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another saturday turns late

Saturday, July 4th, 2009

by Rachael
Telford, England

When the day dawns bright and clear and you’re in Stratford-Upon-Avon, there is really only one thing to do.

row boats
high hopes

perfect day
swans sway

stone bridges
green hedges

church steeple
happy people

co-operation
oars in motion

lost hat
can’t get back
never mind
left behind
glide along
nothing’s wrong

water splash
racing dash

recreation
oars right in motion

Of course, we needed to pay homage to The Bard as well at one of the coolest monuments we’ve come across – even the flowers hold special significance.

Only two days before in the late afternoon everyone had walked around the very quiet town, taking photos of Shakespeare’s birthplace and generally enjoying. Today it was completely different, although still enjoyable. There were hundreds of people everywhere. We couldn’t even get close to The House, let alone take unpopulated photos. The streets were milling with throngs of visiting folks. Musicians of a wide variety lent a festive air to the occasion of a Summer Saturday in Stratford. There was a carnival atmosphere and we would not have been surprised to see Romeo and Juliet strolling the streets (had their story turned out more favourably for them). Massive flower displays added colour, and we enjoyed some more.

Time to drive on, satisfied that The Day’s Detour has already been completed (this time on the water in search of a hat-about-to-sink having been blown off a little head). But no! When the Bear Cave’s exhaust pipe breaks in two, you definitely take a second detour! Details would make for less than exciting reading (it certainly was no fun trying to find somewhere open and able to help at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon in a place where we didn’t even know where we were!!!!!! Turned out to be Birmingham). Most places were closed without intention of opening before Monday. Open garages could only make suggestions and give false leads. Eventually Mr Fix-It worked his magic in a parking spot beside a gas station, remedying the problem himself with some hastily-purchased not-intended-for-exhaust-repair spare parts. Word of advice: If you’re going to buy an ancient vehicle to travel in, make sure you have permanent access to a Competent Handyman. You’ll need him!

Second word of advice: carry an emergency supply of instant potato, tinned vegetables and tinned stew. You’ll eventually have an emergency big enough to consider using the supply. We did. In that parking spot beside the gas station. Before heading off across Birmingham.

In an effort to avoid a toll road, Mr GPS took us for a tiki-tour of the city. Suddenly gone were the leafy lanes and quaint villages. We were in the other side of England. No rugby supporters here; just soccer supporters – signs of Aston Villa and West Bromwich Albion made that all too evident. It still strikes me as amusing that the posh in Britain follow the barbaric game while the working class are in favour of the genteel game!

Anyway, the hanging baskets of flowers and front gardens disappeared. Replaced with boarded up windows, when they weren’t simply broken. Security cameras encased in steel cages. Rubbish on the road. Peeling paint. Falling-over fences. Gone were the Industrial Estates set apart from the residential parts of town that we had been commenting on in previous days – here the houses crowded around the factories like cottages around a church in medieval times. Gone were the Prince of Wales pubs offering Sunday Carvery. In their place were Chopishop, Roti Junction, Halal Meat and Shaht Kabab right opposite “The Frightened Horse” (easy to see why he was scared!) For hair design, there was Bollywood Styles, and for the fashion-conscious, Exclusive Ladies Sarees and Scarves, Naresh Jewellers and Jandu Textiles. To pay for it all, you could visit the Bank of India or Punjab National Bank. If things turned nasty, there were Ahmed’s Solicitors, Doctor Ashok or Asian Funeral Directors, depending how bad it got. Yes, with a mosque there on the same street as all these offerings, we were transported to the Far East, the Middle East, and deepest Africa. There was not one white face to be seen. This is not to say that non-whites don’t appreciate gardens or fresh paint, or that no whites litter their streets. I’m just recording what we saw this day. For over an hour we drove through the suburbs; she’s a big town is Birmingham.

Eventually our temporary culture change was over and we found ourselves back in the now-familiar rural lanes.  All the way to Telford. We were supposed to visit the bridge….but it really was too late! We’d seen a nice sunset though.

(Every Saturday that we have been on the road has ended up a late night – no matter how hard we have tried to arrive in a timely fashion at our destination. Every single one!)

