It’s 4.10am. We’re at the airport. We might be here a tad early – there’s 3 hours to our flight to Paris. Yes we’re flying to Paris… and from there to Japan. I still can’t believe it but here I am at the airport so it must be true. Hopefully I’ll find something to blog about and if I do you’ll be the first to know.
And we’re off…
Did I tell you that I don’t want to go to any more war museums or aircraft museums or army museums…? To me they are places to go if you want to be sad. Denis loves them and so he was really excited when he saw that we would be passing very close to the Imperial War Museum on our route home. For the first time I asked him why is he so excited about going to a place where you see lots of machines for killing people. He was a little taken aback by my question. He sees the bravery of pilots and the technological advances of engineering that made these machines escape gravity and fly where I see death.
It interests me when anyone (even my husband!) is excited about something. As a socially uncomfortable introvert I need all the hacks I can get to lower the level of discomfort I often feel when talking to people in a social setting. I always put too much energy into the conversation and try really hard to cheer everyone up or tell them something interesting. My less uncomfortable friends tell me this is not necessary. All I need to do is ask the other person about themselves.
How hard could it be to ask someone about themselves? Unfortunately, I have somehow got it into my mind that asking someone about themselves is an invasion of privacy. Is it covered by GDPR? What if I ask some I’ve just met where they are from and they think I’m going to follow them home? Or write them long newsy letters? If I ask them what they work at, will they think I’m being nosey? Or shallow? While I’m wondering these things my level of anxiety increases but I smile bravely, so that they are not alarmed. And silence follows.
I think I mentioned a lady talking to me in the supermarket queue when we were in Bury St. Edmonds, didn’t I? She was a very chatty person. I had no anxious thoughts, thankfully, after all it wasn’t what I would consider a social occasion. She wasn’t expecting much from me and the odd nod and smile was enough. And maybe that was why I was brave and actually asked her a question. At some point in the conversation she said, “I must be bored I’m sorry I’m chatting your head off” and I asked her what she liked to do when she wasn’t bored.
She paused for only a moment. Then her face lit up with a smile and she told me all about her garden and her grandchildren playing in her garden. Her happy energy made me smile too and we might have been there still except the Tesco cashier said, “next please”. We waved to each other as I left the shop and she made me think I could – maybe – crack the social anxiety.
The thing someone loves about their life is magical, just talking about it has the potential to change their energy. And not just their energy, ours too. And that’s why I went to the Imperial War Museum. It wasn’t too bad, I only felt sad when I saw the empty bag of fertiliser in the Northern Ireland exhibit. Denis didn’t see it, he saw lots of technology and really loved it.
Summary: People are very interesting in the way they love different things. Encouraging someone to talk about the thing they love can have magical effects. Query: What do you love?
Urban Huttleston Rodgers Broughton (also known as Lord Fairhaven) bought Anglesey Abbey with his brother in 1926, he continued to live in the house after his brother had married and moved out. In 1966 when he died he left the house, its contents and the gardens to the National Trust.
The library is upstairs at the end of a long corridor. It has high ceilings and lots of books but the first thing you see as you enter the door is a huge painting on the wall opposite. It’s a John Constable original called The Opening of Waterloo Bridge, from 1817.
I hadn’t noticed the painting when I first walked in but a volunteer in the Wardrobe Project told me to go back and have a look when I said I found it very interesting that the the wooden shelves with the books are made from salvaged wood… from the Waterloo Bridge. I didn’t check but I’m guessing the bridge needed updating after a hundred years of service and Urban was looking for wood. But maybe he was also interested in recycling? A man ahead of his time? But there’s something else that’s interesting about the library – the window.
A different volunteer asked me if I’d heard about the window, no I hadn’t. So she walked me to one end of the room and pulled back the curtain. Do you see the signatures? No. No way, yes I do… is that…? Urban was very friendly with royalty, the late queen and the present king included. And here scratched on the glass were their signatures.
The Wardrobe Project involves cleaning all 12,000 pieces of Urban’s clothing using a very particular vacuum cleaner that can be set to gentle with a very odd attachment – a goat haired brush. After cleaning each piece of clothing is tagged with a six digit inventory code which is printed on a label and stitched to the piece of clothing. And two of the people involved were vacuuming what looked like plus-four trousers when I walked into the room. I wanted to ask questions but they had more than enough to be doing with the cleaning.
As I mentioned in the previous post my favourite part of the house was the kitchen because it was full of familiar old things. Like the red melamine table and chairs set – we had one of those when I was little!
