Javert and the Pulteney Bridge

Bath Abbey

Yesterday three of us gathered at the Stanhope Arms Pub at 7:00 a.m. and stood about in the London rain with our coffees, waiting for a tour bus to come.

Touring tourist attractions in a bus can be risky, because you don't know any of the people involved. You can find yourself seated next to someone who talks incessantly about themselves, when all you really want is to sleep or listen to the tour guide. Or you can get a tour guide who knows less than you do about the attraction. And worst of all, you can get a scary driver who sways round the corners of the English countryside, making everybody sick.

But none of these dreadful things happened. We sat next to each other in the VERY FRONT of the bus (with Hudson not far behind). We had boarded a little later than the others, and figured our goose was well and truly cooked. But then I noticed that the front seats were empty. I thought it must mean that someone Very Important was to sit there. But when asked about Very Important persons in those seats, the tour guide said they must be for us! This started everyone off in a happy mood because becoming bus sick isn't fun for anybody.

And we had a superb tour guide! She (her name was Lucy) was young and (we think) British with a very unique accent we could never figure out. From the start she was funny, knowledgeable, interesting, and extremely likable. Spending 11 hours with a busload of strangers and keeping them happy is a true gift. We all instantly knew that we were in good hands.

Oh - and we had a very capable bus driver! None of this slap-dash taking of corners or looking over at the cute tour guide when he should be watching the road, Once again, we were clearly in good hands.  

                            

                                               

But first, do you know about Bath? About THE baths? The baths we saw today in Bath were what the Romans built when they took over Britain and wanted their baths in England to be just the way baths were in Rome. Apparently they had not needed bathing costumes back  in Rome, and saw no reason to need them now. There were hot baths, cooling baths, baths with massages, baths without massages, some rooms with just women, some with just men, and then (here is where I part company with the Romans) some with them all mixed up. At this point in the tour, I ducked out and went to the Bath Abbey. Much nicer all around.

                                          

The strange bridge you see here is in Bath, and it is called Pulteney Bridge. I always go to see it when in Bath. Perhaps you remember it from the film Les Miserables, when Inspector Javert was so deeply saddened by Jean val Jean's kindness that he wound up jumping off of it while singing the song, "Stars". There is quite a lot to love about that song, and it is just too bad it had to have such a tragic ending. The Rather Stunning Son said, and I agreed with him, that there was no reason Javert should have to die right then. In the film starring Russell Crowe, he very dramatically leapt from the Pulteney Bridge, which would actually be impossible in real life because they did something to make the bridge a shorter distance than he could have leapt. But let's forget about that right now because I can't see the words on this page anymore, and am having difficulty making sense of it.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

What You Thought You Saw

  We didn't want to leave it, I mean who would want to leave York? but we were pretty excited about that bullet train. It wasn't officially a bullet, but it sure did go fast. We made not one stop for an hour and 50 minutes, and each time another train met us , the sound of its  strength gave us chills. I can't forget it.

I was excited about getting to London for many reasons, chief among them the fun things we would see and do for five days. But there was another reason for wanting to be here. The apartment we would stay in.

The apartment was found on a social media source for booking cottages, hotels, and Airbnb's. The accompanying photos were beautiful, and I couldn't wait to show it to my traveling companions. This did finally happen and we did finally turn the door key of our darling apartment. But as the door swung wide, we saw a place that did not resemble the photos!

What would I do? Where would we sleep tonight? 

I am too tired to delve, now. But in next to no time, you will hear it all!

In the meantime, 

See you along the way!

My Wonderful Young People

     Maneuvering in and around vast cities and small villages within the world of trains, taxis, buses and Ubers is no joke, and it isn't for the faint hearted either. One must have one's wits about them. We have done this, and although it has taken an occasional toll, we've had a blast. From St Ives (cottages) to Oxford (Airbnb), to Grassington (adorable hotel), York (Airbnb), and tomorrow to London (Airbnb), we have traveled, unpacked, stayed, walked, eaten, visited people, gone to church, then re-packed and dragged bags back to railroad stations, only to go and do it all again. We have two bag drags left (to London and to LHR) but I'd rather not think about that right now.

The Cathedral looming behind us (York Minster) is only one of the reasons we think it has been worth it all. What do you think of it? Is it not the most massive man-made structure whose entire goal is to know God and make Him known? To that purpose it was built between 1220 to 1472, and here it still stands. When I saw it, I stopped being able to talk for a little. How can you even talk with that standing in your background?

As to being inconvenienced by the small struggle of getting to it, if you want to see the great things in this life sometimes you do have to be inconvenienced. The trick is being inconvenienced gracefully.

I've experienced this with my wonderful traveling companions. Each and every new dwelling has presented us with questions the tour guide (me) didn't know existed. There were some mishaps in retrieving keys from the key safes we used. One key safe was placed at street level again which meant that someone had to lay down or crouch down and roll in a set of four numbers that finally produced the keys that would fit an apartment down the street and round the corner! The fact that it was really hot in each of our apartments (teeny windows that hardly opened) didn't help. 

