Back to Blighty

Off again through the very comprehensive UK motorway system, with TomTom announcing regularly and with a bit of a flourish “Take the motorway”. Trip was uneventful, and the farm scenery was peaceful and pastoral, with plenty of livestock in evidence. As we left Chepstow the view down into the waters of Firth of Severn from the old Bristol Bridge, with an outgoing tide was  an uninviting, very brown, turbulent and absolutely racing body of water. Any sort of boating would be memorable, and a paddle in the kayak would be pretty tiring, I’d imagine.

We were on the trail of the Venns, these are Ann’s Grandpa Ace’s mother’s family, and we had Sidbury, Sidford and Sidmouth as contact points, all on the river Sid. TomTom took us first to Sidbury, a lovely little Saxon village where we had an address, Mill Lane Cottage. Found a mill, and plenty of cottages but none that fitted the bill. This is fine, all we really expected on this trip was that we would walk the streets where these forebears came from, enjoy the scenery and have a cup of coffee. Anything else we put in bonus territory. The graveyards of the two small churches, C of E and Chapel, didn’t yield any family names either.  

So on to Sidford, just a few km down the road, again a nice little place, but no addresses to hunt down, so breezed on through to Sidmouth. Nicholas and Elizabeth had warned us we’d be the youngest there by about 20 years, and they were right. As the name suggests it is right on the sea, at the mouth of said Sid River. A pebbly beach, an elevated concrete boardwalk with many deck chairs strung along, with locals (many asleep but smartly attired in suit and tie and sports jacket, or the more diverse feminine equivalent, for the girls that is) getting a dose of vitamin D.

 

 

We found the street address we needed here and wandered the little town. Had a look at the local lifeboat station and decided mission accomplished. This looks like a very nice area to live, but I guess like most of England, in our great grandparents’ day, there were lots of nice places to live, however unless you had the connections, the social position and estate, the colonies offered more hope, which is one of the main reasons people came to NZ.

So we switched TomTom on to destination Portsmouth and set off. After about 200m we were faced with a disappearing road and a big sign “FORD”. TomTom had excelled, this was a first for her, and we drove down into the water and idled across the stream with just a little bit of apprehension.

 

The day's drive from Cardiff, totalled some 400 km in all, our longest driving day so far. There was also quite a bit of non-major road driving - Sidmouth is not exactly on the beaten track. This, combined with a bit of motorway congestion, meant we arrived in historic Portsmouth around 5 30 pm. Our B & B, Fortitude Cottage, in Broad Street, in the very old part of town was right on the water, in fact this was once an island.  Fortitude Cottage is the very narrow brown brick building on the left of the red building on the previous page. It was also once the red light district, but didn’t notice Pink Fluffy Boots or Blondie equivalents standing in the shadows. (Pink Fluffy Boots and Blondie were two of the regular 'ladies of the night' who featured on my regular early morning walk through the streets of St Kilda in Melbourne.)

Our accommodation was brilliantly placed on the harbour's edge, but was a little on the small side. You know the old saying about “not enough room to swing a cat”, well that applied here, but even a Manx cat would have been a struggle, and I’m not sure how you would actually swing a Manx cat. However, it was sharply priced and we were there just for two nights, with good Wifi and free parking for the car just over the road.

 

First night we ate in the upstairs room of the pub around the corner watching the boats coming and going as we dined. Ann was the winner on the day with the last Beef and Oyster pie, my lamb had seen many days since that description would have been appropriate.

Day 2 was a biggie really. No rellies here at all, but Dad was a war visitor here in 1943 when the Achilles returned to Portsmouth for refitting and also repair of its rear turret that had been destroyed by a Japanese bomb in a battle off the islands of Munda and Kolombanga in the Solomon islands on January 5 1943. The ship was part of an American task force bombarding a Japanese airfield. The turret was replaced but the ship didn’t return to action until late in 1944. Dad and many of his colleagues were transferred to a replacement vessel HMNZS Gambia. This did some Atlantic patrol work and then returned to active service in Asia, Guadalcanal and finally Japan. Gambia fired some of the last salvos of WWII against targets on the Japanese Island of Honshu. It was also present for the VJ signings in Tokyo Bay. So in Portsmouth we were walking the streets Dad once walked.

Back to Day 2, we spent our 52 pounds for a ticket to all of the activities in the Historic Dockyards area. The good thing is the ticket lasts for a year! We started with a look at Nelson’s HMS Victory.

 

This is the actual vessel that fought at Trafalgar, and that he died on. The ship is in great condition, and the tour gives a really good appreciation of life aboard for 650 sailors and 200 marines. It was very cramped, and living conditions were pretty primitive arrangements. The heads were just that, I hadn’t appreciated just how far up the front of the vessel they were. You can see a picture of them back a couple of pages.

