Tag Archives: Travel

Welsh Adventures Part 2

by thehistoryinterpreter

Now I am back home and no longer in the land of steam driven wifi, I can continue the story of our Welsh adventures.

Day 4 Ynys-hir Reserve

This is a day to make use of my RSPB life member status and we visit the reserve at Ynys-hir. The reserve is a pleasant setting but notable for its lack of wildlife. Tally, one robin, one thrush, a few squirrels and an unidentifiable, distant bird of prey. In the absence of my own coat, which is sitting on the peg at home, I have appropriated a waterproof coat from the caravan. One of those two words, waterproof and coat, accurately describes this garment. Half way round the second of two trails the heavens open, mostly it seems on my head. We squelch back to the car and call it a day.

Day 5 To Brecon and Llangorse Wildflower Meadows

Time to journey 60 miles down the A470, back towards home and move to a new site at Brecon. This has the advantage of us being able to access more than three TV channels and it has wifi that reaches to the van. Ok, so it is officially the slowest wifi in the world but it beats sitting in a car park. We arrive by lunchtime and decide to explore the nearby wildflower meadows at Llangorse. ‘Park by the common’, it says. First problem, identify the common. It turns out that it wasn’t the tiny, scrubby piece of grass where we leave the car. We do find the enormous common on foot but I am not convinced that we reached the wildflower meadow, unless it was an area of unmown grass with some clover growing on it, not quite the poppies, cornflowers and ox-eye daisies that I was expecting. We did find a Crannog, an ancient lake dwelling familiar from our trip to Scotland and plenty of ducks. If you are wondering why we didn’t use a map, there is a bit of a map issue for this part of the trip. As usual, I made sure I purchased an OS map before leaving home. This is the Brecon Beacons, surely I need a map called Brecon Beacons? No. It turns out that there are three that cover this area and I have chosen the wrong one. Map of the western half of the Brecon Beacons anyone?

Sad to see Emma Raducanu’s enforced retirement from her Wimbledon match on our return to the van.

Day 6 National Botanic Garden of Wales

The National Botanical Garden of Wales is on the itinerary today and this is the furthest we plan to go from a site. Today we have our fair share of road re-surfacers again but all the roads that aren’t being re-surfaced are having their verges/hedges cut, so the stop-go board count rises even further. The sat-nav insists that we have reached our destination. We haven’t. We drive round the block a bit in search of helpful brown signs. After a few miles we pick these up and discover that we should have turned left when the sat-nav insisted on us going right. The gardens were definitely worth the drive and the effort. There is plenty to see, including an Eden Project style biome and a bird of prey centre. Inevitably my favourite parts were the less formal apothecary’s garden and the allotments. There is a display associated with medicinal plants and some beautiful quilt panels depicting herbs. I also learn about the physicians of Myddfai, whose story began with Rhiwallon who was the thirteenth century court physician to the Prince of Deheubarth, Rhys Grug. Their tradition continued until 1739 and the Red Book of Hergest, which records their remedies, is held out to be one of the most important Welsh manuscripts from the Medieval period. I couldn’t resist looking for an English translation.

We return via a local supermarket of our choice. This is the second time I have been in a shop since March 2020. I still have 1000 steps to hit my daily target, which I’ve maintained all year. It is now raining persistently. My options are to circle the site in the rain or to make myself look like an idiot jumping up and down by the cold counter in M********* whilst my companion loads up the yoghurt and milk. I’ve tried getting soaking wet doing laps of a caravan site before. Fun it is not. I go for surreptitious jogging as I examine tins of beans and load the bag at the checkout. Yay 1000 steps accomplished.

Welsh Adventures Part 1

by thehistoryinterpreter

Day 1 To Llanbrynmair

We leave in mist and showers and cross the Prince of Wales bridge, heading to mid-Wales. We pass Raglan Castle and encounter numerous tractors enroute as we drive into the iridescent green Welsh hills. It appears that every possible inch of Welsh road that could be being resurfaced is being resurfaced and stop-go boards abound. I am excited to see several red kites with their iconic forked tails.

We arrive at Gwern-y-Bwlch campsite. It is a pleasant site, snuggled in the forested hills. The only downside is that it has hot-spot only internet, which is why you will be reading this after our visit is over. At least this time I am prepared to be abandoned in a technological black hole. It seems that television signal is a challenge as well. Fortunately, the one side that is available is BBC, so Wimbledon watching is possible if you can accept a bit of buffering as an accompaniment. Having had a serious bout of insomnia the previous night, on arrival, I have a power nap, followed by an exploration of the site.

Day 2 The Centre for Alternative Technology

We have pre-booked entry to The Centre for Alternative Technology, which is a Unesco Biosphere, set up in a disused slate quarry near the River Dyfi. Apart from explanations of alternative energy sources and sustainable building, there are beautiful allotment-style gardens growing edible plants and wildflowers to create a diverse habitat.

Sarah takes us on a guided walk through the woodland, which is being managed as a native, broad-leafed habitat. This means that the rhododendrons have to be eradicated, as they discourage growth on the woodland floor. We call in at the café but its offerings, although delicious, are a little too ‘alternative’ for my meat and two veg loving companion.

Day 3 Coed y Brenin National Park

We are trying to avoid anywhere too peopley and to be outside as much as possible, so I have picked a National Park for today’s visit. This is of course Wales and outdoors means that we run the risk of getting wet. For some reason best known to no one at all, I haven’t brought any kind of coat with me. Fortunately, there are coats lurking in the caravan. I have a postcode for the car park for the National Park but finding it seems to be as fruitless a quest as our search for somewhere to park at the Savernake Forest last month. After driving up what almost certainly wasn’t actually a road, managing not to drive over a precipice when three-point turning and retracing our steps, we do find a locked gate to what looks like a car park. We drive on and find another car park, this time with a solid looking boulder blocking the entrance. This is definitely meant to be a car park. The clue is in the notice that says ‘do not linger in the car park’, along with ‘keep two metres apart’ etc.. This time, there is room to park on the accessible side of the boulder, even though that probably isn’t the car park, so we do.