Time on the road: need to check Jboy13’s record!
Distance covered: 140km

introducing…….

Thursday, July 2nd, 2009

Jgirl14’s story, based on Grandpa’s young-boy wartime exploits, and most probably incorporating the experiences of other people she has had opportunity to interview whilst on this trip as well. People like extended family, who provide another slant to the same stories; people like our couchsurfing host’s mother in Bath, who had an altogether different wartime life, and whose letters received from her parents are now in a London museum (even – or perhaps especially – the ones with portions cut out of them – that’s  censorship for you).

Here’s Draft One of Chapter One.

Anticipation

He sat rigid, waiting expectantly.
“Would today be the long-awaited day?”
As footfall sounded on the stairs, excitement mounted in Rupert’s heart. A woman walked briskly into the square sunlit room. Tenderly she lifted the light brown knit teddy bear off the bed and placed him on the chest of drawers.
Standing back, she regarded the appearance of the much loved teddy. Stuffing was falling out in tufts from a hole in his head, onto the bear’s embroidered face. And hanging on by a single thread was his right arm.
“Ah, Rupert, by looks it is about time to do your head and arm a favour. Joe will be happy, no doubt. When I’ve secured your limbs he needn’t fear for losing a part of you during his rambles.” Whilst talking to the teddy for company, the woman had been stripping the bed of its mantle. The task now completed, the bed was left to air.
Washday! Rupert loved this day of the week. The smell of soap, boiling water and, at the end of the day, crisp dry linen appealed to him. The only time Rupert was led to dislike washday was when he himself was given a scrub, but thankfully that was not often.
Rupert leaned back against one of many jam jars, which Joseph used for transporting tadpoles and the like, which was at present, empty.
Down in the garden he could hear the woman, Joseph’s mother, dunking the sheets, scrubbing vigorously, and finally hanging them out to dry.
He listened further; but he only heard the feeble cheeping of a bird, and his mind wandered, sleep overtaking him in spite of the early hour.
Rupert awoke to the sensation of being pulled together. The kind industrious lady was sewing him together with such tight stiches that he felt quite new.
“Wonderful! Maybe, now that I’m more respectable looking, just maybe Joe might tell me all about his latest adventure. Or even better still, he might take me along with him so we can share the excitement again.”
The door opened and in walked a boy. He was of medium height for his nine years and had a mop of red hair. In one hand he held a net and in the other, a pair of dripping wet gumboots.
“Mum, you know the stream that runs through the fields behind our house? Well it’s the best in all of England!” Joseph said, puddles following him across the floor.
“And why’s that?” asked his mother, tying off the wool.
“Because it is swimming with the most tadpoles I’ve ever seen. I hope you don’t mind, but I caught some.”
Joseph’s mother looked up sharply.
“Its all right mum, I put ’em in the tin bath,” Joseph reassured her.
Quickly she asked, “Did you change the water?”
“No, just popped ’em straight in.” Joseph sounded rather pleased.
“Joe,” his mother said in a sober voice, “the water in the bath was all soapy from washing clothes. I don’t think your tadpoles will survive.”
Immediately Joseph stopped grinning. Had he spent all afternoon catching the tadpoles, only to kill them in a tub of soapy water?
“Shall I go and fish them out?” he asked.
“I suspect it’s too late. I’ll tip the water out later. Here,” she handed Rupert to him. “He’s all sewn up for you.”
“Thanks Mum. I think that is the last time you will need to sew him up.”