 

Nelson is a man still much revered by the country, and the ship is well worth a few hours of meandering.

Next it was on to the Mary Rose museum. This vessel was ordered by Henry VIII when he came to the throne in 1509. Henry considerably expanded the navy, which was a great thing to do, but he had a bit of making up to do for his later destruction of the monasteries. There is a very lifelike statue of him at the museum entrance, and I took the opportunity to raise a couple of issues with him.

 

 I have no doubt it went in one ear and out the other. The Mary Rose is a similar experience to the Vasa in Stockholm, although Mary Rose was a 30 year old ship when she sank in Portsmouth harbour. That said, she had just been converted to carry more and bigger cannons, and was in the process of going about to fire a second salvo at the advancing French and Spanish fleets, when she sank. They apparently didn’t close off the starboard cannon ports on the lower deck before the manoeuvre, and the water poured in and sank her. She was well set up for close quarters fighting (that means nets strung over the main deck to prevent boarders from getting onto the deck). This works a treat, however if you happen to be sinking, then the net is a little difficult to get through as well. Just 35 of the 450 crew got off.

As she was

and is

 

Her recovery is a great piece of endeavour, but there was only about half of the hull left intact in the mud to save, the rest went to the worms.

The Navy History museum was good, all the Achilles and Gambia details there. Was surprised to see Achilles at the Battle of the River Plate recognised as HMNZS, which she in fact wasn’t at that point in time, she was still HMS and part of the Royal Navy’s New Zealand squadron.

Our harbour tour took us past lots of the existing Royal Navy, and gave us the details of all the harbour development done around the time of the Napoleonic wars. Much of the harbour extension and deepening was done by French prisoners who dug it all by hand. Didn’t get my mind around how they actually achieved all that!

We had a final night meal at Abarbistro.

Food once again was great, and the restaurant only a short walk from the B&B. So the car didn’t move while we were here, and our Portsmouth visit really just covered off on a bit of Dad’s early time and some of my interests. Incidentally Ben Ainslie's British America's Cup challenge syndicate are building their base just opposite our accommodation. Just pile driving at this stage so a little early for espionage.

Our car had been parked facing the harbour, from where the Isle of Wight ferries departed at half hour intervals. Now remember, this area used to be an island. So TomTom sensed an opportunity and when I loaded in our destination, Fleet, in Hampshire, she came up with a rather hopeful “This route involves ferries and car shuttles” and dotted lines straight ahead into the sea!! Wrong again or wishful thinking I’m not quite sure. Anyway we got away in good time and on the trail of Ann’s father’s grandparents at Fleet, near Farnborough, west of London. Firstly it was the Brinns at Crookham Rd in Fleet.

We found the house is still there, between the road and the Basingstoke canal. The current residents were intrigued at our interest and came out to chat. Five Brinn sons joined the Royal Navy between 1840 and 1860 (unsurprisingly as the house was very little), but it was Amy Brinn who married George Carpenter in New Zealand. The Crookham Rd address was her parents who emigrated to New Zealand with their family in 1874.

On just a few km to Fleet Rd in another part of the village. Found the house that George and MaryAnn Carpenter lived in before they emigrated to NZ, now a shop at one known address, but drew a blank on the next one mentioned in the census records which is now a house built around 1920. Did have a chat to the current owner (just the second one) who explained that there was at one stage a row of cottages there which were a part of the old estate. So again a very successful little sortie, saw the addresses, walked the streets, had a coffee and have some good records and memories.

This day was another big travelling day. It’s about 230 km to Bury St Edmunds from Fleet. So TomTom programmed and we were off. The route skirted London, around Heathrow, Gatwick, and just ducked under Stansted, so there were plenty of planes in the sky and traffic was pretty gruelling most of the way.

We took a detour to Lavenham to visit the best example of a medieval town around. This was a Nicholas and Elizabeth recommendation and it is a fantastic village. How anyone gets it to stay as authentic as it is, I’ll never know. The only disadvantage of this visit was that once you get off the motorways you are in some fairly narrow winding ways. TomTom was in heaven. It is programmed to take the fastest route, but when you get to an intersection with a sign Lavenham to the right and TomTom says go left, you know you are in for a treat. Yep, it’s another narrow twisting shady lane. We did get there and enjoyed the visit.

