew we were on our way. The trouble with cow fields that are usually muddy but have been baked dry for a fortnight, is that they are full of potential ankle twisting ruts.

In theory, there was a way-marked route but we somehow missed this and ended up in a field of fennel. Retracing our steps across the cow field we reconnected with the white painted posts that marked our way. Inevitably, there wasn’t much fauna but a variety of flora was a little more in evidence, including heath spotted orchids. We finally came across a couple of drying out ponds, one at least of which looked newly dug. There were dragonflies but little else.

Next, the windmill from which the reserve takes its name. Originally called Lizard Windmill, it is referred to in a document of 1695, although has probably been rebuilt since then. It no longer has sails and ceased working in the 1840s. In the nineteenth century, the notorious Windmill Gang of footpads and sheep rustlers were active in the area. Two members were drowned when trying to escape pursuit.

It is possible to climb to the top of the windmill. My height-hating brain surveyed the see-through metal spiral steps with caution. There might be a good view from the top, thinks I, having read that the windmill was used as vantage point by Home Guard in the Second World War and became part of the RAF base at neighbouring Predannack Airfield. I began to climb. This, dear reader, was a mistake and previous experience with similar scenarios should have been enough to warn me that I would find this terrifying. Locals believe that the windmill is haunted. I often sense when this is the case but in summary, my opinion was – scary staircase yes, haunted no.

Day 9 Monday Minack Theatre

This was the day when we were booked to see Seth Lakeman at the Minack Theatre. I’ll be honest, this was a second best when we failed to get Fisherman’s Friends tickets for the first time in several years. As the campsite is thirty miles from the Minack, I was a little disconcerted when my travelling companion’s remark as we went to leave was, ‘where did I put the car keys?’. Keys located and we were on our way. We were slightly early, what’s new, for the stated ‘car park opens’ time but being a matinee, were let in. We sat in the sun eating ice cream and were within the first fifty or so (of five hundred) in the queue. This is the point at which I panic. Normally, I would have back-up printed tickets but by the time they were emailed, we were in a field miles from any printer. Will my fully charged phone somehow fail to display said tickets when required? Will the back-up fully charged battery pack similarly suddenly be empty? Will I not be able to get a phone signal? None of these unlikely eventualities occurred, although the staff’s scanning machines were being temperamental. We, along with most, people had zone A tickets. As we got to the front of the queue, I was asked to make a snap decision. Did we want to sit on the stone tiered seating, or on a chair directly in front of the stage? Errr, no brainer. Weirdly, some people were opting for stone seats.

The concert was excellent with some virtuoso musicianship from Seth and the other two-thirds of his trio, who had sixteen different instruments between them. There was even a guest appearance from Seth’s father, Geoff, showing just how to play the spoons. All in all we were well pleased with our ‘second best’ choice.

Access to the Minack is ‘interesting’. You don’t want to be trying to head towards the theatre as a show has just ended. Unfortunately, as we and many others wended our way down the single track road both a coach and a tractor were rashly attempting to make their way up the hill. Couple this with a high percentage of drivers who are used to motorway driving, rather than west-country roads and there was somewhat of an impasse for quite a while.

Day 10 A Day of Two Gardens

As it was only half a mile away, we decided we should visit Bonython Gardens. We often stick to places we can get in ‘free’ with my array of life memberships (National Trust, English Heritage, RSPB and RHS) but this was billed as ‘a great garden of Cornwall’, so it seemed like a good investment. This proved to be the case. With the help of two gardeners, the owners have crafted a beautiful landscape, including a walled garden, lakes and a fascinating yew chapel. There was a laid-back refreshment system, where you helped yourself and put the money in an honesty box. The orange cake and fruit cake both got a mark of approval. On the subject of honesty, I also purchased some honesty plants, which have been on my wanted list for a while.

The afternoon was reserved for meeting up with friends of long-standing and we had a lovely wander through the National Trust gardens at Trelissick, reminiscing and catching-up on the last twenty years or so of our lives. As my age advances, far too rapidly, I am on a mission to see in person, as many friends as I can, particularly those who I’ve exchanged Christmas cards with for the last fifty years but rarely see, so I am looking forward to more reunions such as this.