The Coed y Brenin National Park consists of 9000 acres set in the Rhinog mountains. Allegedly, it was part of the historic Nannau Estate, founded in 1100 by Cadougan, Prince of Powys. We are encouraged to call at the state of the art, ‘green’ visitors’ centre. They must have done a good job of blending it into the landscape as it is nowhere to be seen.

This area is obviously designed for extreme off-road cycling and there are numerous cyclists hurtling down steep paths, to the detriment of brakes and tyres, if not life and limb. The routes have names like ‘The Beast’ and ‘The Minotaur’. Realistically, I accept that the seven mile ‘strenuous’ volcano walking trail is not for us. So we stroll along a wide, flattish cycle track (The Fox), alongside, dramatic, fast-running streams in a granite and slate-strewn landscape, managing to pick a dry spell between the showers to do so.

I may have left my coat at home but my travelling companion, who is chief in charge of food supplies, has neglected to put the mince beef in the caravan fridge. I am hoping he has left it in his own freezer, rather than defrosting somewhere in his kitchen. This means we need to find a shop, something, along with petrol stations, that have been conspicuous by their absence. The upside of this is that it takes us into the centre of Dolgellau, instead of bypassing it as we traverse up and down the A470. This is an attractive small town, with narrow streets and looming, grey, stone buildings. We identify a butcher as a likely source of mince. I wait in the car whilst my companion ventures forth. The time spent in making said purchase was probably long enough to lasso the animal in the field and carry out all necessary processes in between but mission accomplished. We arrive back to the van in time to see Emma Raduanou’s impressive third round Wimbledon victory.

Day 2 Coastal Walking or finding out that I am not as young and fit as I hoped I was

by thehistoryinterpreter

To continue the tale of our recent foray to South Devon. The second day started badly. We were driving to the starting point for our walk when I realised I had left no fewer than three things in the caravan. One of these was my fitness watch. No way was I going to not count today’s steps. We retraced our steps. I wish to put on record that my companion also forgot something but didn’t realise in time to collect it during our step-retracing mission.

The plan was to start at the end of our chosen stretch of coastal footpath in Coleton Fishacre, walk to KIngswear and retrace our steps to complete the leg in the correct order and also to end up back at the car. As one of us is a National Trust life member and the other a National Trust volunteer, we hoped we could park in the car park at Coleton Fishacre, which is a National Trust Property. We duly parked. I even worked out how to scan my membership card in order to obtain a ticket.  I had toyed with booking a visitors’ slot for entry to the property, which would have secured us the right to park but decided it was selfish to use up a place whilst entry is limited and we didn’t want to go further than the car park. Mission almost accomplished when the car park attendant loomed. It transpired that no, we couldn’t park there. The man was not open to persuasion, although my companion had a jolly good try. ‘There’s another car park just up the road’, we were told. We could not access the coastal path via Coleton Fishacre. This was all very well. The car park was indeed only about 500 yards away but this gave us access to a different point on the coastal path and with having to do it twice, would add another 1½ miles to a walk that was already at the limit of my likely unpracticed endurance.

Nonetheless, we set off with a spring in our step, enjoying the spectacular views. It is my habit, probably dating from my Girl Guiding days, to keep a note of the birds and wild flowers that I see en-route. My bird identification abilities are probably no better or worse than they ever were. Definitely above average but certainly not expert and I have never been able to recognise bird song. I realised though that my memory for flower names had become somewhat tarnished. When we were walking more regularly, I could identify many more. The flowers were at their best and this is my favourite time of year. Ox-eye daisies, scabious, foxgloves, thrift and ransomes and the last vestiges of bluebells in the small wooded section, which also yielded a jay and a thrush in the bird department. There were many more to add to my list and to begin with, the eight years since we last did a coastal path walk melted away. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t eight years since we have been for a walk but those walks have been elsewhere, including local stretches of the same path.

To the fitter of my friends, a 7½ mile walk may seem like a gentle stroll. If you’ve never walked the south-west coastal path, be aware, be very aware that, with very few exceptions, gentle stroll it is not. There are hills, lots of them and the path is anything but smooth. I learned two things on this walk. I am definitely not as fit as I used to be and when the guide book says ‘strenuous’ this is not to be taken lightly.

After the first hour, every step we took away from the car was a reminder that it would be a step further in the opposite direction. This stretch of path is blessed with many seats. I sat on most of them. This was ridiculous. We had only last month done several walks of about five miles and here I was three miles in and struggling. It was also the hottest day of the year so far and we were heading towards the heat of the day. We could see our destination in the distance. It seemed, dear reader, a very distant distance. I’d been worried about blisters, well that and the lack of toilets but I always worry about that. Neither of these issues became a problem but I was conscious that I was breathing increasingly heavily. A few years ago, I would probably and possibly foolishly, have carried on regardless. Quitting is not normally in my vocabulary. At the back of my mind though was the niggle that hidden in a place on my medical records that I mostly choose to ignore are the words ‘heart condition’. Was it really sensible to keep on keeping on? We might not yet be half way to Kingswear and then we had to do all this again in reverse. The map suggested that there was a way to come off the path and return to the car by a slightly shorter and certainly less strenuous route. Common sense prevailed and that’s what we did. Altogether we probably walked five miles, although most of it was far from easy walking, this did seem pathetic. I was very annoyed with myself. Then there was the problem of how to proceed. Up to now all our walks have been in the correct order and in the right direction. We could start at KIngswear next time and walk to where we gave up but then what? Could I bring myself to compromise and count this walk as part of the challenge, despite it being in the wrong order and wrong direction? Could I face doing it again the right way round, knowing what I know now about how hard it was? If we can only notch up four miles a time, the remaining 153 miles are going to take a very long time to accomplish and our fitness is hardly going to improve. Always end on a cliff hanger. Stand by for the next instalment to find out what we decided.