And the fairy soap? Ok we didn’t have the soap but we had (and I still use) fairy washing up liquid. And the weighing scales with the individual weights? The grocery shop in our street used a weighing scales with weights to weight out biscuits and cheese.
The kitchen was made up of a few different rooms downstairs and it was the last section of the house visit. Next was out into the gardens. I had already walked by the lawn and forested section but now I was on my way to the Dahlia garden. There seemed to be a lot of interest in the Dahlias, so I considered skipping them but I’m glad I didn’t.
Visiting the Dahlia Garden reminded me of something long forgotten… I almost bought dahlia bulbs to plant in the garden when I was a young Mum. They were so vibrant and colourful and something about planting an ugly bulb that would surprise me by growing into something beautiful caught my attention. But as soon as I read the bit on the instructions where you have to dig them up at the end of their season and replant the following year I put them back. Knowing I would forget to dig them up and then feel guilty when they died had put me off.
The bed of dahlias were first planted in 1952, there are 60 varieties and contain all the colours of the rainbow plus white. They are hidden behind a hedge and set in a curve so that you only see one or two colours at a time as you approach. There’s a quote from Urban on the information board, “The subtle thing about garden design is that no one can resist seeing what happens around a curve.”
I was taking lots of close up photos when I heard a couple chatting… to the flowers? There are full time gardeners employed here at Anglesey Abbey and one of them was in among the flowers, deadheading. The couple were talking to him and asking about taking up the bulbs at the end of the season. There’s no way they dig up the bulbs from all these flowers. Is there? And if they don’t dig up the bulbs then maybe I could give dahlias another chance.
It turns out they don’t exactly dig up the bulbs… they dig up pots. They plant each new bulb in a pot and plant the pot in the garden. Then at the end of the season they dig up the pots with the bulbs still in and store pot and bulb in the (potting?) shed until next year.
Summary: Lord Fairhaven (Urban) was a man before his time. Interested in recycling, garden design, reading and long lasting clothing, he had lots of friends and he let the royal ones graffiti his windows. Query: Will the Dahlias die if I don’t dig them up?
The house had originally been an Augustinian priory but was closed by Henry VIII (remember the same happened at Bury St. Edmunds?) and a local farmer had kept his cows in what was now the dining room. It’s the oldest part of the house and remained intact even its vaulted ceiling. Awkward place to have a dining table but I can imagine this room would definitely inspire good conversation.
We arrived in the car park of Anglesey Abbey at lunchtime and I headed off to walk about half a mile down the drive to call at the house first. It was due to close at 2.30pm and I didn’t want to miss it. The car park had been almost full but on the other side of the visitor centre there was little evidence of a crowd as I passed huge lawns on one side and dark paths through the trees on the other. I may have been in a hurry to begin with but nature conspired to slow me down.
Have I mentioned that at each house I have visited the first question the volunteer asks at the door is, Have you been round before? The same very specific wording and every time reminds me that this is somewhere people come back to again and again. And I can believe that, particularly about this house. There’s a lot here and it feels very cosy and lived in. My favourite part was the kitchens because they were so familiar. I’ll have to leave them, the Dahlia garden, the library window and the Wardrobe Project for another post.
The first room I walked into was the Living Room where afternoon tea was served at 5pm… unfortunately not today. Mathew, the horologist, was in attendance taking apart and cleaning a huge pineapple twirling clock. He had come all the way from Yorkshire and had already spent hours on this particular piece. I was in time to hear it chiming as he put the last little pineapple section on top. (Note: disappointingly, afternoon tea finished in 1966.)
It was while I was in the Living Room I heard the volunteer mention to another visitor that the family had made their money from sewage. It may not be entirely true but there was sewage involved. It is a love story and a little complicated…
Urban Huttleston Rodgers Broughton’s father (also called Urban, unfortunately) was a British civil engineer who worked for/with Issac Shone. Issac invented the hydro pneumatic sewage system (installed in the British Houses of Parliament). Urban’s father went over to America to install this same system in the house of the millionaire, Henry Rodgers, who was the Vice President of Standard Oil (remember ESSO?) While there Urban’s dad fell in love with Henry Rodgers’ daughter and they got married. When Urban was 13 his grandfather (the Standard Oil millionaire) died and Urban’s mother inherited $12.5 million and the family moved to the UK.
Urban (the Urban who owned this house) is also know as the 1st Lord Fairhaven and he is responsible for filling Anglesey Abbey and gardens with beauty and interest. In 1926, when he was 30, he and his brother Henry bought the house because it was close to their stud farm and the horse racing track at Newmarket. At the time they made an agreement that when either one of them married the other would buy out his share of the house. And that’s just what they did when Henry married in 1932. Urban remained in the house until he died in 1966. He bequeathed the house and its contents to the National Trust.