But no one said anything like, well if only you would have read the instructions more carefully... Nope. It was all grace.

The endless energy of our two wonderful young persons has kept us going, and laughing, and finding new and exciting things to look at. The York Minster, where they found they could tramp 250 steps to the top of the Tower while grandma and gramps descended to the basement museum (splendid!), and Clifford's Tower presented them with a chance to race each other to the top, gazing with awe and wonder at the panoramic scenery below. Then there was the ancient city wall to stroll and explore until they were finally gently requested to vacate the premises.

There is more, which you will hear tomorrow as we board a very fast train and make our zippy way to London. I have heard that London is a magical place. I have also heard it is a mess. Perhaps I should assume the best about it until it provides me with proof to the contrary. 

I can hear people saying sleepy good nights down the hall, and I love you, and sleep well. No one is playing ABBA tunes down the street, so although I would enjoy Dancing Queen again,  perhaps sleep will be as swift and sweet as the soft rains outside my window.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Mother-of-Hudson

The Doggie in the Street

 

As I write, a man is below my window training his dog. This is unusual because we are in the middle of the city of York, and there are people. 

"Sit", "Stay", and "Heel" seem to be on the menu for this evening, and I am mesmerized by their teamwork. Clearly the dog wants to do what his master wants him to do, but there are so many interesting sights and smells to entice the doggy's interest that he can hardly be blamed for his missteps. He doesn't really want to "Stay".

Being in the middle of the city of York stuns me. It has a wall. It is Medieval. It has - and never forget this, readers mine - A CATHEDRAL!.

This last thing is almost so overwhelming that there are not enough words to describe it. I was there with my sister in 1990 when it was freezing cold and the sun went down shortly after 3:00. We didn't really have any money (we never did in those days), so we did everything on a short shoestring. We wanted cups of tea. We knew we had pounds and pence enough for a pot. But the purchase of sandwiches was a step too far.

So, we carried our concealed sandwiches (contraband?) in bags from home to the upper floor of the tea shop, and ordered. It came. We pulled out a sandwich, and at the moment I took a bite - a waitress approached.

"Madam," she said, pointing to a sign. "There can be no food brought onto the premises."

Besides being caught with a mouthful of tuna that was against the rules, I felt miffed at such a silly rule. But the lady was so firm with us that we meekly re-bagged our lunch, and abandoned our tea. We had to! She didn't trust us not to eat the tuna. That lovely pot of tea was a hard thing to leave behind. It lives still on in my mind.

Today in York, it is't freezing cold and we have enough pounds and pence to order and eat a lovely lunch at Betty's Cafe Tea Rooms. But the Cathedral sits just 800 feet from our rooms, and is as distracting as it ever was. Tomorrow we get to attend a service there, followed by a tour that will teach us all about its origins and ministry. I can hardly wait.

As well, our windows are open and through them is the unforgettable music of ABBA being pumped out and down the street. "Dancing Queen" is on now, and I like it very much. The man and his dog have moved along. My husband, daughter, and grandson are heading to bed, in anticipation of the grand things they and I will see and hear, tomorrow. 

Something I feel certain about is the central theme of York Minster. A bit like the obedience of that little doggie in the street below. 

Doing what the Master says.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

The Drover's Arms for Pud

 

We walked the river today at the edge of the village that gave us James Herriot, again. Our walk was stunning, mostly, with sheep, cows, giant bunny rabbits, bulls, and ducks poking along behind us. We didn't even balk at the bulls because their great eyes were busy elsewhere. 

We had meant to go out early when it was still cool. But there were things to do because somebody wonderful had gotten on a plane and flown over the Pond! Mother-of-Hudson had, in a flurry of preparation and sleeplessness, organized the family, the laundry, the food, the animals, the cleaning, the activity level while she was away (this was a huge proportion of her planning because one small boy has so much of it), and her own considerable packing. 

Everything had to be timed right, because once the plane had landed, there would be delayed trains (disappointing) and taxis to call (embarrassing) with all the changes, and then in desperation not to miss her next train, Mother-of-Hudson almost leapt out of one train and into another with only seconds to spare. 

 While Hudson and I walked and she rode on trains, we saw all sorts of interesting people. There were a group of ladies from India following a tour guide with a clipboard, a group of young teenage boys who argued amongst themselves about following directions. Apparently they were meant to find their own way from Grassington to the village of Hebdon, and it wasn't going very well. Their arguing was heated and did not indicate love and laughter, and peace ever after. So we went quietly past, and their words faded into oblivion.

Their arguing wasn't the only thing heated. WE were heated.

"I don't know if we are going to make it," said the grandmother, who was hot.

There was concern from the face of the soon-to-be man. He thought his grandmother was a brick because she could do many things not everyone's else's grandma could. We kept walking until he said the Old School House Tea Room was up ahead, and wouldn't it be nice to have something like that? Particularly tea. And why not call an Uber while we ate? It seemed a smashing idea because I was hot. So I ordered up an Uber. Then the phone died. Then we called my husband. Then the young teenaged boys from the trail began to populate the space around us. Then their teacher asked where in the world they had been for such ages. Then a bus came. Then we got on it. Then the ladies from India showed up and smiled and said thank you to their tour guide. Then we went to our hotel and did nothing but sit until Mother-of-Hudson pulled up in her taxi. 