Some advice for would-be coastal path walkers. Unless you are super-fit types who think nothing of notching up twenty five miles a day laden with your tent, sleeping bag and all other requisites, don’t leave it until you are of mature years to try to walk 670+ miles round the south-west peninsula. It is so worth it though, the scenery is breath taking. Even if you only walk a small part of the route, everyone should give this a try. I’d also recommend reading Raynor Winn’s The Salt Path about her walk with her husband along the whole length of the path.

Mills, Castles and Elusive Gravestones

by thehistoryinterpreter

Having arrived in COVID central, on another lovely sunny day, we set off in search of the many local mills once worked by the Eadington family. We wander round Lesbury and then on to Alnmouth, which is very pleasant. We have reasonable success in locating the sites on our list and most are away from the crowds anxious to enjoy the last day of summer. We get stuck behind a flock of sheep, some of which have gone rogue and broken away in the opposite direction. One man and his dog, or in this case quad-bike, it is not. ‘Hunt the mill’ does take us to places other itineraries do not reach.

The next day and the temperature has dropped by ten degrees. Undaunted we venture north in the footsteps of my great great grandparents who travelled across the border to Lamberton Toll for a Scottish irregular marriage. I am pretty sure they would have taken the coach that ran up what is now the A1, from close to their home right to the Toll. I know that the toll house no longer exists but allegedly there is a plaque marking the spot. Fail on that one. It must be a very well-hidden plaque. Heading westwards, we call in at Norham Castle, built in the C12th for the Bishops of Durham as an entertaining space. It was here, in 1291, that Edward I and his advisors chose John Baliol, from thirteen contenders, to be the Scottish king. There was significant re-building following damage in the 1510s when the Scots got a bit troublesome. It had been subject to many sieges over the centuries. My ancestors lived close to this castle and would have known it when it was a little less ruined than it is now. Until it came under state ownership in 1929, it had not been maintained since the Union of the Crowns reduced the threat from the North.

Then it is off to Norham church to search for some gravestones. This will be fine, we have plot numbers and a plan. We know where row one is, what we don’t know is which end of the row is number one, nor is it quite clear what constitutes a row amongst the randomly scattered stones. More by luck than plan, we locate two of the four. What I have neglected to do, is note the names on stones surrounding the ones I am interested in, which might be more legible. We have phones, in theory we should be able to find the website and look at the transcription. In practice, neither of us has mastered using the phone for internet searches so that is not an option. In any case the stones I am missing are 1720s and the transcription was probably done in the 1980s so it is likely that they are no longer standing or legible.

Home via a couple of Scottish churches which involves a gate-related incident. Mindful that we are in a COVID hotspot, I attempt to hook the gate open with my foot. I achieve this and my companion exits the church yard. As he does so, he pushes the gate open further. Sadly, my foot is still wedged in it at the time. As I am wearing wellies in order to scour wet churchyards, I fail to hop backwards sufficiently swiftly and end up sinking to the ground grabbing the gate that I had been at pains not to touch in the process. It really is easier to stay at home. Fortunately, we have plenty of hand sanitiser. The car is making a bit of a weird noise. It is going and there are no warning messages but it looks like tomorrow will involve a trip to a garage. We do have form for getting stranded miles from home.

What the 2010s Have Done for Me – and What the 2020s Might Bring

by thehistoryinterpreter

Warning – self-indulgent post alert.

N.B. I do know that the decade can and perhaps should, be regarded as ending at the end of 2020, not 2019, as there was no year 0 but I am going with the popular conception here.

This post is mainly for my own benefit but you are welcome to share in my memories and plans. Maybe you’d like to compose something similar for yourself. It is insightful to look back and fun to make predictions for the next decade.

It is only as I sit and write this, that I realise quite what an amazing decade the 2010s have been on a personal level. If the 2010s have not been good to you, I sincerely hope that the 2020s will bring you all the good things that you deserve. May the 2020s do for you what the 2010s did for me. If I had written a post like this ten years ago, I could not have imagined that my life would be as it now is. I am conscious that, given my age, the 2020s may be the last full decade during which I can do many things, so I have many hopes and dreams to fulfill in the next ten years.

Of course, although things have gone well for me, the national and international situation can scarcely be described as positive. I cannot pretend to like the complexion that the country and the world has developed in the past ten years. We need to take care of each other, to be considerate and tolerant and to respect difference, whether that be race, creed, sexual orientation or political views. It is fine to have different opinions, it is healthy to discuss these but it should be possible to calmly agree to disagree. We need to look after our planet, for ourselves, for our children and for our children’s children. This is not something we can ignore.

Family: With the deaths of my mother and her cousins in the 2010s, I am now the oldest generation, which is sobering. The past decade saw the marriage of one daughter (the other was already married) and the arrival of three wonderful grandchildren.

I do not anticipate the addition of any more family members in the 2020s but I look forward to watching my grandchildren blossom into young adults. I also hope that, early in the new decade, one set of descendants will be living nearer to me. Obviously, spending more time with those that I am closest to is a priority for the next ten years.