More Meandering

by thehistoryinterpreter

Day 4

Another day and yet another short drive, this time to Helford, as we remembered that as being an attractive section of the coastal footpath. After a bit of a diversion down to the river ferry terminal we headed round to the tiny St. Francis’ Chapel, where St. F’s main animal of choice seems to be a German Shepherd. Then on along the path towards Frenchman’s Creek of Du Maurier fame. We got to the point where we were overlooking the creek and decided that it was quite a long way down, which would, of course, mean quite a long way back up, so we turned round and retraced our steps.

Day 5

The short walk of choice today was round Goonhilly Nature Reserve. We have come to learn what to expect from nature reserves and Goonhilly lived up to expectations – an almost total absence of wildlife. We did hear a cuckoo but not a great deal else. Here we were close to the tracking station, which sits incongruously against the Cornish landscape and occasional menhir. We may also have deviated from the waymarked route a tad. This involved climbing over gates, which fortunately held our weight and did not mean we ended up in a field with a bull. We also had a choice between being up to our ankles in water, or up to our ankles in mud. This despite it being the driest spring on record. We opted for mud. The advantage of this walk was that it was relatively flat and underlined the fact that it is hills that I have issues with, rather than walking itself. Still, we think ourselves lucky that we can walk as much as we can, as we approach our eighth and nineth decades.

We went on to Cadgwith so that the fisherman of my acquaintance could get a fishing boat fix. This also involved passing some free-range geese and observing two delivery lorries trying to escape and turn on the extremely narrow road, which, in addition, was partly blocked by a scaffolders’ lorry. We didn’t stay to see the resolution of this. From the look of the way things were going, despite some seriously skilled reversing up very narrow alleys, they may still be there.

We were visited by the site’s friendly collie, who came into the van calling for Chris. Balls were thrown and the neighbouring horses chatted to.

Day 6 Penrose and Poldu Cove

We drove to Penrose, a National Trust estate that we hadn’t visited before. This was a pleasant walk that took us to where we could overlook Loe Lake, the largest freshwater lake in the county. There was a very acceptable café where we availed ourselves of ice cream. The walled garden, designed by John Rogers when he inherited Penrose in 1772, is being restored by volunteers. We then decided to drive down to Mullion; another day another cove. We stopped off at Poldhu, a cove we remembered from our walking round the coastal footpath days. Mullion, despite the sat-nav, proved elusive, so we decided to leave that for another time.

Meandering in Cornwall Part 1

by thehistoryinterpreter

As usual, you are not getting these reports in real time but I’ll catch up eventually.

Day 1

Having spent the past days soaking my garden plants with water and moving most of what turned out to be nearly fifty plant pots to the shady part of the garden, I felt relatively ready to go away. Turns out there were to be a few hitches. I arrived at Chris’ to be told that he was waiting for roadside recovery as the caravan-towing car wouldn’t start. Fortunately, this was speedily resolved. By this time, I was starting to remember the things that I had forgotten. The list included a belt and the trousers I was wearing were the sort that descend, taking one’s knickers with them. I was able to borrow a belt from the fisherman of my acquaintance. Even better, it looked like I’d borrowed it before, as it had had a me sized hole added to it.

My travelling companion had to stand in for a holidaying churchwarden but I decided to forsake the church with the second most uncomfortable pews in the world and walk down Clovelly High Street instead. I was hoping to get some photos suitable for advertising next year’s Devon Family History Society conference but scaffolding and a dull day put paid to that. I am sure the street is steeper than it used to be; despite not going right down to the harbour, the slog back to the top was a bit of an effort.

We were finally on our way just after midday. I then realised that I hadn’t brought the maps with me. These weren’t needed for finding our way (or so I thought – see below) but I do like to follow along on a map. We arrived at our site not far from Helston, Cornwall. We were the only van on site, with rabbits for company and horses from the neighbouring field and the farm’s resident dog coming to say hello. This was meant to be a restful holiday, so we did just that.

Day 2 Kynance Cove

After a short drive, we availed ourselves of the free members’ parking at the National  Trust car park and prepared for a short walk along part of the south-west coastal footpath near Kynance Cove. We have previously walked the whole of the Cornish section of this long-distance path but it was soon obvious that we are not as young or fit as we were. If this section of the path isn’t described in the book, which I have also forgotten, as strenuous, then it should be. We scrambled down the cliff side, wandered across the sand at Kynance Cove then struggled back up the other side. One excitement was not only hearing but seeing a cuckoo; I’ve never seen one before. Sadly, I wasn’t swift enough with the camera.