 

On to Bury (town in the local dialect) and we booked in to very spacious digs, and so it's cats beware again. Why are we here? Cranwich (Cranich as the locals speak) is not far away up in Norfolk, and that’s where John Aspin was born in 1840. He is my mother’s great grandfather who arrived in NZ with a regiment of the English Army and was involved in the NZ Land Wars. He was discharged in 1865, went to Queensland, married and quickly became a widower when his young bride fell from a horse. He then married Margaret Barry, from Cobb in County Cork, settled at Awhitu and the rest as they say is history. But as well as this, Ellen Parsonson, who married William Henry Miller, my great great grandfather on Dad’s mother’s side, was born here, and her family came from Sudbury close by. Sounds complicated and I should post the family tree, as Andrew left it in 2009, for clarity.

Bury St Edmund has lots of churches, and once again the ruins of a very large and powerful medieval monastery. Henry would have to be one of the world’s greatest vandals. This was a place of veneration of St Edmund who was the last Saxon king of East Anglia, and was beheaded by the Vikings in 869 (remember it was the Danes, not the Swedes who marauded here doing dastardly deeds). 

So off to Cranwich, armed with information from Alma Aspin who visited here with Brian in 2004. We know what we are looking for which is great. First stop the Saxon Church in the village (now just a collection of houses along quite a busy road. Many Aspin headstones in the graveyard, and also mentions in despatches on the walls in the Anglican Church. 

 

 

Took photos of all the Aspin headstones in the graveyard, stinging nettle permitting - we were both in shorts and the nettles are about chest high.

Seems the cottage behind the church (nobody home today) was once the parsonage, although in more recent years the parson lived in the larger house to the west. The church is part of St Leonards Anglican parish in Mundford, a larger village just a few km away. The parish priest, who we visited in Mundford told me that all records from back yonder have been sent to archives in Norfolk.

I spoke to the neighbour Jody Betts who lives in the cottage which could be the "Keepers Cottage" that John Aspin was born in. The cottage is now called Ontario Cottage, rebuilt by a local Canadian vet about 40 years ago. It was originally two cottages which he combined into the one building. The plate on one of them records 1799 as the year it was built.

Jody used to own another cottage in the village, but sold that and bought Ontario Cottage with its one acre of land. He has seen the title and said that there were a number of conditions on it. Firstly the owner has to allow the villagers to erect a May pole there if they wish and he cannot impede them in any way. Secondly the cottage owner is obliged to pay one shilling to the widow of any worker from the estate who happens to knock on the door. He said it had never happened, I said it would probably be quite a tidy sum these days....and....by the way. He did laugh. Spoke to the owner of Manor Farm just down the road, who has been there about 50 years. He couldn't shed any light, but did say there were two large estates, Mundford to the east and another to the west which was owned by an Earl with a keen interest in Egyptology. Can’t recall the estates’ names. He did say there were a large number of keepers’ cottage on both estates originally.

Returned to Bury and had a walk around the ruined Abbey grounds which now form a lovely and well-used park for the town. We decided that Sam and Fred would probably enjoy it, as a place for “Hide and Seek” it would be fantastic. 

 Then

and now

 

The grounds also included a huge graveyard, with some salutary headstones! Read carefully..... 

 

Bury St Edmunds has two other claims to fame. It was where the Magna Carta was signed, and where Henry's sister Mary Tudor was buried. Initially she was buried in the Abbey, but when Henry ordered it stripped he shifted her to this rather downmarket grave at the next door St Mary's. Mind you neither Henry nor her husband went to her actual funeral, Henry was busy celebrating marrying Anne of Cleves, and her husband was organising his next marriage to his son's affianced!

Oh, and it also boasts to have the smallest pub in England The Nutshell, where we sampled the locally made brew, Greene King.

 

 

No addresses for Ellen Parsonson, but will be checking in the local records office before we depart for London today to see if we can run down any local or Sudbury addresses. The records office is very helpful according to our hosts.

 

On the food front, on night one we went to a Michelin recommended restaurant, PeaPorridge, and again enjoyed some great meals.

The trip down to London was uneventful, TomTom behaved and we stayed on the motorway system, approaching our drop off point at Euston station through some dreary northern suburbs. We had toyed with doing the London research while we still had the car but decided the decision to do it by public transport was eminently sensible. We had a few rain showers for the short walk to Megaro, which is across the road from the Eurostar station, so is absolutely brilliant for our departure on Thursday morning. The hotel is great, but would want to be for the $330 odd per night.

Walked over the road to Kings Cross, bought our Oyster (Myki, Hop) card, loaded up and headed to the British museum for an hour or so. The high (and only) lights were the Rosetta stone, the Elgin Marbles, and the Egypt and Assyrian sections. You could spend a week in the place I’m sure.

 

We had dinner at the Royal Automobile Club on Pall Mall with Kim and Reidun Lundgren, who we met in the Duoro valley in Portugal last time we were on this side of the world in 2012. It was a very impressive venue and lovely to catch up with all their news. They head to the US today for Kim’s mother's 100^th birthday. She hails from the Orkney Islands, and puts her longevity down to that plus the oatmeal she eats every day.