DSCF0929

Home and Community: In 2010, I was already living in this house and involved in the local community.

I would expect this to be something that changes little in the next decade, although the projects that I engage in may vary. I really do want to get my house ‘up together’ but that is a never-ending task.

Church Graeme's edit

Work: In 2010 I was already employed in a version of the job I must not mention. The decade brought three promotions but ironically less work and less money. On the plus side, it is now less time-consuming. A very recent development on this front should allow me to use my writing skills as an adjunct to this role. I was also already working as an historical interpreter ten years ago but now I am running a team of interpreters, rather than being an employee. In 2010, I was a speaker in genealogical circles but only well known in my home, or former home, counties. During the 2010s, I have had the privilege of speaking at many premier national and international events and was twice voted British gold medallist in the ‘Rockstar Genealogist’ poll.

If the goalposts are not moved again, I will reach official retirement age in the 2020s (something that should have happened in the 2010s). I would like to say that my work will lessen in the next ten years but I am a realist and I love what I do.  I hope to take the job I must not mention through, at least, to the next big upheaval, which may be in the mid-2020s. I’d like to think that I could carry on until the end of the new decade but who knows. I anticipate that my days of heaving suits of armour about may be limited and that getting up at 5am and doing full days in schools might not be appealing by 2029 but we soldier on for now and I hope that I will still be able to give individual presentations for another ten years. This will be chauffeur dependent, I am not the only one who will be ten years older! I predict that I will do more presenting and teaching online. I have two new online courses in the pipeline already.

Jo Rutherford Photography_-18.jpg

Jo Rutherford Photography

Travel: In 2010 I had been abroad six times and one of those occasions was a day trip to Calais when I was eleven. I had already begun my international travel with my first trip to New Zealand in 2009 but in the last ten years I have visited Canada, Australia, Peru, US, Russia, eleven European countries and returned to New Zealand. I have also travelled through many beautiful parts of Britain, including the Channel Isles and three trips to Scotland.

My predictions for the 2020s are that I will go abroad less, long-haul really has lost its appeal but that I will continue to explore closer to home. A holiday in Ireland is already booked. I still want to finish my project to spend a few nights in every British county. I am secretly (oh, not so secretly now) tempted by Norway, Iceland and Madagascar though.

106 23 May 2019 Puffin Farne Islands

Writing: In 2010 I had just finished my PhD, which was a writing marathon and I was a regular contributor to family history magazines. The 2010s was the decade of book publication, with several non-fiction books hitting the shelves as well as my novel. I did not have a website or a blog ten years ago, which is a shame, or I might have been able to compare my predictions with reality.

Apart from the planned publication of a second novel and two booklets in 2020, it is difficult to foresee what turn this may take during the next ten years. If the idea for a third novel presents itself, there may be one. Storage space dictates that I may turn to digital book production, at least for any non-fiction that I may write; again there are no plans. Alternatively, I may concentrate on writing up family history stories and finish my biography.

 

Barefoot on the Cobbles Front cover jpg

Health: It is never all good news. In the past decade, inevitably, my body has started to misbehave in a few ways. Sadly, it is probably all downhill from now on but I shall do my best to still be reasonably fully-functioning by 2029.

Leisure: What’s that? Family history has a separate category, that’s an obsession, different entirely. I do want to take more time to ‘smell the roses’ in the 2020s. I’d like to get back to my spinning for example. I still have ambitions to pass a grade 1 piano exam. Maybe I can beat my granddaughter to it but I doubt it. I am really tempted to teach myself Cornish but my track record with languages is appalling and I am too far from any face-to-face classes. I would like to finish the remainder of the south-west coastal footpath, which has made no progress in the last six years; I think I could still just about manage it.

Family History: In 2010, I had not taken a DNA test, I had not put my family history online and I had composed narratives about only a few of my ancestral branches. Ten years on, I have made a major break-through on my direct paternal line, a few other lines have also progressed, notably those in Cornwall, which had been untouched for over thirty years. I am close to a ‘gateway’ ancestor, that will link me to nobility (not something I am particularly bothered about but interesting nonetheless). I have an online tree, DNA results from three companies and more of my research is in a state that others can access. I still have three major brick walls. I have made some progress on these but there they remain.

In the next ten years I plan to reassess and ‘write up’ more branches of the tree. It would be lovely to demolish at least one of the brick walls. I would also like to immerse myself in the Cornish portion of the family once again. I want to continue to inspire my descendants with a sense of the past.

If this sounds like everything in the past ten years has been wonderful, that is because I am a glass half-full sort of a person. I am very fortunate that the 2010s have been particularly good to me but I don’t want to give the impression that everything is perfect, that would be impossible. There have been challenges and difficulties, not everything is ideal, that is reality. I know that I have been lucky and I am very much aware that many have gone through awful things during a decade during which matters have, for the most part, gone well for me. If looking back is painful, then please look forward. I wish you all a 2020 in which you can be at ease with yourself and at peace with others. See you in the new decade!

 

 

Rouen – Day 14 the final day of our genealogical cruise adventures

by thehistoryinterpreter

We leave the ship early, down a very steep gangplank, for our trip to Rouen. Hurricane Lorenzo is creating a pretty stiffish wind. Again, we drive across the enormous port of Le Havre, which was destroyed by the allied forces in 1944. There were three phases of destruction in France, the Viking invasions, the French Revolution and the Second World War. From today’s guide, Lana, we learn that Le Havre football club is the oldest premier division club in France. We drive to the beautiful city of Rouen, founded in the first century, although nothing Roman survives. Rouen an important harbour, became the capital of Normandy in 2016. Haropa is a new name for the combined harbour of Le Havre, Rouen and the Seine hinterland to Paris. We are told that the only bridge across the Seine in the Middle Ages was at Rouen. I find it hard to believe that this refers to the whole length of the river.