We went  a little further on then, being well aware that every step further on also meant an additional step to retrace, we turned round. We treated ourselves to a drink at the café on the way back and I felt that it would be rude to refuse the carrot cake.

Back in the car, we took a short journey to Landewednack to look at the new Lifeboat Station which seems to have some kind of life down to the shore and then for good measure, the old Lifeboat Station at Church Cove. This involved parking under a very noisy rookery and hoping that the car wouldn’t need too much of a clean afterwards. That being enough exercise for one day, we went back to the caravan, where we lazed the rest of the day away.

Day 3 Godolphin

Another short drive, this time to visit the National Trust property, Godolphin. We knew the house itself wouldn’t be open but planned to explore the estate. I cleverly, or so I thought, photographed the map of the various coloured footpaths before we started. I did this on my camera; fail. I should, of course, have photographed it on my phone so that it could be enlarged. We completed most of the not terribly inspiring yellow route through fields and woods, alongside the River Hayle. The plan was to transfer to a short part of the pink route to the house, garden and café. Somehow we ended up on the purple route. Nonetheless, I was pretty sure which way we needed to go. It turned out that I was right. Unfortunately, I decided I should check the map. Finding a landmark on the opposite side of the road to the one I expected, we turned round and walked and walked some more. If only we had a proper map. Never fear we had phones with apps including Google maps and what the family call the spooky stalking app. What we didn’t have was anything resembling a phone signal. We approached a small settlement that boasted a post office, hurrah someone we could ask for directions. Said post office was only open one day a week, inevitably not the day we were there. Finally a passer-by. Better still, one who used to work for the National Trust. She set us on our way, retracing many steps. This also involved scaling walls using a strange for of style, some of which had ‘steps’ that were a very long way apart. She did also admit that the map left much to be desired and it appears that the key landmark was indicated on the wrong side of the road.

We finally approached the house/café/toilets (in reverse order of importance). We felt that we had earned our orange cake and lemon meringue donut. We looked at the C17th exterior of the house, which apparently has a colonnade that is unique in the country. The house and estate were developed by the prestigious Godolgun (later Godolphin) family, who acquired it in the C12th. They made their fortune from mining copper and tin. The mining landscape in the area is a UNESCO World Heritage site. The farm buildings are particularly superior and were built with stone from a former house. There was an interesting film show about dairying in the dairy.

We looked round the grounds and spotted what looked like a water trough. It had inexplicable notches of different depths, set at irregular intervals round the edge. We speculated what it might be used for. Enter stage left my former colleagues on the experimental archaeology course. Something very similar on the continent is described as a Roman olive mill. Another suggestion is that it was used by a blacksmith and cooling irons could be rested in the notches. The jury is still out; further suggestions welcome – answers on a postcard.

Mostly about Mull

by thehistoryinterpreter

You will be relieved to hear that this is the end of the Scottish jaunt. It seems like a lifetime ago! Firstly our trip to Mull.

We are pretty keen on islands and this trip will tick two more off the list. The first concern of the day is, will we find anywhere to park, ideally somewhere free. We had identified a possibility yesterday and do manage to locate a spot a shortish walk from the ferry terminal. The next stress inducing issue is that we have had our coach tickets for some time and I have printed these out at home but the ferry tickets, which I need to produce on four occasions, have only just arrived by email so rely on me having a workable phone. Too late, I realise that I could have forwarded this to my companion, so that we had access in two places. It isn’t even just an email, you have to open the email and then download something. This I can accomplish but my phone has days when it decides that the battery life is about five minutes. I spot a USB charging point in the terminal but for some reason this doesn’t work.

First ferry boarded and on the most beautiful, sunny, calm day we sit outside on the ferry to Craignure on Mull. The crew wear hard hats but none of these are fastened, surely that renders them next to useless? One of the deck hands serenades us with Mull of Kintyre. He really should stick to the day job.

