Blighty Pt II

or, Exploring Devonian History

Over 70-plus days of travel, I probably misplaced my glasses about 70 times. Maybe more. Such is the state of my brain nowadays.

As quiet as always, Brixham.

Yet returning to Brixham, Devon, after more than 20 years, was like pulling an old memory out of its dusty, timber box, brushing it off a bit, and discovering it still worked as good as new. I managed to navigate easily to my friends’ house and remembered the names of nearly all the pubs on the walk from there to the town centre. Which is quite amazing considering the amount of partying that took place at each of them in my youth.

Best of all I found that Nicky and I still had the same chemistry that made us instant mates at Uni, and that John is still as laid-back and fun as the day they married.

Still, Brixham in 2012 is a very different place to the one I last visited over New Year’s Eve 1989-1990. Not least of all because at least four of the old drinking buddies from then are now dead, and it’s fairly safe to say that heavy drinking and smoking played a role in each of their deaths. That’s a sure-fire way to get you thinking about your health and mortality….

Along the new harbour walk, Brixham.

We discovered, in Brixham as elsewhere, the ban on smoking in pubs has seen a lot of ‘locals’ struggle to stay open and they have had to reinvent themselves to stay viable. Beer gardens for smokers is one answer, but many have also pulled up the sticky carpet, replaced the pool table and darts area with dining tables, and transformed themselves into country inns offering meals and accommodation, rather than just bars for the old boys.

As I mentioned last post, the good news is that the food served in most of these seems to be pretty good, and reasonably well priced, too. In fact, after returning to Aus and being reminded of prices in Melbourne, we found that British pubs are now better value than many Aussie ones, especially the trendy inner-city ones, where you can pay the same for a pot (under half a pint) as you do a full pint in the UK. Brit pub grub was definitely cheaper and more interesting, too (despite “Cheesey chips” - which are pretty good, but not so good that I'd risk blocking my arteries by going back for more...).

In Aberystwyth – which used to boast 44 pubs and 40 chapels – I noticed at least four pubs had become restaurants or shops, including the one where I used to pull pints, The Farmers Arms.

Valerian growing on Slapton Sands

Back in Brixham, we replaced  pub crawls with exploring the great outdoors and it was excellent rambling around the countryside while being able to tap into John and Nicky’s vast knowledge of the bird and plant life in their favourite haunts, such as Slapton Sands (reached by catching the ferry across the Dart, which was fun) and up on Dartmoor, where the resident ponies made a mockery of the tag “wildlife”.  The ones snuffling into people picnics and plates of pub food that we saw seemed completely domesticated – but that’s easily said when you’re only feeding them, not trying to harness and ride them, I guess.

Cheeky Dartmoor ponies enjoying lunch al fresco.

We were thrilled to hear a couple of cuckoos calling (a first for the summer and the only ones we heard in the UK, as it turns out) as well as seeing my first stone chat and being treated to a close up view of a buzzard – one of the birds I barely remembering seeing in the past, but which is incredibly common now. As too are Red Kites, which have increased from only seven breeding pairs (near Aberystwyth when I was at Uni there) to being sighted and breeding right across the UK – even down near Southampton.

Buzzard obliging with a pose.

Probably because I now have more interest in wild flowers, but also because we were visiting earlier in the year and after good rain, I also noticed far more varieties on the many walks we enjoyed across the country. It is probably also due to EU support for farmers to allow parts of their land to remain fallow and be returned to habitat for flora and fauna, and partly fashion – wildflower meadows are now very trendy for gardeners, as well, which is good news; a wildflower-inspired garden was even included in the Chelsea Flower Show, which was on while we were in the UK. (No, we didn’t go - tickets sell out months in advance and you have to enjoy close encounters with large crowds to endure it; I don’t. We did enjoy the nightly TV coverage though.)

My serene mother surrounded by mad family.