Capitalising on French internal conflict, the English waged the Hundred Years War against France, a misnomer as it actually lasted 114 years. This conflict saw Joan of Arc become the heroine of the French; she was captured and burned at the stake in Rouen market place on 30 May 1431. We see her memorial and the nearby, modern, fish-shaped church. Rouen contains eighty buildings that date from the Middle Ages. It made its wealth from the wool trade. The cathedral is breath-taking. Here are the snippets of information that we acquired. Its nineteenth century spire weighs 7000 tons. There are eighty statues on the façade, many of which are replacements from the acid rain-damaged originals; some of these are now on display inside the cathedral. There is a twelfth century tower and a fifteenth century ‘Butter’ Tower on the right, the latter financed by the profits from the butter trade. In 1999 the copper on the towers was replaced with a material that was less subject to corrosion. The nave is 136 metres long and the roof is 28 metres high. The cathedral has sixty-four bells. Much of the older stained glass was removed during the Second World War, so survived and could be replaced, whereas the nineteenth century glass was lost. Ever hopeful that I will one day find my ‘gateway’ ancestor, I photograph Rollo’s tomb. When he becomes my nth great grandfather, I will need that for my family history.

198 4 October 2019 Rouen Cathedral.JPG

We walk through the city and see the Grand Horloge (Big Clock), which only has an hour hand. There are all the usual suspect chain shops as well as more individual ones. Sixteenth century blue and white pottery introduced from China, is popular. I manage to use my limited French to purchase two badges.

Back on board, we gather in the conference centre for an informal demonstration by Michelle, demonstrating some DNA tools. More good news as a result of one of my cruise talks. I have a request for a copy of the Fry family tree that featured in my Darlington to Wellington talk, as it relates to a member of the audience’s genealogy. In the evening, Carole Becker gives the final conference presentation, So you Think you are Married to a Genealogist, which is a great end to our programme. It is sad to think that our time aboard is at an end, as we are unlikely to see many of our fellow cruisers again. We have met some lovely people during our Unlock the Past adventures. This will be our final cruise with them; there is another to Tasmania in 2020 without us but that is, sadly, to be the last.

Chris has neglected to put one of his cases outside for collection He does so in a state of undress but is fortunately not spotted. He has also left his large trunk containing his medical equipment outside. Our stateroom attendant is under the impression that this contains family ashes! Given that the box is 24x18x10 inches, we must have brought the entire family tree with us. Chris doesn’t seem to have understood him when he queries this, I merely smile enigmatically and do not correct his misapprehension. So this is the end. Tomorrow we go home. The trip will take us via a family history conference but that will be another story.

Honfleur and Deauville – Day 13 of our genealogical cruise adventures

by thehistoryinterpreter

A really interesting brickwall-busting workshop with Mia to start the day. I am pleased to be able to contribute to the demolition. Then at lunchtime we are off to Honfleur. We are now in temperatures that are 15 degrees cooler than three days ago. Some sort of happy medium would be good. Our tour guide today is Amilee. Normandy, where we are, is of course the country of the Vikings (North/Norse men). They were in this part of the world from the eighth century. In 911 Robert I, from Scandinavia, became the first Duke of Normandy. The area is also the home of impressionist art, noted for the move away from aristocratic portraits, in favour of landscapes and movement, with accurate interpretations of changing light. We cross the Seine, named for its snake-like sinuous turns. Normandy is noted for its beef and dairy cattle, cider making and calvados.

From Amilee we learn that Honfleur means ‘house on top of the hill’ and unusually, the port was not damaged during the Second World War. Honfleur was the major harbour until it began silting up, so Le Havre was built 500 years ago on the north bank of the Seine. Le Havre is now the biggest port in Europe and it certainly takes us a long time to drive across it. It is not however the busiest, that honour goes to Rotterdam. Honfleur was the site of many battles during the 100 Years’ War against the English. Amilee mentions fourteenth century English Protestants, which makes me doubt her historical knowledge. Like parts of the south-west of England, Honfleur had links with the Newfoundland cod-fishing grounds. Salt for the fishing industry came from La Rochelle. The French don’t call the English Channel the English Channel, to them it is just The Channel. Honfleur is a focus for artists and the go-to seaside for Parisians.

In Medieval times, tax was based on the size of the ground floor of buildings, hence the practice of jutting out the upper floors. This was stopped when the tax was placed on windows instead. Wooden shingles on the facades are typical of the area. St Catherine’s Church is all wooden and is famous for having two naves. We see the ‘road of the little butchers’ aka the Shambles and hear about Frederic Sauvage, the inventor of propeller, which was first demonstrated in Honfleur in 1832. In my tour of the souvenir shops, I have an unfortunate incident with some fridge magnets. I may just have spun the carousel upon which they were displayed a trifle vigorously and some found themselves on the floor. I promise I picked them all up. I am not prepared to comment on whether or not they all survived unscathed.

179 3 October 2019 Honfleur.JPG

We move on to Deauville, a town that was developed as the holiday playground of the rich in the nineteenth century. The popularity of sea bathing amongst the well-to-do meant that other attractions, such as the casino and race track were also built. The town is mostly shut up for the winter. Deauville is now full of expensive Parisian holiday homes and it really wasn’t our sort of place; it clearly caters for the luxury end of the market. No opportunities to buy tourist tat here. We wander around the town and along the beach where many of the beach huts are named for film stars.

