B&B
by Rach
from Brighton to Blackmoor, England via Alton
We wake on the beachfront road at Brighton; the sun is shining, sky blue, sea rippling, gulls squawking.
At the end of the day we will be pulling in to a forested glade, the grounds of a Lord Chancellor’s estate. We’ll be parking right next to a mansion designed by an eminent-at-the-time architect, we’ll stroll through the gardens, around the carp-filled pond, cartwheel across the lawns, admire trees and vistas, observe rabbit and badger activity, marvel at the one-acre walled vegetable garden (now overgrown, but once providing work for forty gardeners)….and we’ll wonder which of these things Winston Churchill saw when he came out for a spot of R&R during the war! We’ll go in to the main part of the manor-house, now divided into twelve apartments and four houses. Jboy14 notices the fireplace nook alone is bigger than our motorhome!!! This was one big place. Paintings of regal-looking men and women stare down from their high-on-the-wall positions. It’s like visiting a museum – except that people live here – today! Our hosts live in the stables and coach house, which they have converted to modern living whilst sympathetically retaining period features. It feels entirely authentic and completely surreal all at the same time. If you happen to be in these parts and would like to live in such a history-rich home, you have the opportunity – it’s on the market – take a look HERE (you can also have a look if you are just nosey and would like to see some really good photos of what an awesome place we stayed at!)
In between these two experiences was some driving (more of those little lanes and frequent villages and rural beauty – and, of course, a wrong turning that took us down a VERY narrow lane!) and lots of and lots and lots of family meeting. Grandpa had told us there was a cousin in Alton, who would appreciate meeting us if we were here. Apart from assuming (wrongly) that he’d be about fifty (cousins can’t be Grandpa’s age, can they?), I had no mental image at all. Well, blow me down if it wasn’t Grandpa’s other brother who greeted us! Even their mannerisms and the way they hold their hands was the same – such family resemblance. Later in the day Cousin M’s daughter would appear – and SHE looks just like Grandpa’s Brother’s Daughter. Strong genes.
Over the course of the afternoon we met so many families we got ourselves completely tangled in the web of relationships and had to write a family tree. At the end of it all we were amazed to think that everyone we met that day were all relations in one way or another – even the ones, who, three days ago, had not even known they had family in New Zealand and were being invited to come and meet a dozen of them!
We met no-longer-living family too. Grandpa had told us a war-time story about how he had in boyish ignorance complimented one of the ladies they were living with: She had skin more olive than she would have liked and jet black hair cut in a bob with a straight fringe giving her a very Japanese appearance, especially in one particular photograph she had had taken. Boy Grandpa pointed this out well-meaningly, but the fact was not so well received. Anyway, we walk into Cousin M’s brother’s house, just a short hop up the road, and there is a photo on a cabinet. A beautiful lady with powdered skin and hair cut in a bob with a straight fringe is smiling in her frame.
”This looks like your description of the Aunty E photo,” I comment to Grandpa.
”It IS the Aunty E photo,” he gasps, “The very same one!”
It was just like meeting Aunty E. We already knew she was a character. She knew exactly what was on her mind – and so did everyone else. Opinionated, you might say. She dished out disapproval readily, but received it less well. She certainly disapproved of game-hunting and when the local hunt was on would put old meat bones around to throw the dogs off the trail. Now we could put a face to the stories.
On the stories flowed.
And in sharing the past we connected with these people in the present.
Time on the road: need to check Jboy13’s record!
Distance covered: 135km
Tags: grandpa's stories, history, postcard: England
rayres
So pretty!