We board a double decker bus, securing upstairs seat and with Andrew as our driver, set off for a thirty seven mile drive along a single track road to Fionnphort. It is an enjoyable drive with plenty of information supplied by Andrew, as well as comments on the inadequacy of the driving of other road users. This is the new road, built between the 1960s and the 1980s and halved the previous journey time. There is plenty of reversing and pulling in to passing places. Some of the other drivers appear to be in vehicles that don’t have reverse gears.

Mull’s population is about 3,000, with 200 on Iona. We spot one of the 8,000 deer on the island; there are also fallow deer. We see evidence of the mussel fishery, a seaweed farm and a forestry industry. Travelling in the coach proves hazardous and I manage to bang my head three times and whack my upper arm into the half raised arm rest.

We leave the bus to take the ferry to Iona. A notice tells us to turn our phones off. a) Why? And b) How is that going to work when our tickets are on our phones then? I have tried charging my phone on the bus, that charging point didn’t seem to work either. So far I am two ferries down with more than half my battery left.

After a short trip we alight on Iona and the first stop is the nunnery, founded in 1200. There is allegedly a carving of a naked women over the window of the refectory that was intended as protection from evil but we don’t spot it. Next, St Ronan’s Chapel, which was built about 1200, although there is evidence of an earlier chapel, dating from c.700. Interestingly, all the skeletons that have been found in this area are female.

Unfortunately, the heritage centre is not open but we probably wouldn’t have had time to explore it. We are still able to find out about the island’s history as a centre of religion. Columba, accompanied by twelve monks, arrived on Iona in 563 and founded the monastery, which would have been a timber construction. An account of Columba’s life, written by Adomnan, Iona’s abbot in the 690s, provides details of the early years of the monastery. It became a Benedictine foundation in 1200, which survived until the Reformation. What we see today is a reconstruction of the abbey as it would have been under the Benedictines. This was accomplished by the Iona Cathedral Trust in the early twentieth century and funded by the Duke and Duchess of Argyll.

Iona was famous for its scriptorium, where monks produced beautifully  illustrated religious manuscripts, including the Book of Kells, created about 800, which we saw in Ireland last year. Remnants of a path, dating from 700, survive. This ‘street of the dead’ was used as a processional route, passing the monastery’s holy places and leading to the shrine of St Columba. Crosses were erected on the route to mark places for contemplation. Viking raiders plundered the abbey from 795. In 806, sixty eight monks were killed. This led Abbot Cellach to take the monastery’s treasures and most of the monks to Kells in Ireland. Some monks remained on Iona. There were strong sea links between Iona and other religious houses in Scotland and Ireland. Viking raids continued for two centuries. In 825, Abbot Blathmac was killed when he refused to give raiders the jewelled casket containing St Columba’s bones. The abbot and fifteen monks were killed on the beach on 25 December 986.

The museum on site of the abbey contains many ancient carvings dating from the early 600s onwards, including huge crosses and tomb tops. In Medieval times many  of those from high society were brought here for burial. The twelfth century St Oran’s Chapel is the burial places of The MacDonalds. The site is home to St John’s Cross, thought to be the first Celtic Cross of its type.

We partake of lunch at the St. Columba Hotel, a little upmarket for us. We decide that we should have something regional, so Cullen skink for my companion and haggis, goat’s cheese and onion marmalade quiche for me. I wouldn’t normally eat haggis but the other options didn’t appeal. We sat outside and observed a cucumber eating dog on the next table. The owner had ordered a whole cucumber that he cut up and gave to the dog as treats.

The return journey passes without incident and we opt to stay  inside on the ferry to Oban as the temperature had dropped. We exited the ferry terminal in a different place, leaving us with a route march back to the car. It has been a lovely, if long day and we couldn’t have hoped for better weather.

The next day, the weather had turned grey but an improvement on what those further down south were experiencing, where there are severe floods. We picked a Scottish National Trust property that isn’t too far away and go to Arduaine Gardens. The coastal garden was created by James Arthur and Ethyl Campbell, who purchased the land in 1897. The garden suffered severe storm damage a couple of years ago, with many trees being blown down, so there is much restoration underway. There are some lovely views of the coast, although the visibility isn’t great. We don’t fancy the cake on offer in the neighbouring hotel, so it is back to the van via Lidl’s, who sadly, don’t have any tiramasu muffins this time. The afternoon is spent enjoying the sea views from the van and tomorrow we begin to wend our way home.