The evening is Master Christopher’s opportunity to cure a few ailing passengers. He has an excellent turn out and the appreciative audience watch as he performs enemas and amputations with aplomb.

193 3 October 2019 Surgery.jpg

At Sea and Mijas, Spain – Days 9 & 10 of our genealogical cruise adventures

by thehistoryinterpreter

I play truant from the first two lectures and persuade my companion to rise from his sick-bed to get some air. We go up on deck where I am the sole occupant of the hot tub. Ok so I am sharing it with some slices of lime left over from last night’s revels but hey! I am frantically trying to keep up with photograph labelling and the holiday diary but it is a losing battle. Already I have numerous unidentified pictures that will have to be generically designated ‘Rome’ or ‘Florence’. We also rearrange our excursions in the light of Hurricane Lorenzo. Much as I feel that I ought to see Paris, having not been, I can’t face a three hour trip each way in order to spend four hours there, so we opt for shorter trips to Rouen and Honfleur. We also have a walk booked in Spain for tomorrow.

Michelle provides us with more tips and tools for DNA, advising us to create broad and deep online trees covering six generations and including siblings. Shared matches are the key to interpreting our DNA results. I just need several free hours a week that I don’t have. Sue shares another Swalwell case study, this time about a Georgian lady who was declared bankrupt. I don’t think that I was aware that there was an important distinction between debtors and bankrupts. Mia then outlines some online sources that are often overlooked, extolling the virtues of the Online Parish Clerks,of which I am proud to be one (or three actually).

I finish the day with the new and improved version of Remember Then, encouraging people to tell their own stories. This was the practice run for Rootstech and something decidedly weird has happened to the formatting of my presentation, which I need to fix. Nonetheless, the content is very well received and people are still fired up and chatting 45 minutes after I finish.

We are up in time to hear Eric Kopittke’s interesting presentation, ‘In the Steps of my Ancestors’, about genealogical journeys. Michelle kindly helps me look at my DNA matches; I am more eager than ever to get home to work on them some more. We dock in Malaga and our rearranged, afternoon trip, due to the reduced time in port, is to the village of Mijas. We are instructed to meet at the end of the pier and I am a little concerned that we may be in the wrong place but no. Sergio is in charge of trip number twelve and he tells us how fortunate we are to not have opted for Malaga as it is siesta time and all the shops will be closed. The Spanish are not stupid. It is 31 degrees; a siesta seems eminently sensible but here we are, mad dogs and English tourists, out in the heat of the day. Apparently temperatures are higher than average for the time of year. There is no sign of the forecast cloud. Malaga was founded in 830BC by the Phoenicians. It is the capital of the Costa del Sol in the Andalusian region. It typically has 300-320 days of sun a year and 21-22 days with rain. There is a drought at present and limitations on water usage are expected.

We drive past Malaga Cathedral, nicknamed the One-armed Lady, as only one of two proposed towers was built. An artificial beach near the port was constructed in 1990 and looks to be popular. We get stuck behind a bin lorry for a while but are soon able to recommence our journey. We see the botanical gardens that were to have been part of our destination on the trip that we chose originally.

Mijas is a typical Andalusian village that is famous for its donkeys, or burros, which are available for riding or to pull carts. They were the typical form of transport until the 1960s. There are also a number of horse-drawn vehicles for hire. Especially given the heat, I would not part with money to put animals through this, quite apart from the fact that one of the donkeys is aiming vicious kicks at its neighbour. Car parking in Mijas is set a €1 a day to encourage tourism.  Beginning at the Plaza Virgen de la Pena, we walk up past the shopping area, where leather goods and Moorish influenced ceramics predominate. We can hear crickets chirruping as we climb the steep streets. We are also taken into a typical courtyard at the back of a shop. This is very attractive but fails in its undoubted aim of guilt-tripping us into making purchases. Courtyard living is the norm for most of the year and in the winter, fires are fuelled by olive wood. There are more than 420,000 olive trees in Spain. They also grow avocadoes but these trees need 100 litres of water each per day in summer and the current drought has caused severe problems.

We see Constitution Square, which is attractively laid out with a fountain and benches that were carved from the marble rocks that were left by the landslide following a flood in 1884. Despite the lack of rain in the area, this flood reached upper-storey windows. The Medieval fortress was built on top of a former defensive building that dates back to Phoenician times. The Church of Immaculate Conception was completed in 1631 and incorporates a Moorish bell-tower. We cannot escape from genealogy, as our guide tells us that 30% of Spanish DNA is Berber.

The Bullring was built in 1990 and is unique because it is oval. It has a capacity for 600, so is small by Spanish standards. Seats in the shade are more expensive than those in the sun. Animal fights only take place in early September.

We look at the Virgin of the Rock chapel that was hewn out of the rock by a Carmelite monk in the seventeenth century. Allegedly, the image of the Virgin inside the chapel was found by two child shepherds in 1586, having been led to the spot by a dove. It was a slightly less strenuous excursion than others we have been on and very enjoyable.

164 30 September 2019 Courtyard, Mijas, Andulucia, Spain.JPGA group of Guild on One-name Studies’ members foregather in the Windjammer in the evening and we consume yet more copious amounts of food.

Florence and Pisa – Day 8 of our genealogical cruise adventures

by thehistoryinterpreter

Today we are docked in Liverno in Tuscany. By dint of swift walking, we secure seats in the front of the coach. Our guide is Sara as we head for Florence. We see plenty of umbrella pines. Pine nuts are grown and used for pesto. They also give their name to Pinocchio, who was presumably made from pine wood and there are Pinocchioian representations everywhere. Sunflowers and olives are grown for their oil and the vineyards produce Chianti. Leather and gold goods predominate. The area has been famous for gold since the time of the Medici. The gold comes in a variety of colours including black and chocolate.