I spent fours hours wandering around listening to stories of visits from the queen who was a friend, reading the information boards and soaking up the gardens. Literally, the moment I got back to the van the heavens opened and the rain lashed down. Such a magical place and I’m so glad I got the opportunity to visit. Thank you, Urban!
Summary: Falling in love with a millionaire’s daughter can make a big difference to the lives of your future children. A guy called Urban who was friends with the late queen and the present King created a beautiful place where anyone can now visit. There’s money in oil and sewage… not sure about the sewage.
Query: Would you give your house and all your treasures for future visitors to wander around in after you’re dead?
If you enjoyed reading maybe you’ll like my Permission Cards www.permission.cards.
On Wednesday we enquired about staying overnight in the car park of a pub called the Buck Inn. The arrangement for staying was to buy a meal and the menu looked good so we reserved a table and a parking spot and drove to a place called Flixton near the village of Bungay in the county of Suffolk. We still hadn’t found gas but as we were eating out, we probably wouldn’t need it.
We pulled into the car park in the late afternoon and Denis noticed that right next door was The Norfolk and Suffolk Aviation Museum. We went to have a look. Unfortunately… they were closing and they wouldn’t be open again until Saturday. Like the National Trust, this museum was run by volunteers so the hours are restricted to volunteer hours. But they took pity on us (as we wouldn’t be here on Saturday) and said we could wander in after 9am the following morning as there would be someone working there. That sorted we went back to the van and Denis set about doing some work.
That’s when we realised the roaming phone data (for internet connection) was non existent. Never mind, the pub had wifi, we went in, ordered coffees from the really friendly staff and started work. But the wifi was disturbingly slow and the acoustics (from the small group of people present) were disturbingly unpleasant. I went back to the data free van and read a book – paper. Around 7pm we went for dinner and it was very good. There were two other couples in the dining room but I don’t like crowds so no complaints from me. Our young server commiserated with us about the data problem, he said he lived up the road and it was just as bad there.
Next morning I convinced Denis I’d rather clean the van than go to the museum so he went along on his own and really enjoyed it. He says it was huge and there were lots of people working on different projects and they were all very friendly. There was also a shop selling souvenirs and books. He said he could have spent a full day in there and not seen everything. Admission is by donation.
And then it was time to get the gas. Denis had rung a garage and the nice lady said she had gas at the moment but there was no way of knowing if she’d have it by the time we arrived. You see there’s no gauge… to tell if there was any LPG in their tank. They only knew for sure when it ran out and then they would ring the gas company but it could take a week for a delivery. Well that did explain why we were having difficulty – we were just unlucky. Fingers crossed this garage wouldn’t have run out. And it hadn’t! Well it hadn’t run out of gas but it had run out of petrol and diesel!
We were starting to think that the time warp of the first few days was back and we were now in the petrol strikes of the 1970’s. I think that’s when we decided it was time to call it a day and go home. We were still a long way from the ferry and I was glad of that because I was looking forward to seeing many more National Trust sites. Maybe if we lowered our expectations for getting the services we thought we needed for the next few days then all would be well.
Decision made we headed to Anglesey Abbey, Lode, Cambridgeshire, this National Trust site I mentioned last time had been owned by a family who earned their fortune from sewage systems.
Summary: You can be unlucky with LPG gas supplies. Data coverage isn’t great outside cities. Volunteering continues to flourish. A change of perspective can change everything. Query: Is phone data reliable where you live?
Permission Cards Website: www.permission.cards
On Tuesday night we stayed at the campsite in the farm next door to Sutton Hoo. We had been carrying a full tank of grey water and a full cassette (toilet) for too long. We needed to empty everything. We were also running very low on LPG gas and each garage we arrived at had run out. We use gas for heating, for running the fridge, for the oven, the grill and for the essential purpose of making tea. We had stopped using the oven, didn’t even think about the heating and hadn’t seen toast for days. Soon we wouldn’t be able to make tea…
But first things first we needed to check if there was room in the campsite at the farm next door. We found there were spaces sectioned off by hedges around a medium sized field. All but two of the spaces were taken up with motorhomes and caravans.
There was a little shed with a sign saying Reception and lots of little signs about wifi and dog walking. There was also a block of toilets and showers. Unfortunately, there was no one about. It was after 5pm and this is out of season. Denis went looking in vain for a phone number and returned looking glum, saying we would have to travel on.