Picking up his favourite section of the “Daily Express” from the table as he wandered past, Joseph carried both treasures up to the bedroom, which he shared with his older brothers, Ronald and Peter. Joseph threw Rupert up in the air and watched as the bear landed with a slight bounce on the double bed.
Opening the paper, Joseph started to read ‘Rupert the Bear’, a comic strip about a white bear named Rupert.
Now Joseph’s Rupert was in no way related to ‘Rupert the Bear’, but Ronald, who had enjoyed reading about the real Rupert’s adventures, had started to call Joseph’s teddy bear Rupert when Joseph was a baby. And though he didn’t even look like the newspaper Rupert, the name had stuck.
Joseph looked up from the paper and gazed at his teddy who had accompanied him on so many adventures and who he had snuggled every night since he couldn’t remember when. Picking Rupert up, he seemed to stand for an endless while and then declared, “You look a sight better than this morning!”
Rupert felt the old excitement rekindle. He had hoped Joseph would notice.
“But old chap,” Joseph paused, then continued slowly, “I’m getting too old to be seen with you.”
Rupert’s little teddy heart sank, a sense of abandonment filling it. “If only we could go on one last adventure,” he thought. Even though he had known this day was coming, it was hard to console himself now that it had arrived.

Someone entered the room, causing Joseph to look up.
“Oh it’s you, Ronald,” Joseph said, still holding the bear.
Ronald smiled at his youngest brother. Although there was a six year gap between them, both were very close, as was the whole family.

“It’s about time you said farewell to that bear of yours.”
“Not farewell.” Joseph jumped up. “I just won’t…drag him through the mud with me, shall we say.”

Rupert felt a little hopeful upon hearing this.

“There’s always the possibility that Joseph might still tell me about his adventures. That would be almost as good as being there. And certainly better than not knowing anything,” he thought.
“I understand. But will you still take him to bed with you?” enquired Ronald.

“No…I’m getting too old, aren’t I?”

Ronald nodded. Giving Rupert one last look Joseph said, “Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed all the fun we have had together,” and with that he placed his dearly loved companion on the shelf and turned to Ronald.
“Guess what happened today.”

“I couldn’t. So many things happen to you it’s not funny,” replied Ronald.
“Well I caught some tadpoles…” Joseph could be heard recounting his latest adventure as they walked together down the stairs. Hard on each other’s heels they passed into the living room. As the footstep echoes died away, Rupert, finding himself engulfed in the silence, slowly realized he would now have plenty of time to savour the memories of his life- so-far. And so he laid his head back, closed his embroidered eyes and began to remember.

**DETOUR**

Thursday, July 2nd, 2009
by Rachael Stratford-Upon-Avon, England I wonder how many of our blog readers think we are exaggerating when we say we have at least one detour every day! Today we had three; two due to wrong turnings on our part and here’s ... [Continue reading this entry]

*university*

Wednesday, July 1st, 2009
by a linguistics graduate Bath, England That Bath is a university town was particularly apparent today – hundreds of black-gowned graduates were out on display, marching the streets, proudly clutching their certificates. It seemed an appropriate place to check out second-hand ... [Continue reading this entry]

what else could we fit in today?

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009
by Rachael Bath, England Last night Rob crashed on the none-too-comfortable certainly-not-big-enough-for-him seat at the back of the Bear Cave…..and did not move for half an hour. Eventually he mentioned to no-one in particular, “I can’t keep this up!” Our preferred pattern ... [Continue reading this entry]

living history

Monday, June 29th, 2009
by Rachael Weston-super-mare, England via Clovelly He used to cycle out to this little beachside town back in the day. Way back when, the street was so steep it was closed to vehicular traffic; only donkeys and sledges plied the cobblestones. ... [Continue reading this entry]

of friendly folks and age-old legends

Saturday, June 27th, 2009
by one of the drivers, who is wondering when the roads will widen Tintagel, England She is wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Never mind that a gale is blowing across the fields; it is summer and one wears shorts in summer ... [Continue reading this entry]

one fish, two fish…cornish pasty

Friday, June 26th, 2009
by Rach, again St Austell, England I can see why he was disappointed. It had cute buildings and Cornish pasties and cream tea (scones with jam and thick clotted cream), but the character of days-gone-by was diluted by the rampant commercialisation ... [Continue reading this entry]

B&B

Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
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, ... [Continue reading this entry]

the day aunty arrived from new zealand

Monday, June 22nd, 2009
by sister-in-law, Rachael Brighton Beachfront, England Will every blogpost from England say, “It was just so beautiful, so green, so cute, so storybook”??? Just take a look at the pictures:

[Continue reading this entry]