There is a layer of mist across the plains and we pass villages that are famous for truffles and strawberries. Firenze, or Florence, is the ‘city of flowers’. It has a population of half a million and was briefly the Italian capital in the nineteenth century. It is sited on the River Arno, which also flows through Pisa. The city was under the rule of the powerful Medici family from the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries. Once on our walking tour, which Sara delegates to a local guide, I am run into by a lycra-clad, Italian runner, who smiles sweetly and takes me by the arm. Sadly I am not being abducted.

The Cathedral is white, red and green, colours that represent the trinity. The cathedral was built from the 1290s onwards and Brunelessci’s baptistry dates from 1401. Coincidentally, of the fourteen people on today’s ‘small group’ tour, we have encountered eight on previous tours and two of the others are us! Considering that there are about 3500 passengers on Explorer of the Seas, that is some feat. Many of the Renaissance works on view are replicas including one of Michelangelo’s David. It is possible to see the real thing, just not where we are going. We do see the Medieval Medici Tower, an equestrian statue of Cosimo de Medici from the 1580s and the Ponte Vecchio. The Ponte Vecchio (old bridge) was built in 1345 and is the only Medieval bridge (in Florence presumably) to have survived World War 2 bombing. By doing some reverse picture searching, it turns out that we have seen the Palazzo Vecchio, the Basilica of Santa Croce and the outside of the Uffizi Gallery, possibly not in that order. The quality of my photographs are severely affected by the cords and the fact that most of them were taken whilst hurrying after our guide in order not to be lost.

Even though we are suffering somewhat from information overload, I do like Florence and we have the advantage of cloud cover, so the heat is less of a problem. Today’s included lunch is yet more salad and lasagne, with a strange vanilla concoction for dessert. In the leather and gold shop, where Sara is probably on commission, we are treated to a sales pitch by Anthony (with a H) from Melbourne. We do not succumb. Whilst waiting for our group we are accosted by a Kenyan street seller. He cunningly hands us some bracelets as a ‘gift’. He then shows us a picture of his children and asks for money for the babies. We claim to be penniless and return the bracelets.

We pass Michelangelo square with its panoramic views of the city but there is no time for a photo opportunity. We are on our way to Pisa. Our driver has a unique driving style, which involves a third of the bus being across the white line and periodically he has no hands in the wheel. We survive.

We spend some time in Miracle Square in Pisa. It seems obligatory to take a photo with hand outstretched, so that it appears that you are holding the leaning tower; we don’t bother. The tower was built as the campanile (bell tower) for Pisa Cathedral and leaned from the start due to subsidence. It is between 183 and 186 feet high, depending on which side you measure. It was built between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries and stabilisation work in the 1990s reduced the lean slightly. The Carrera marble was also cleaned at this time. Galileo, who was born in Pisa, allegedly dropped cannon balls from the tower to demonstrate how mass affected the speed of descent.

146 28 September 2019 The Leaning Tower of Pisa.JPG

Also in the square is the Baptistry, begun in 1152 and competed in 1363. It replaced an older building and is the largest Italian baptistry. It combines Romanesque style at the bottom with Gothic on the higher levels. Next to this is Buscheto’s Romanesque cathedral, begun in 1063 and consecrated in 1118. Allegedly it was financed by the spoils of a Sicilian war again the Muslims. Twelfth century enlargements were designed by Rainaldo.

In Pisa we learn that there is a €500 euro penalty for street selling and it is the purchasers as well as the vendors who are fined; a good job we resisted our Kenyan friend. Mind you, despite circulating police cars, there seem to be plenty who are willing to take the risk and their tactics are quite aggressive. There is obviously a secret signal, probably in the form of a text message, as periodically there is a Mexican wave of sellers rapidly gathering their wares into large blue bin bags. I can’t help feeling that having a bin bag over your shoulder is somewhat of a giveaway but perhaps the police turn a bit of a blind eye.

As Sara leads us back to the coach, we have to cross a level crossing. The barriers are down. Several Americans of mature years, not from our group, decide that the train is ‘a long way away’ and duck under the barrier to cross the line. I think some more law-abiding onlookers were hoping the line would be electrified.

Back on board we learn that Hurricane Lorenzo is looming. This is not the hurricane that was causing difficulty earlier in the cruise. This is a new and more serious hurricane that is going to necessitate a change in our itinerary. Sadly, we will lose our stops in Santa Marguerita and Lisbon; I am particularly disappointed about missing Portugal. My travelling companion is suffering from the lurgy that seems common on cruises, so I leave him to nurse his ills whilst I listen to Paul Milner speaking about nineteenth and twentieth century sources.

Rome and Vatican City – Day 7 of our genealogical cruise adventures

by thehistoryinterpreter

Another early start. Having collected our stickers, we sit and wait for dispatch. The chap is mentioning a dress code for those visiting the Vatican. Dress code? I booked our tour so long ago that I can’t even remember if it includes the Vatican. Knees must be covered. My companion is wearing shorts. There is no time to go back to remedy this. We resolve to wait and see what happens. I may have to abandon him by the side of the road. On leaving the ship, I get caught by the ever-present cruise photographers and end up forcibly posed with a Roman soldier. A waste of time as there is no way I am going to pay the ridiculous prices charged for cruise photos.