Something you may not know about me is that my automatic instinct is to give up, rather than to persist. I know this and give myself a hard time for it. Denis also knows this and naturally thought I would agree to move on. I didn’t. There was nothing I could do about the gas here but there was no way I was going to accompany that grey and black water another mile. (All distance is in miles in the UK.)
Ignoring politeness Denis tugged the shed door open and was rewarded with a wall full of more signs, including, a phone number. Helen answered when Denis called and told him she would see us in the morning and to make ourselves comfortable wherever we found a space. Oh and she told him where the empty water points were too. Can you imagine the excitement?
You might not be able to imagine the excitement if you are more familiar with just the magical flush of a toilet when everything disappears and refills with clean water. Or if you pull the plug and the dish water swirls down the sink. Imagine if it stopped though? I find the whole sewage concept really interesting and as synchronicity would have it, the next National Trust house I visited had been owned by a family who earned their fortune from sewage management. Imagine that!
Synopsis: Travelling by motorhome on this trip has had its challenges. Eventually finding places to empty water has been very exciting. Which leads me to consider, does more hardship leads to more gratitude? Query: What would you miss most if you lost all modern conveniences?
On Tuesday last we went to Sutton Hoo. You may have heard about it in the 2021 movie called The Dig? It might still be on Netflix. It was based on a book with the same name and it tells a story of finding an Anglo-Saxon grave. Not just any grave, either, the grave of a king with his treasure and his ship in this place called Sutton Hoo near the village of Woodbridge in Suffolk.
We accidentally drove through the village of Woodbridge (beautiful but narrow) and would not recommend driving through in a motorhome. It was unnecessary as Sutton Hoo is away on its own in the countryside a few miles away. There’s a long drive up to it, parking for motorhomes and even a campsite nearby.
Remember I told you I had bought a visitor ticket to the National Trust which meant for the time we are in England (or anywhere within the UK) I can visit any National Trust site for free? This is very cost effective and that’s on purpose I believe. The first question I’m asked at each reception desk is, “Are you a member?” (It’s such a great question because it makes members feel welcome and it tells the unaware non member about the concept of membership!) It seems that most people who live here are members and so they can visit anytime and they do.
Some just walk their dogs or go for a coffee or buy a second hand book – which I did on this occasion. On a less windy day than the day I visited they might sit in the deck chairs and just enjoy the view. Or they might use the services of the many volunteers who are more than happy to answer any questions or tell their favourite story of the place. As most volunteers are here for one day a week you will probably never meet the same volunteer twice so there’s alway a new story to hear.
You probably want to hear some of the story of Sutton Hoo, right? Well there’s two big picture stories. The one about the Anglo-Saxons and the one about finding their treasure. We’ll start with finding the treasure. Edith Pretty lived with her family at Sutton Hoo between 1926 and 1942. She loved to travel and as a young woman had travelled to, among other places, Khartoum. She took pictures on her travels and kept a diary… This is important because her interest in archeology was fostered on her travels.
In 1937 (only two years before the Second World War) she was at the Woodbridge flower show where she spoke to a local historian about the earth mounds on her land. She wanted to investigate them. She asked for a recommendation of someone who might help her and was given the name of a local self taught archaeologist, Basil Brown. The story gets a bit more complicated when the British Museum realises there was something good here and replaces Basil with one of their not self taught archaeologists. But for me Edith and Basil are the heroes.
And the Anglo-Saxons? Well the history I was missing all along about the Anglo-Saxons – they were in Britain before the Vikings. The information boards and very good at all National Trust sites and Sutton Hoo is no exception.
Here’s what I learned: The Romans left Britain in the early 400’s and after that people from Germany (or at least where Germany is now) and the Netherlands and Scandinavia arrived and set up home. They married the locals and they all lived happily. Of course history calls them Anglo-Saxons but they were families who followed traditions and a culture and they belonged. King Raedwald, buried at Sutton Hoo was a member of the Wuffings family and they were rulers of the Kingdom of East Anglia. He died in the early 600’s. The first Viking raid wasn’t until the early 700’s.
Summary: Sutton Hoo is a place where families lived and loved and worked and played and belonged more than one and a half thousand years ago. Two amateurs (from the Latin, to love) self taught in archaeology brought this place to the attention of the world. Query: Do you ever stop yourself from bringing something you are passionate about to the world because you’re “just” an amateur?