 

We set off this morning to have a look at 10 Bridport Place, Hoxton, a northern London Suburb where Ellen Parsonson was living when she married William Henry Miller at St Saviours Church, in the Parish of St Leonard in 1873. That was just before they emigrated to NZ arriving in Christchurch. I think the ship they arrived on was also called the St Leonard. Bridport Place is there still, but the area was destroyed by bombing in WWII, the postie, a local, told us that bit was hit by a German doodlebug, and that there were remnants of the rubble used in the adjacent Shoreditch Park for a memorial which we couldn’t find. The house site is now a home for down and outers.

 

Off walking in the opposite direction past the station; this is not Kensington Park by any stretch and the amount of Hackney Council multi-storey housing tenements is staggering. Not sure what the planners were thinking when they built these things. St Saviour was a little elusive and it took a bit more walking and some input from Google Maps on my phone when we dropped in for a Wifi break at a hotel we walked past. Access to Wifi cost 4.80 pounds (for the coffee) which we needed anyway.

St Saviour Priory is there still, now a home to an Anglican order of Nuns. Building was newish, so we assume the church has been demolished by time or “The enemies of the King” as some signage describes WWII Germany.

Mission accomplished, haven’t added a great deal to the accumulated knowledge, but will debrief with cousin Marilyn sometime on that.

 

We did a rambling self-guided walk in the city centre this afternoon, around the Roman ruins, the bank district, the Leadenhall markets, past Lloyds, historic gardens and churches. An end of day visit to the Shard across in Southwark, for a pint and a half while enjoying the view was defeated by the dress code (no shorts), so we got the tube back home. All the underground lines come through Kings Cross so we can get to and from anywhere, it’s really great.

 

 

We walked down to see Murdoch and Caroline at 240A Caledonian Rd in their flat, which is cosy, but well refurbished and set up, with a yard and squirrels for Rupert to chase. It’s a really handy inner city spot to live, close to work for both and close to the stuff you need like transport. It’s only a km from Kings Cross station. We had a short walk along the Regent canal and a very nice meal and a lovely evening at the Grain Store. The place was heaving (that’s Welsh for packed with people), and it’s a great venue on a large square with an ever-changing water and lights feature covering a lot of the square. It's very pretty at night with coloured lights glistening.

Our last day in London dawned a bit showery, but it was only a short walk down the road to the British Library to look at their historic documents display. We had about an hour so that’s all we covered but it’s fascinating to see original handwritten documents, the Magna Carta, John Lennon’s song scripts scrawled on scraps of paper including his son's first birthday card, letters to and from Churchill, notes from Da Vinci (no code!) plus ancient Korans, Jewish bibles, Somali bibles. Another case of 'we’ll have to come back and see more of it some time'.

 

We met Murdoch, who took a day off contracting, for coffee and then walked with him along the Regent's Canal out to the Camden market, vibrant, exotic and full of lots of interesting stuff as well as every possible London souvenir which you wouldn’t buy in a fit.

 

Then we hopped on the underground into the city to go and see the ceramic red poppies placed in the moat of the Tower of London. This is a commemoration of the British WW1 military dead, and there are 888,442 poppies to be placed, with the last ones to go in on November 11.

 

 

After a very nice bratwurst for lunch in the Borough market, we walked along the Thames and down Blackfriars Rd to the Imperial War Museum to look at their WW1 commemorative displays. The display is very well done and that undersells it completely. It was well worth a visit, took a couple of hours, but there was so much information, so many interactive displays that all of us were pretty overwhelmed by the end of it. Much of the information is very personal, and gives a very human face to the war. Original film too, like a horrific clip of shell-shock victims were quite disturbing. It also sits in the category of 'warrants another visit'. We looked at just one of the five floors of the museum in fact.

 

So we tubed home, stopped off at Angel station on the way home for a bit of a shopping browse in Islington recommended by Caroline, and to see the longest escalator on the underground system. We experienced the tubes "packed in like sardines" mode, thankfully just for one station from Angel to Kings Cross.

Cashed in the Oyster cards, converted the remaining Pounds to Euro and got home to start preparation for an early-ish departure tomorrow on the Eurostar. Murdoch stopped in to view the digs and then headed on home. It’s been lovely to catch up with them and London has been a very relaxed few days. Wayne and Vikki arrived in Paris yesterday and we will be meeting at Gare de L’Est tomorrow around midday to train off to Epernay. Wayne’s birthday tomorrow as well, we are all looking forward to Champagne, I mean Epernay.

 

 

Au revoir UK