We are moored at Civitavecchia, which means ‘old town’ and is the port that serves Rome. It consists of a Medieval fortress commissioned by Pope Julius II and for which Michelangelo (he gets everywhere) was partly responsible. Today’s guide is Sabina. We point out our failure to be aware of a dress code. Our tickets warn us we need to be able to walk on cobbles, you’d think there would have been some kind of reminder about appropriate attire but no. Apparently it was in the small print in the cruise brochure that I had uncharacteristically failed to read. I was expecting to have to have my head covered in Catholic churches but this no longer seems to be a requirement. I had not factored in the possible offence caused by my companion’s knees. We briefly consider and dismiss, the idea of swapping trousers. By dint of lowering the waistband of his shorts to mid-buttock level, in a manner much beloved of today’s youth, the knees are hidden. Sabina thinks we will pass muster.

We drive towards Rome. They have a problem with graffiti and like any other major city, there are rough sleepers and beggars. The twelve mile long city wall contains fourteen gates; 80% of the walls remain. Once on foot, Sabina sets off at a cracking pace towards the Circus Maximus and the Constantine Arch, erected in 315 following the battle of Milvain Bridge to commemorate the slaying of 5000 enemies; one wonders who counted. We see the Colosseum, which is a nickname for the Flavian amphitheatre and which originally consisted of three concentric rings. There are many holes in the stonework, where, over the centuries, metal supports have been removed for ‘recycling’. Spectators were assigned a tier according to their social class, with women often being relegated to the top tier, unless they were accompanying their senator husbands. The entrance arches or fornix, were where ladies of the night lingered, seeking customers, giving us our word fornication.

Entertainments, or ‘munera’ were an all-day affair with parades, the public execution of criminals, games and finally gladiatorial combat. These spectacles were free, with the intention of securing the support of the population for the current emperor and to emphasise his status. The working life of a gladiator was about five years, during which time they might only perform ten times. After this, successful fighters could gain their liberty. The idea that the audience put their thumbs up or down, to indicate whether a losing combatant should be saved, is a myth. The fist is raised, either with the thumb hidden, or the thumb stuck out to the side, the latter indicating the executioner’s knife blade. The last human combat was in 401 and the final animal fight in 521.

We hurtle off to the Basilica di San Pietro in Vinocoli – St Peter in Chains, where what purport to be the original chains that held St. Peter are kept. Also known as Basilica Eudoxiana, it was built in the fifth century. It had many restorations, Pope Julius II again. Michelangelo’s Illumination of Moses is here. There are a number of buskers. I am taken with the accordion player who switches from Funiculi Funicula (a tune reminiscent of my childhood as it featured on an oft-played LP) to Jingle Bells as we pass, possibly in honour of Chris. There is also someone with a three stringed double-bass and a didgeridoo player, which is impressive, if culturally incongruous.

Our next stop is the Forum, where we encounter many young climate change protestors. They don’t get the best of press but personally, I am grateful that so many young people are passionate and engaged. The six vestal virgins were tasked to keep the eternal flame burning in the Temple of Vesta, which is part of the Forum. We see the Temple of Saturn and the Red or Burnished Palace where Mussolini gave his famous speech. On this tour, lunch is provided, which has the advantage that we also get free toilet facilities. We are given salad, lasagne and a filo pastry dessert.

069 27 September 2019 The Forum.JPG

The afternoon is spent in the Vatican and no problems are created by the shorts-length of my travelling companion. The Vatican covers 120 acres, making it the smallest independent state in the world. Its sixteenth century walls were constructed to withstand gunpowder. It was given the status of a separate state in 1929. The Vatican is home to the Pope and 400 cardinals and the official language is Latin. Even the instructions on the ATM are in Latin. Unfortunately I could not find this in order to photograph it. The Vatican Museum, with 2000 rooms, is the second largest in Europe and gets 30,000 visitors a day. They are not wrong; it is certainly hot and crowded. We are whisked round some of the Museum at break-neck speed, in the tourist sausage machine that is characteristic of cruise ship excursions. Unbelievably, we are walking on original Roman mosaics on occasion. There are wonderful painted ceilings and plenty of statuary, as well as fifteenth century Flemish tapestries that were completed at a speed of one square metre per person per year. How does anyone know this?

The world-famous Sistine Chapel was commissioned by Pope Sixtus IV in 1278. It underwent extensive repairs when the walls began to crumble shortly afterwards. The walls were painted to show the story of Moses and of Jesus in 1481-3. It took Mr Buonarroti aka Michelangelo four years, working alone, to paint the frescos on the ceiling. No photographs are allowed because, in return for the funds for the recent cleaning, using distilled water, of Michelangelo’s work, Fuji required the copyright on the images. Nevertheless I observe at least four people shamelessly photographing. Even more astoundingly, a family are handing round chocolate bars to their offspring. The renovation took fourteen years and was finished in 1994. The discolouration over the centuries was largely due to candle smoke. A few squares have been left uncleaned and you can certainly see the contrast. Interestingly, his panel of the Fall of Man shows Eve tempting Adam not with an apple but with a fig. We learn about the use of the Sistine Chapel for the papal enclave, when a new pope is being elected.

There is a general press of the great unwashed as we tour the Vatican. There are also plenty of illegal street sellers and manic moped riders. We visit St. Peter’s Basilica, which took 122 years to build, being completed in 1626. All churches in Italy are free to enter, unlike our English Cathedrals. Only the Pope can celebrate mass at the High Altar. Here we see Michelangelo’s Pieta, his only signed work. It is protected by bullet-proof glass following damage in a hammer attack in the 1970s. There is also a fourteenth century statue of St Peter and the last Stuart tomb. There are no paintings but instead 10,000 square metres of mosaics. The Swiss Guard, in rather flamboyant uniforms, are responsible for guarding the Vatican as they have no army of their own.

Our evening talk is Michelle on the exodus to the Southern seas, which I have heard before but which is just as good at second hearing.