And it was her birthday, so we went to the Drover's Arms Pub (where the tv show was filmed) and celebrated it! Sitting outside and eating Sticky Toffee Pudding at the end was the final and most wonderful part of a long, hot day. Together at last.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Her Son's Wife is Beautiful

Every time I enter the city of Oxford, I know already what I'm going to eat for breakfast. My friend once spoke to me in glowing terms about the most wonderful Cinnamon Buns on the planet. And she told me that her son and his wife lived ABOVE THE CINNAMON BUNS! Yes, actually they did. The buns smelled so beautifully all day that her son's wife was driven distracted and declared that they had to move to a different house so she wouldn't have to smell them, because whenever she smelled them, she ATE them. 

I understand her son's wife's pain. Her son's wife is beautiful, though, so I feel that if she can smell and eat heavenly buns on a daily basis, so can I. 

I said all this just now because I've walked down to Gail's Bakery every day and gotten some. Not only cinnamon buns. There are bunches of delights within the walls of Gail's, and we sampled quite a few. You see the blueberry muffin, the croissant, and the very best of them all, the cinnamon bun. Along with the bun, I order an Americano with an 'extra shot', with cold milk on the side. It is the perfect way to start a day in Oxford, or in London, or any place that has a Gail's. 

Now that we are out of Oxford, I shall have to resort to some other type of goody to eat in the morning, because there are NO Gail's Bakeries in Grassington. We are now in Grassington because we want to see the places where they filmed the latest All Creatures Great and Small show for people who loved James Herriot and his animals.

I am lucky because in the 1980s I got to meet the real James Herriot in his very own Veterinary surgery. Probably 150 Americans crammed themselves into the surgery, each one clutching one or more of James Herriot's books for him to sign. I'll never forget his kindness in signing his name over and over until his hand cramped, or the time after it when I went back again. Tomorrow we will hike around the area and learn about filming the show. Filming shows always adds excitement to the villages that get put onto television. Such a thrill it gave me to see the pub where Tristan drank about a gazillion pints when he shouldn't have, because it made him feel sick when he had to take the Veterinary license tests which he generally failed. There was no end of a dustup over that one.

I've got to go to sleep NOW. We spent the day dragging hot bags around Oxford, and then sat in a hot train shoulder to shoulder with strangers, finally finding ourselves in a wonderful little hotel smack dab in the middle of Grassington.

Please don't expect me to edit this, dear Readers. (It won't help because I can't even see the words anymore).

the Thames near Oxford

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Humble Type

 

St Michael's Mount

We are in Oxford now, and it is hot. The temp started to rise yesterday somewhere around Reading, just as the train's air conditioning went south. The idea of a First Class ticket had been ignored when mentioned, but we are now its biggest devotees. That whole section of the train was wonderfully cool. We noticed this while walking to the first class toilet that looks like a throne. You have to be careful or it might open while you are resting there. 

As the atmosphere in our train car began to ripen, my two traveling companions kept their cool. They were reliable, dependable, and funny when things tried to get the better of us. Together they discussed and dreamed of the future, even though this world is just a tad bit nutty right now. 

Kindness is a gift, and it is being given to me every day by these two. Yesterday we climbed high above the waters off Marazion to the great Mount, at last reaching the Castle. We visited the statue of St Michael himself as he offered Lucifer the hand of Mercy. 

One young visitor asked, "Did Lucifer accept?"

"Ah... no," replied the Docent. "He didn't." And although we knew this, it reminded us again of the great tragedy that has wreaked havoc upon us ever since. And yet... are we not ourselves offered the hand of Mercy, every moment of every day? So when someone asks if we accept the offer, I hope and trust that the answer has been a firm 'yes!'

We learned from another Docent that the Mount is jointly owned by The National Trust and the St Aubyn family. The family continue to live on the island (there is a basement!), and manage the visitor experience. The National Trust is responsible for the conservation and upkeep of the property, and so it's a win-win. There was never enough money to keep that magnificent place from crumbling, until in came the National Trust - everyone sharing and receiving something of what they had wanted. (although some might say living in a basement isn't all it's cracked up to be).

At the bottom of the Mount, we were getting ready to leave before the tide came in. A workman saw us and said, "Be sure and look inside the milk house! A lot of cows used to live here, grazing and chewing their cud." Then he added, "The milk house has wonderful acoustics, too. Have a listen to those."

We went in.

"How do we have a listen to the acoustics?" I asked. Then the sound of a deep baritone voice echoed around us in the most beautiful tones. Surprised, I looked around and saw that it was the voice of Hudson, singing and echoing. It sounded like a group of Benedictine Monks! Pretty soon, people began to filter in to the milk house (they had heard Hudson from clear up in the church!), looking for the wonderful voice. They searched and searched, but because Hudson is the humble type, they never discovered the source! 

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady