Finally!
It's only been "a few weeks", but it seems like forever ... we have been to so many places and seen and done so much in that time. And we have had to snatch a bit of email time here and there.
We've been going to the local library for the last couple of weeks - they let you have a (free) hour, and only an hour - those minutes just fly by - and they filter evil things like this blog so I couldn't even see it!
So, finally time to upload some pics and tell a few tales ...
Friday, November 2, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Still here ...
Its been very distressing, these last few weeks, not having regular internet.
We've been travelling, and staying in places, and working.
In a few days we will be back on the internet. oh yes!
We've been travelling, and staying in places, and working.
In a few days we will be back on the internet. oh yes!
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Out of Sheffield
What was it like leaving Sheffield:
Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by...
'From a railway carriage' by Robert Louis Stevenson - a poem we all learnt at school (yes, in the 'old days').
We phoned for a taxi well ahead of time, and were at the station (with our big pile of bags) over an hour ahead of our departure time. It was all very relaxing. When the time came to climb aboard people around us offered to help! That was so nice. It was a lovely trip down to London, St Pancas, and we were patting ourselves on the head over choosing such an excellent method of travel.
Then we had to change trains. We had been given various versions of the distance between St Pancras and King's Cross Thameslink - 300 metres, 5 minutes walk ... to mention a couple. We had 25 minutes to make the change.
So we set off along the platform. I had my backpack, and the computer strung around my shoulders, and I was pulling a large and a small case. Peter was pulling two large cases and wearing his backpack and camera. Halfway up the platform we spotted a single trolley in the trolley stand and grabbed it eagerly. Setting off again, still with backpacks, Peter pushing the heavil loaded trolley and me still towing one small case ...
We stood staring blankly at the escalator and stairs, shifting our feet and wondering which would be even slightly possible. A helpful railway worker pointed out the lift hiding behind some construction boards further up. We pressed the lift button ...
"Your request - " bellowed an amplified voice as I steppedback in alarm " - has been noted and the lift will be here as soon as possible." For goodness sake, it was a glass lift, I could see it right there one floor below.
Weaving through crowds we headed out of the station, ignoring signs about not taking the trolley away from the station. There were roadworks and building going on, and higgledy-piggledy signs here and there not giving very clear directions. We crossed the street with our load but then had to come back because the pavement was all boarded up. We trundled off down the rough street dodging other hurrying (but less encumbered) travellers. It was onl a couple of minutes before or scheduled time when we pushed our way into Kng's Cross station and scanned the information boards - but no trains to Brighton ... wrong station!
Back out into the street looking for "Thameslink", and trundling along the rough, narrow, crowded pavement. The traffic in this area was quite heavy, and we were protected from it by miles of continuous metal railing ... and there was the station on the other side of the street! We had to go way up the street to find a traffic light where we could get across.
Right on the time the train was due to leave we came panting (literally, and sweating quite a bit!) into the station, and approached a railway worker to ask which platform. She told us the train was still at the station "... but its stairs!" she said, pointing. Two flights of stairs, no lift, no ramp. Peter lugged the cases down the stairs two at a time ... as the train pulled out of the station.
There was another train in fifteen minutes ... we needn't have rushed, we weren't necessarily booked on that particular train. Like the bus system, the train system in England is run by several different companies and on different systems. We had had seats actually booked on the Sheffield train, but not on this one.
And so we arrived safely in Brighton, and were met by our good friend Charlotte who took us to her home in Rustington for a few days.
And
Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by...
'From a railway carriage' by Robert Louis Stevenson - a poem we all learnt at school (yes, in the 'old days').
We phoned for a taxi well ahead of time, and were at the station (with our big pile of bags) over an hour ahead of our departure time. It was all very relaxing. When the time came to climb aboard people around us offered to help! That was so nice. It was a lovely trip down to London, St Pancas, and we were patting ourselves on the head over choosing such an excellent method of travel.
Then we had to change trains. We had been given various versions of the distance between St Pancras and King's Cross Thameslink - 300 metres, 5 minutes walk ... to mention a couple. We had 25 minutes to make the change.
So we set off along the platform. I had my backpack, and the computer strung around my shoulders, and I was pulling a large and a small case. Peter was pulling two large cases and wearing his backpack and camera. Halfway up the platform we spotted a single trolley in the trolley stand and grabbed it eagerly. Setting off again, still with backpacks, Peter pushing the heavil loaded trolley and me still towing one small case ...
We stood staring blankly at the escalator and stairs, shifting our feet and wondering which would be even slightly possible. A helpful railway worker pointed out the lift hiding behind some construction boards further up. We pressed the lift button ...
"Your request - " bellowed an amplified voice as I steppedback in alarm " - has been noted and the lift will be here as soon as possible." For goodness sake, it was a glass lift, I could see it right there one floor below.
Weaving through crowds we headed out of the station, ignoring signs about not taking the trolley away from the station. There were roadworks and building going on, and higgledy-piggledy signs here and there not giving very clear directions. We crossed the street with our load but then had to come back because the pavement was all boarded up. We trundled off down the rough street dodging other hurrying (but less encumbered) travellers. It was onl a couple of minutes before or scheduled time when we pushed our way into Kng's Cross station and scanned the information boards - but no trains to Brighton ... wrong station!
Back out into the street looking for "Thameslink", and trundling along the rough, narrow, crowded pavement. The traffic in this area was quite heavy, and we were protected from it by miles of continuous metal railing ... and there was the station on the other side of the street! We had to go way up the street to find a traffic light where we could get across.
Right on the time the train was due to leave we came panting (literally, and sweating quite a bit!) into the station, and approached a railway worker to ask which platform. She told us the train was still at the station "... but its stairs!" she said, pointing. Two flights of stairs, no lift, no ramp. Peter lugged the cases down the stairs two at a time ... as the train pulled out of the station.
There was another train in fifteen minutes ... we needn't have rushed, we weren't necessarily booked on that particular train. Like the bus system, the train system in England is run by several different companies and on different systems. We had had seats actually booked on the Sheffield train, but not on this one.
And so we arrived safely in Brighton, and were met by our good friend Charlotte who took us to her home in Rustington for a few days.
And
Friday, September 14, 2007
One More Time, for the memories
Summer School is over. Tomorrow the students (and us) all head off in different directions back to their own countries or to begin courses in Sheffield Uni or Sheffield International College.
There was a get-together, a banquet, a chance to say 'thank you' to everyone involved.
We were just settling down to our last sleep in our student room ... and guess what?
One more fire alarm. That makes 8, I think, in our six weeks here. On with shoes and warm clothes, and outside to wait for the fire trucks - and yes, the fire trucks still show up.
Time to Travel
Tomorrow: catch the train to Brighton.
Monday: take a plane to Ireland to see cousin Max. Return on Friday.
The following Tuesday: to Australia to see the kids and grandkids. Returning after two weeks.
October 15: Working in Torquay, Devon for two weeks.
There was a get-together, a banquet, a chance to say 'thank you' to everyone involved.
We were just settling down to our last sleep in our student room ... and guess what?
One more fire alarm. That makes 8, I think, in our six weeks here. On with shoes and warm clothes, and outside to wait for the fire trucks - and yes, the fire trucks still show up.
Time to Travel
Tomorrow: catch the train to Brighton.
Monday: take a plane to Ireland to see cousin Max. Return on Friday.
The following Tuesday: to Australia to see the kids and grandkids. Returning after two weeks.
October 15: Working in Torquay, Devon for two weeks.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Leeding the way
The last student outing for this summer school - a bus trip to Leeds. I had no idea what is at Leeds. It was less than an hour's trip.
The bus dropped us off, and as usual we were given a photocopied map to make sure we found our way back. Unfortunately, the drop-off point wasn't even on the map. So we walked until we came across some of the streets that were on the map.
Someone had said something about one of the biggest shopping malls being in Leeds. I'm beginning to think the Brits just don't know about shopping malls. Anyway this was just one of those arcades that you walk through and "ooh!" and "aah!" but no one would think of buying anything here.
Then we came across the market. Nice old building. Inside - well, it's a market full of stalls of cheap junk. One of the good things about living out of a suitcase is that you don't feel in the slightest tempted by this stuff.
Someone said the Royal Armouries was the place to see. So we trudged through town and across a bridge following the occasional little sign. That's the RA on the left beside this quiet little canal cul-de-sac.
The whole area was remarkably deserted. We saw very few people other than our students who were off the bus we came on.
But here there were a number of barges moored - very clean, and pretty-looking as they appeared to be inhabited.
This lady was showing off her barge-towing horse and giving quite a (long-winded but) interesting talk on the ways and traditions of barges and tow horses.
Inside the Royal Armories museum there was this huge tower displaying arms. Lots of swords and spears, helmets, shields and other bits and pieces artistically arrayed.
There were several floors on themes such as "Tournament" and "War". This apparently friendly fellow was in the tournament room.
This armoured helmet obviously belonged to a very sofisticated bloke.
But I can't help wondering if this chap was a bit of a comedian and wanted his opponents to die laughing.
There were stuffed horses and riders, and tents set up for a jousting tournament. There was going to be some sort of theatrical display, but we didn't want to hang around that long.
We did however chance upon a monologue by a chappy in the "War" room, dramatically telling about the Christmas Day during the First World War when the opposing sides briefly ceased hostilities for a game of football in No Man's Land.
We wandered back through the city. By now it was Saturday afternoon, and the place was packed - almost as crowded as Istanbul on a quiet day. There is a large section of town which is walking streets - shopping mall - only. Maybe that's the big shopping centre they were talking about.
Again, the place is full of old majestic buildings, mostly in pristine condition, but in stark contrast to things like this massive TV screen.
We heard music and followed our ears - Morris Dancing! Now there's a sight you don't see every day!
Time To Move On
One more week of teaching here and then we are moving on, leaving Sheffield and Yorkshire. It's been nice. Certainly Sheffield is much more "green leafy" than we expected. Not that keen on Leeds, but it's ok.
The bus dropped us off, and as usual we were given a photocopied map to make sure we found our way back. Unfortunately, the drop-off point wasn't even on the map. So we walked until we came across some of the streets that were on the map.
Someone had said something about one of the biggest shopping malls being in Leeds. I'm beginning to think the Brits just don't know about shopping malls. Anyway this was just one of those arcades that you walk through and "ooh!" and "aah!" but no one would think of buying anything here.
Then we came across the market. Nice old building. Inside - well, it's a market full of stalls of cheap junk. One of the good things about living out of a suitcase is that you don't feel in the slightest tempted by this stuff.
Someone said the Royal Armouries was the place to see. So we trudged through town and across a bridge following the occasional little sign. That's the RA on the left beside this quiet little canal cul-de-sac.
The whole area was remarkably deserted. We saw very few people other than our students who were off the bus we came on.
But here there were a number of barges moored - very clean, and pretty-looking as they appeared to be inhabited.
This lady was showing off her barge-towing horse and giving quite a (long-winded but) interesting talk on the ways and traditions of barges and tow horses.
Inside the Royal Armories museum there was this huge tower displaying arms. Lots of swords and spears, helmets, shields and other bits and pieces artistically arrayed.
There were several floors on themes such as "Tournament" and "War". This apparently friendly fellow was in the tournament room.
This armoured helmet obviously belonged to a very sofisticated bloke.
But I can't help wondering if this chap was a bit of a comedian and wanted his opponents to die laughing.
There were stuffed horses and riders, and tents set up for a jousting tournament. There was going to be some sort of theatrical display, but we didn't want to hang around that long.
We did however chance upon a monologue by a chappy in the "War" room, dramatically telling about the Christmas Day during the First World War when the opposing sides briefly ceased hostilities for a game of football in No Man's Land.
We wandered back through the city. By now it was Saturday afternoon, and the place was packed - almost as crowded as Istanbul on a quiet day. There is a large section of town which is walking streets - shopping mall - only. Maybe that's the big shopping centre they were talking about.
Again, the place is full of old majestic buildings, mostly in pristine condition, but in stark contrast to things like this massive TV screen.
We heard music and followed our ears - Morris Dancing! Now there's a sight you don't see every day!
Time To Move On
One more week of teaching here and then we are moving on, leaving Sheffield and Yorkshire. It's been nice. Certainly Sheffield is much more "green leafy" than we expected. Not that keen on Leeds, but it's ok.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Bakewell and beyond
Everyone has heard of Bakewell pies - in Australia it's a brand of meat pies. In England there are Bakewell tarts - my mother used to cook them and serve them with hot custard, a family favourite. Here we can buy Bakewell tarts with thick white icing and a cherry on top - so sweet they sting your throat and you really can't taste the essential almond flavour.
Bakewell Village
In Derbyshire we found the village where all these tasty treats originate from. A delightful village, full of tourists on the day we chose to visit. Apparently we were lucky to have arrived on one of their special days. There were eight gardens open to the public, and for a mere $4 for each garden (donated to Oxfam) we could explore them - there was even a free shuttle bus to take us from one to another.
However, we chose just to wander around the village instead. The ducks and geese were having a lovely time in the river, and there were some beautiful big (really big) trout swimming around that we fancied catching and couldn't understand why no one else was trying to.
There were, of course, several bakeries taking advantage of the presence of so many tourists to sell what they claimed were the original and the best Bakewell puddings ...
They said, there are no "tarts" in Bakewell. Only puddings.
I remember Bakewell tarts with pastry at the bottom, and a little jam, and filled with almond cake. Crosby and Susanne tried one of the "original" puddings, which was filled with almond flavoured custard.
Beyond Bakewell
We noticed on the map a place called "Arbor Low Henge" and another called "Nine Ladies Stone Circle". We had heard nothing about either of them, but decided to go and look for the nine ladies. There were no signposts, we just drove to the hamlet that was marked close to it on the map, and then we had to ask some people we passed. Finally we parked the car in a shady lane, and set off along a public footpath, over a couple of stiles, and through a field of cows.
We weren't the only ones. There were others on the path, and people camping in tents by the circle of dancing ladies. Susanne and I tried to get into the swing of things.
There really wasn't much to see - we found out that the Arbor Low Henge would have been much more spectacular - but the weather was bright and sunny, and the air was clear and cool, and we had a splendid little English adventure.
Just like the famous five ...
Both Susanne and I were avid readers of Enid Blyton's "Famous Five" books when we were children, and so many things we have experienced in the English countryside seem tied to stories we have read.
We have driven along admiring the purple heather on the hills - along with bracken it apparently makes a lovely springy mattress for outdoors sleeping. Finally we found some that was close to the road, and so we had to stop and test it out.
Yep. Definitely springy!
Bakewell Village
In Derbyshire we found the village where all these tasty treats originate from. A delightful village, full of tourists on the day we chose to visit. Apparently we were lucky to have arrived on one of their special days. There were eight gardens open to the public, and for a mere $4 for each garden (donated to Oxfam) we could explore them - there was even a free shuttle bus to take us from one to another.
However, we chose just to wander around the village instead. The ducks and geese were having a lovely time in the river, and there were some beautiful big (really big) trout swimming around that we fancied catching and couldn't understand why no one else was trying to.
There were, of course, several bakeries taking advantage of the presence of so many tourists to sell what they claimed were the original and the best Bakewell puddings ...
They said, there are no "tarts" in Bakewell. Only puddings.
I remember Bakewell tarts with pastry at the bottom, and a little jam, and filled with almond cake. Crosby and Susanne tried one of the "original" puddings, which was filled with almond flavoured custard.
Beyond Bakewell
We noticed on the map a place called "Arbor Low Henge" and another called "Nine Ladies Stone Circle". We had heard nothing about either of them, but decided to go and look for the nine ladies. There were no signposts, we just drove to the hamlet that was marked close to it on the map, and then we had to ask some people we passed. Finally we parked the car in a shady lane, and set off along a public footpath, over a couple of stiles, and through a field of cows.
We weren't the only ones. There were others on the path, and people camping in tents by the circle of dancing ladies. Susanne and I tried to get into the swing of things.
There really wasn't much to see - we found out that the Arbor Low Henge would have been much more spectacular - but the weather was bright and sunny, and the air was clear and cool, and we had a splendid little English adventure.
Just like the famous five ...
Both Susanne and I were avid readers of Enid Blyton's "Famous Five" books when we were children, and so many things we have experienced in the English countryside seem tied to stories we have read.
We have driven along admiring the purple heather on the hills - along with bracken it apparently makes a lovely springy mattress for outdoors sleeping. Finally we found some that was close to the road, and so we had to stop and test it out.
Yep. Definitely springy!
Out and about on August Bank Holiday
It was great to have friends (from Oz) Crosby and Susanne come up from Cambridge to spend the long weekend - not least of all because they have wheels and so we could traipse around and look at some of the sights without wearing our little legs right off (... if you know what I mean).
Eyam - Plague Village
We went to visit the village of Eyam - that's "ee-'m" - which is famous for the villagers' valiant attempts to prevent the spread of the plague in 1666 by isolating the village and not allowing anyone to enter or leave when they realised the plague was present in their village.
This little graveyard is where one woman buried seven members of her family at that time.