After seeing south and central Dartmoor with Nicky and John, we explored some of the northern section with my family during our three-day stay in a large, YHA-owned mansion overlooking Okehampton. The whole extended family of siblings, nieces, nephews, great nieces and great nephews came along (except poor Kerris, who had to work) and had a brilliant time sharing massive cooked breakfasts, endless games of hide and seek (so good in a big house), attempts at bonfires (after weeks of rain and while being attacked by clouds of midges), post-kids-bedtime drinks, movies, shopping trips, walks – and gorge scrambling.

A dry-ish walk.

Gorge Scrambling involves donning a wetsuit, old runners, life jackets and helmets and wading upstream through raging gorge streams, stopping only to jump into a few deep (and very cold) pools along the way. Actually, I don’t think the streams are usually raging – which is why the YHA organisers said it was safe for kids over 6 to go – but after several days of torrential rain, they were pumping.

A couple of smaller kids from another group were terrified from the first moment of setting foot in the icy water and, having braved 20 minutes or so, gave up. But our brave Keira and Sophie, both aged only 7 and each weighing less than a cream puff, stuck it out for the full hour or more and went back time and time again to jump into pools from increasingly high rock ledges.

A gorge-scrambling group (not us).

Needless to say we all went home and had hot meals and showers, but it was great fun.

Sadly three days went way too fast but it was certainly better than nothing. And I discovered that I could make a 45-minute phone call from my (borrowed Nokia N9) mobile phone to the kids in Australia using a regular pay-as-you-go Sim card – and it cost barely more than a pound sterling.

Next stop was Wales and we barely got through before flooding closed a few roads, but more of that next time.... 

Barely relevant Devonian facts

William of Orange (later William III of England and Holland and King Billy II of Scotland) landed in (invaded) Brixham on 5 Nov 1688 (the day after his 38^th birthday) and declared: “The liberties of Britain and the protestant religion I will maintain.” This is the famous William who married his first cousin Mary II and later defeated Mary’s father James (Britain’s last Catholic monarch) at the Battle of Boyne in 1690. It is one of the few reigns in which both partners were seen as equal rulers. We celebrated Queen Elizabeth’s 60^th jubilee in Brixham, to complete the regal circle.

Parachuting Rat, Banksy-style. 

Brixham has an active Banksy fan who keeps busy adorning local walls with stencilled images copied or inspired by the graffiti artist Banksy.

A 15” naval shell was presented by the National War Saving Committee to the people of Widecombe (on Dartmoor) in 1920 in recognition of their efforts during WWI gathering sphagnum moss for use in the treatment of wounds.

Widecombe-in-the-Moor is the site of the fabled Widecombe Fair, to which “Uncle Tom Cobley and all” rode on the grey mare (see words of song here). There’s a display based on this in a corner of the local church, St Pancras, which also has a poem inscribed on one wall relating the tale of how the church and congregation were struck by lightening one Sunday in 1638, killing several people. The incident was put down to a visitation from Satan himself….

The crew off to Widecome Fair...

Clapper Bridge - eons old - on Dartmoor.

My 'Uncle' Mike's house - also in Devon, and with new roof - decorated for Jubilee.

Tiny grassland flowers, Dartmoor. Saw them in Lake District too.

Playground in Okehampton; a goodie.

Bracken Tor, the YHA house we rented in Devon.

Blighty Pt 1

Aberystwyth in flood, the morning after we arrived.

Rumour has it that the ‘summer’ function failed to install on the UK hard drive and the Bureau of Meteorology recommended “turning it off then turning it on again”. Consequently, after a couple of sunny weeks in May we were thrust back into winter again for a while before the sun returned a few days ago, when the mercury finally hit 20C for the first time in weeks.

Of course, now that summer seems to have found its feet at last*, we now only have a week left in the UK before heading home to work, midwinter, and warring children (‘I feel like all I do when I go home is clean’, complained Rhiannon of her non-house-trained brother – ‘welcome to my world’, I thought). Hmmmmm, so much to look forward to.