On Sunday we arrived in the town of Bury St. Edmunds about forty minutes from Cambridge. It’s a very old town that started with a legend about a wolf…
it was back in 869AD and Edmund was king of East Anglia. He was fighting against the Danish invaders when he was captured and decapitated. When his soldiers came looking for him his head was missing. When they finally found it, it was being protected by a wolf. The wolf allowed the soldiers to take King Edmund’s head and as soon as it came in contact with his body, it fused back on…
Well yes of course, that story is hard to believe now but it made a big impression on the people of England back then and was very helpful to the monastery. Monasteries often bought the bones of people who were considered saints so they could promote pilgrimages and special days where they would collect much needed donations on their saint’s behalf.
When Bury St. Edmunds Abbey was founded in 1020 they were lucky enough to get King Edmund’s bones. Because of the story of the fusing of his head he was considered a saint and the monastery became one of the most famous and wealthy pilgrimage locations in England. The power of story.
The town has very kindly provided overnight parking for motorhomes so we parked up and went on a walk. First stop the Abbey Gardens just minutes away.
You will have heard of King Henry VIII and his six wives but did you also hear about his shutting down the monasteries? All the monasteries, in Ireland too, in the 1500’s. Most of them were demolished and the stone used to construct new buildings. This happened in Bury St. Edmunds and most of the abbey buildings are now just ruins but in spite of that, still beautiful.
There was a contemporary art exhibition in Moyse’s Hall museum in Bury St. Edmund’s this week. Including some original Banksy’s (wall still attached). By the time I walked out the door I was fired up. I would love to have the courage to make some truthful “ugly” art.
Summary: A good story can support a monastery. Art doesn’t have to be pretty. Query: What story would you like to tell with your street art?
On Friday we arrived in St. Neots, a very old town with market square still looking very like it did more than 100 years ago. We were here to meet up with Ciara (the favourite daughter) and her friend, Flipp. If you’ve joined us on our previous trips you’ll have met them in the Disneyland Paris, June 2022. They found us a parking spot in St. Neots (not an insignificant challenge) and we set off in search of things typically British.
First stop, Wetherspoons, the pub. As it was still only mid morning, I doubted it would be open but it was. And they were serving breakfast with pints of tea and coffee (free refills) and beer (no free refills). And it was quite busy, mainly men, having a quiet drink.
We spent a lovely day visiting, sipping coffee, meeting friends and colleagues of Ciara’s and walking through the parks in the town. Sitting in one park we met an adorable border collie and his owner and were entertained by their party trick. (I cannot remember the dogs’ name so for clarity I’m going to call him Toby.)
Here’s how it went… the owner would catch Toby’s eye and pause before saying, Right! And off he would run (the dog, not the human) more than 100 meters away to hide behind one of the magnificent oak trees. We could just make out his nose peep around the trunk as he watched for the ball his owner was about to throw. Then he would race towards the ball and race back with it in his mouth for a repeat performance. When I looked around we humans each had a big smile watching Toby doing Toby.
The owner told us Toby’s mother and father were working sheep dogs but Toby hadn’t been trained, he just knew deep in his being what he loved to do. We listened to a story of how Toby and his brother (again let’s call him something for clarity) Jasper, got together for a walk. Jasper’s owner is Toby’s owner’s daughter (if it’s getting complicated, sorry). Anyways, they were all out for a walk and met a little dog who was chasing around the park and without a word from the humans both border collies raced off in different directions and then come around behind the little dog and proceeded to herd him back to his human.
Next day we set off for Cambridge where there’s a park and ride and surely they’d have a designated place for motorhomes? No, no they wouldn’t but we asked one of the bus drivers and he told us about a little known hack… Trumpington Park and Ride Cambridge have a John Lewis (department store) collection point so they have to have an entrance for over sized delivery trucks.
So that’s where we went. Yes, we did have to pass all the signs telling us not to go and we did have to be careful not to follow the guided bus routes but eventually the barrier did rise and there was parking. Parking is free for everyone we just pay for the return bus ride into the centre of Cambridge.
It was another hot day as we walked along the old streets and by the river Cam and through the “free to graze your cows” field. There were no cows while we were there but I spotted the telltale signs of recent cow presence. (As I mentioned yesterday I have experience of cows and our street had a lot of cow poo.)
There are also a lot of bicycles in Cambridge, you have to be more aware of bikes than cars on the streets, especially the walking streets. Happy to say no one was injured during the visit.
Summary: Finding parking for a motorhome is difficult sometimes. Dog’s can teach us a lot about being ourselves. Park and Ride have low barriers. Cambridge is a cow friendly, bike friendly city. Query: If you were Toby or Jasper how would you do you?
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