All through the olde worlde English village there are plaques on the houses telling how many died in that family. There is a lovely little museum, too, telling the whole story, but we got there just after 4pm when they stop selling tickets. We pleaded with the lady, telling her we had come all the way from Australia, and she relented and let us in. "They're from Australia so I had to let them in ... " she explained to the people who came just behind us and wanted to know why they couldn't come in.
Well Dressing
We also arrived just in time for the annual "well dressing" ceremony. This involves a Christian type service in which they thank God for the annual provision of water to their village. The three old wells in the village are lavishly decorated - this design is made with petals and leaves.
The ceremony also involves crowning of the new festival queen, princesses and even a "Rosebud" from among the young girls in the village.
There was a parade through the village from one well to another, and a brass band playing, and maypole dancing. We were there on the first day of what would apparently be a week-long celebration.
Peter was particularly pleased with this photo he took of the brass band because when you look closely at the tuba you can see everyone reflected in it. You can even see Peter with his dark red shirt and with his camera right next to the reflection of the tuba player.
A long day
At the end of a long day it's always good to have the boys in blue to rely on. Crosby and Susanne had gotten up early in the morning to begin their long drive up to come and see us. We are living in one room here, and we have nowhere to put anyone up, so they had booked into a Sheffield hotel - a nice cheap one, naturally. As it got to be evening and we had talked our way through the day and enjoyed dinner together, it was time for them to go to their hotel.
Crosby had a piece of paper with all the necessary information ... but had accidentally come away with the wrong paper when they left in the morning. The hotel had a funny name, which he couldn't quite remember. We looked through the yellow pages, and we tried to find it again on the Internet, but it didn't seem to be there.
In frustration Crosby went next door to the police station, which is joined onto our flats, so see if they would have any ideas. They did all the same things we did, coming up blank.
Finally by using various unusual Google searches we came across it. The police had nothing much else to do, apparently, so they insisted on giving Crosby and Susanne a police escort to their hotel, which was on the seemier side of town. (I noticed they slipped into their bullet-proof vests before they did so!)
Eyam - Plague Village
We went to visit the village of Eyam - that's "ee-'m" - which is famous for the villagers' valiant attempts to prevent the spread of the plague in 1666 by isolating the village and not allowing anyone to enter or leave when they realised the plague was present in their village.
This little graveyard is where one woman buried seven members of her family at that time.
All through the olde worlde English village there are plaques on the houses telling how many died in that family. There is a lovely little museum, too, telling the whole story, but we got there just after 4pm when they stop selling tickets. We pleaded with the lady, telling her we had come all the way from Australia, and she relented and let us in. "They're from Australia so I had to let them in ... " she explained to the people who came just behind us and wanted to know why they couldn't come in.
Well Dressing
We also arrived just in time for the annual "well dressing" ceremony. This involves a Christian type service in which they thank God for the annual provision of water to their village. The three old wells in the village are lavishly decorated - this design is made with petals and leaves.
The ceremony also involves crowning of the new festival queen, princesses and even a "Rosebud" from among the young girls in the village.
There was a parade through the village from one well to another, and a brass band playing, and maypole dancing. We were there on the first day of what would apparently be a week-long celebration.
Peter was particularly pleased with this photo he took of the brass band because when you look closely at the tuba you can see everyone reflected in it. You can even see Peter with his dark red shirt and with his camera right next to the reflection of the tuba player.
A long day
At the end of a long day it's always good to have the boys in blue to rely on. Crosby and Susanne had gotten up early in the morning to begin their long drive up to come and see us. We are living in one room here, and we have nowhere to put anyone up, so they had booked into a Sheffield hotel - a nice cheap one, naturally. As it got to be evening and we had talked our way through the day and enjoyed dinner together, it was time for them to go to their hotel.
Crosby had a piece of paper with all the necessary information ... but had accidentally come away with the wrong paper when they left in the morning. The hotel had a funny name, which he couldn't quite remember. We looked through the yellow pages, and we tried to find it again on the Internet, but it didn't seem to be there.
In frustration Crosby went next door to the police station, which is joined onto our flats, so see if they would have any ideas. They did all the same things we did, coming up blank.
Finally by using various unusual Google searches we came across it. The police had nothing much else to do, apparently, so they insisted on giving Crosby and Susanne a police escort to their hotel, which was on the seemier side of town. (I noticed they slipped into their bullet-proof vests before they did so!)
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