Luckily, our travels weren’t too seriously impaired by the weather and we’ve managed to fit walks and sightseeing in the dry bits between storms, which were endured from warm, welcoming friends’ homes and various licensed establishments.

Walking up Winchester Hill with mum and dad.

Our three days on the Isle of Wight, for example, were wonderfully sunny and warm and we swam in the sea twice (surrounded both times by wetsuit-clad locals who looked askance at the weird foreigners). At the time we were more worried about the dangers of Weever / Weaver Fish, for which we’d seen warning signs but without description or details of the actual threat. Did they bite you, brush against you with poisonous tentacles or stab your feet from below?

To be on the safe side, we shuffled into the water and only flapped around for a few minutes before retreating once more. So much for the tough, fearless Aussies…

Bumblebee at work.

http://www.marine-conservation.org.uk/weaverfish.html



One of the fritillary butterflies.



Keeping up the colonial spirit, we tried to redeem ourselves by laughing in the face of bumblebees, sauntering past squirrels and even walking past a hornets nest (before we were told what it was, anyway).

It seems the British countryside is under threat from all manner of attack – mites that defoliate Horse Chestnut trees, phytophthera fungi that is killing off spruce trees – and there is much concern about the apparent imbalance in the bird populations: some raptors have doubled in numbers while sparrows are scarce and we noticed far more finches than normal. Lovely to look at but no-one can quite figure out why some species have see such monumental population shifts.

At the cricket with Nick and Abi

However it was wonderful getting my feet back on chalk downs; they felt right at home there among the cowslips and bluebells, and we even saw a few orchids. The Needles on the Isle of Wight were surprisingly impressive and even the painfully touristy bits were good in their own way.

One wonderful discovery we’ve made on this return visit is how much English pub and restaurant food has improved. Local food producers are well supported by both shops and restaurants and, as a result, a lot of newcomers have joined the movement, making great cheeses, smoking locally grown meat and fish, keeping bees, growing a wider range of vegetables, fruit and herbs and making lots of interesting condiments as well as yummy meals. As we’ve noticed in Australia, this has been matched by a renewed interest in heritage breeds of cattle and varieties of fruit and veg, and in ‘rural’ crafts, such as coppicing timber, hedge laying and dry-stone walling.

A great beer-veg swap idea...

A map on the wall of a pub we loved in Godshill (IoW) showed how far all the produce used in the kitchen had travelled, which included eggs from chickens 20m away in the back garden up to 8.5 miles, which was how  far the lobster and crab had come from the harbour.

Fixing my gardening addiction with Claire.

Having just planted out my first garden allotment in Australia, I was interested to see the many different allotment schemes around England, most of which have larger plots of land but fewer shared assets.

I was disappointed with the Australasian section of Wisley gardens though, which has a few Eucalyptus trees, an Alyogyne, a couple of grevilleas and some NZ pittosporums, but the rest of the garden was excellent. Callistemon (bottlebrushes) and grevilleas are by far the most common Aussie plants to be seen in gardens, with a few scaevola in hanging baskets.

Stowell Park with Neil.

Poor John has been dragged around many gardens over the past few weeks, all with good grace and only occasional frustration. On the Isle of Wight we visited a National Trust-run property that has been experimenting with growing warmer climate and southern hemisphere plants in preparation for climate change; in the Cotswolds we were given a personal tour of Stowell Park’s gorgeous hilltop garden by Lady Vestey’s head gardener, Neil (the walled kitchen garden includes five 20m-long rows of asparagus – droooool); and up in Alnwick (pronounced Annick, apparently) we explored the relatively new garden created by the Duchess of Northumberland, which is set up as a charity and includes dozens of water features and a poison garden. Add to that all our friends’ gardens and dozens of hedgerows, woodlands, coastal downs and moors, and we’ve seen a fair range of Britain’s spring and early summer vegetation on this trip.

Silver leaf.

Great to see British wildflowers in such profusion, both in the wild and within gardens.

OK I’ll end here and add in some photos, then in future blogs I’ll describe some of the other beautiful corners we’ve explored – the Cotswolds, Wales, Devon, the Lake District and Norfolk – plus some of our general observations on how the UK is evolving after being away for seven years.

Butterfly orchid.

The nudist end of Sandown Beach, IoW.

Flags out for Jubilee celebrations, Burford.

Asparagus patch, walled garden, Stowell Park.

VE Day in France

Looking east along the coast from Marseille

So the biggest surprise about France was that Ryanair got us there without incident. On time, in fact, although you’d be hard-pressed to be delayed leaving Zadar airport, which hosts no more than half a dozen flights a day, it seems. We were flight number one and our departure left the terminal building desolate.

Mind you, the spectacle of nearly 200 people trying to secure their spot on a plane that has no allocated seating and discourages checked-in baggage is a sight to behold: like an emergency evacuation in reverse. Leaving France on an EasyJet flight a few days’ later was a similar experience, except EasyJet is even less fussy about what you take on as hand luggage. Chaos.

John and I were glad each time that we had small-ish, flexible bags that could be stowed at our feet.

Flying into Marseilles was a delight. It’s only a short hop with 30-45 minutes at altitude so, with the clear visibility and a window seat that we had, you can see all the detail of the landscapes you’re crossing, from the islands along the Dalmatian Coast to the snow-capped alps of northern Italy and southern Switzerland on to individual towns along the Cote D’Azur.

OK I now need to interrupt this program to make a party political broadcast on behalf of Australia’s Transport User’s Network.

AUSTRALIA NEEDS SOME DECENT FAST TRAINS.



Bike rack on TGV



There – I’ve said it. We’ve got the gorgeous Ghan and the superb Trans Pacific routes but it’s the terrain they cross that makes them wonderful. Our pathetic attempt at fast, inter-city trains can be seen for what they are – pathetic – when you’ve experienced the speed and efficiency of the French system. Even the tram we later caught out to Lyon airport on our departure was faster than most Australian trains.

Despite being hampered by rusty French that hasn’t had an airing in decades we were able to find our way around, buy direct tickets to the tiny country town as directed by my old school friend, Fay, (and have all the changes and transfers explained in English with a smile), plus you could set your watch by the trains’ departure times.

The first train even had free WiFi at first – although of course it dropped out just as I was about to ‘send’ my note to Fay telling her which train we were on….

Consequently we arrived in Tour Du Pin without her phone number, with only email for means of contact, only to find the town was closed. Mondays are quiet at the best of times in France, but it was also May 7 and, with May 8 a national holiday to mark the end of WWII in Europe, many shops had closed for a long weekend – including the biggest hotel. OK, a couple of cafés were open, plus the Post Office and one Tabac, but everyone raised their hands in horror and confusion when I asked either for Internet access or directions to Fay’s village, Izieu. (It was only 30km away but in another region, so effectively doesn’t exist, apparently.)

Fay's house in Izieu

After an hour or two of traipsing around the town  we gave up and went to the pub (what else?), where we were finally saved by a lovely Madame who phoned directory inquiries for Fay’s number then let us use her phone to call Fay, too. And we were met within the hour.

Amazing how, after more than 30 years of lost contact, the recognition was instant and friendship kicked off again as if it was only a year or two apart.

We collected her two youngest children, Felix and Isabel, from school on the way home and by the end of the day has also enjoyed a tour of her partner Jean-Michael’s dairy farm and been introduced to the delights of his brother Denis’s cellar-door wine sales. As the last customers of the day, we were plied with champagne until the bottle was empty. To complement this, John-Michael makes his own brie-style cheeses, so Fay has a pretty tough life.

With Fay and Denis in the wine cellar

Their village is a stunning collection of stone buildings set around a lush valley filled with wildflowers and vertical limestone escarpments that rise up to offer magnificent views of the Rhone River and snowy French Alps beyond. No matter which way you look, you are met with breathtaking views that were especially green after quite a wet spring.

On Tuesday morning, after a lazy breakfast, we drove up to the main village for the May 8 ceremony, which involved John-Michael and his voluntary fire brigade colleagues marching down from the village hall to the cenotaph outside the church, where the Mayor laid a floral tribute before making an inspiring speech (well, it sounded impressive in French) and inviting everyone back to the hall for Denis’s wine plus cheese, coffee and snacks. Half the kids in the village are cousins of Claude, Isobel and Felix, and the rest are former school friends, so it’s all very cosy. Fay’s mum lives in the village too, but we failed to meet up with her on our stay.

May 8 ceremony at Izieu

Later we wandered up the lane for a walk that had me in seventh heaven as we kept discovering new orchids and other wildflowers (wild pinks, geraniums, lesser periwinkle, rock roses, wild strawberries, vetches, broom, daisies, St Bernard’s Lily, grape and tassel hyacinths, Solomon’s Seal and globularia, which is far prettier than it sounds) and even saw a slow worm before we emerged on the edge of the escarpment and spent a while picking out what we could see.

That afternoon we went off to a local market where second-hand bikes were on sale and Fay found 'new' bikes for herself and both children, which they proceeded to ride up and down the street for ages, scattering the cats (there are nine - all gorgeous but not too keen on strangers).

The new bikes.

Felix and Isabel on the cliff overlooking their house



The next day we’d been due to leave but I stuffed up booking our flights out of Lyon (put in wrong date) so we had an extra day and decided to go into Lyon for the day. Fay and the children all have Wednesdays off so joined us but we decided to stay in a hotel that night and go straight to airport from there in the morning, rather than go back to Fay’s (Felix told us off for wasting money and said he’d gladly sleep in a tent, which was sweet of him.)

 

Kids were a bit fed up with walking at this stage...



We had a brilliant table d’hote fixed menu meal at a place near the hotel then wandered through the old city, which is riddled with old alleyways and apartment blocks set around hidden courtyards. There are also lots of quirky bits of architecture and figurines on buildings and unusual shops and buildings as well as grand vistas, so it was lots of fun to explore. Dozens of ice cream shops, too, so we had to try a few. 

Felix and Isabel outside a 'witch shop'



Finally we parted company in the evening after a lovely day and feeling radiant after such a brilliant catch up and walked back along the river (Rhone or Soane? – we crossed both and I kept getting them mixed up) to our hotel near the university.

(When we’d first booked in we were told the website had made a double booking – it’s fifth in two days – and there were no rooms left, but somehow the Madame found us a place, bless her.)

Flight was uneventful except the cloud cover kicked in around Paris and was thick fog by the time we reached the UK – and didn’t lift until the weekend. C’est la vie (en Angleterre…).

Managed to find our way by train to Fareham, which is nearest station to Mum and Dad, and quite impressed by helpful train staff, although each of the three trains we took was delayed, at least they let us know what was going on and all were clean and warm.

WONDERFUL to see mum and dad waiting for us at Fareham, and we’ve been here about a week now, catching up with family, friends and making plans to see others, while rejoicing in the everyday things such as checking out the latest yogurt flavours in Sainsbury, remembering all the garden birds and spring wildflowers that I haven’t seen in years, and trying to pick a newspaper that actually has something interesting to read.

Annie and Rob

We also had a HUGE night at my cousin and his wife’s combined 50^th (plus 10^th wedding anniversary), which was lots of fun and the key event we’d been setting our timetable around.

Annie and Renee doing my nails...

More on that later – loving the green. Going out for dins tonight – walk this morning along the Itchen navigation – so beautiful…..

After the May 8 ceremony

View towards Fay's house from her mum's

Fay and John on escarpment

Orchids in Izieu

Well in central courtyard, Lyon

Two of Fay's nine cats

Detail of Lyon Carousel

John's new suit, took a lot of hours to find! 

Felix and Isabel by Punch and Judy display

View of Alps from Fay's 'hill'

Table d'hote meal, Lyon