Strolling around Ancient Sherborne

I had some JibJab videos of our family that Mum wanted on a DVD so the nearest shop that could do that for us was in Sherborne, a town dating back to A.D.705. It is swamped in history, with many old buildings, Sherborne Castle built by Sir Walter Raleigh, Sherborne Abbey, the ruins of a 12th-century abbey to list a few. I would have loved to have spent a whole weekend just in this town with camera and tripod, but this vacation was more about me spending quality time with Mum than it was sightseeing, so I knew I wouldn't get to visit many of these sites. Most days we never left the house until noon or after and today was no different.

We passed a roundabout with its bear figures decorated as Santas.

Looking down on Sherborne. Note the public footpath sign by the gate indicating a trail that could be walked through farmland. I so wish this was done in America.

We walked up a hill lined with ancient buildings to the video store. The road was called Cheap Street but contained a lot of expensive shops. The butcher shop was popular but we didn't linger. 

We did step into an art shop which had some beautiful paintings in its window, and immediately I was drawn towards this painting called "Pinks Arrived, Schvelnig Sands, Holland" by Richard Henry Nibs. Only £7500. so if anyone would like to buy me this, I'd be eternally grateful. I wanted to just sit in a chair and stare at this beautiful stormy scene.
We found the video store and gave them the files to burn to a DVD which would then be sent to Mum. Our next job was to find a cafe so we could have lunch and we found a nearby place called Oliver's Coffee House.

We had an amazing lunch here of stuffed jacket spuds with fresh salad and pots of tea. I took the photo above of another customer's trays. Everything here looked delicious, and the place was packed.

All the shops on Cheap Street were like this one, looking like they'd been there for hundreds of years. No modern glass windows or steel columns anywhere, thank God.

The post box outside the post office had been painted gold from it's traditional red and we spotted a plaque on the side saying that it was gold to celebrate Peter Wilson, a Dorset man, who won a gold medal in the London 2012 Olympics for the Men's Double Trap Shotgun Shooting event. He holds the world record for this event too.

A cute mug with English robins.

Cheap Street Church and the Cross Keys Pub sign.

Dusk was falling as we walked down to the bottom of Cheap Street, enjoying the historic old buildings. We turned the corner to find ourselves gazing up at the magnificent Sherborne Abbey. Lit up from below it was a beautiful sight and just seemed huge from our perspective. In 705 it was a Saxon cathedral, later in 998 becoming a Benedictine abbey until 1539 and is now a parish church. The tomb of Sir Thomas Wyatt, the first English poet to write a sonnet, is inside and Sir Walter Raleigh and his wife attended services here.

St John's Almshouses, founded in 1437, are next to the abbey. An interesting article about them is here.
We couldn't stay much longer in Sherborne, night was falling and Mum was tired. It had been wonderful to walk once again around a town steeped in so much history. After living in the States with its new buildings and recent history, I'd forgotten how amazing it is to walk in the footsteps and explore the buildings the same way folks had done several hundreds of years before. I'd taken this all for granted when I lived here so it was nice to feel as a visitor does and learn a new respect for my homeland and its treasures. We drove back to West Moors and I mentally chalked this small market town on my list of places to return to and investigate more fully in the future.

Fresh Fish and Blustery Boards by the Sea

Mum and I had some wonderfully lazy days, just spent chatting or ambling around the local towns and villages but by New Years Day I was getting decidedly cranky because I had not yet had my beloved fish 'n' chips. I'd had a few phenomenal breakfasts featuring the great British back bacon but I now had to have the fish. And so despite it being a blustery, dank and gloomy day, we drove to Mudeford, a tiny fishing village where fresh fish is caught daily.

The last time I had been here was with Mum and Greg and our dying father. Dad had wanted to have one last pub crawl as a family and had also wanted to smoke a last few cigarettes with his pints; he had given up smoking for some time previous to this. Although we'd all felt the despairing gravity of the day and had needed to occasionally turn to hide a falling tear, we actually managed some spontaneous laughs and jokes, reminiscent of happier days. The day had been fun and we were lucky to occasionally forget the wrenching solemnity of the reason why we were all there.
Mum and I didn't bring up that day. We were there to create our own memories and we ended up having a cheerful time enjoying the warmth of the open fire in the tiny pub, chatting with others as we all shared a table and each ate a plate heaped with home made chips and a large fried cod on top. I was in heaven. I'd waited 5 years to eat this favorite meal of the English and it was delicious. Not greasy or dried up, it was exquisitely fresh and tender, the batter crisp and crunchy, the cod meat pristine white chunks that melted in my mouth. And to wash it down with a pint of Ringwood best bitter, served at the proper temperature was divine. All of us at our table were impressed with our repast, and eagerly watched as other plates of cod and chips sail past in a waiter's hand towards the delighted faces of the recipients. I could have sat there all afternoon but Mum wanted me to see Avon Beach and I did want to see the sea.

Not a sign you'd see too often but we thought it was fab.

Outside the starlings and sea gulls swooped on the winds over the sea wall or snuggled down on the lobster and crab pots and fish nets. It was freezing cold and we didn't want to be out too much in the winds.

People standing around a fire pit as they waited for a ferry, and an old fishing boat leaning against crab pots.

The tide was out but coming in quickly and some intrepid crabbers held string and nets over the railings. They had caught some crabs too which amazed me but told me they would be released from their bucket before they left.

Mum was determined that I see Avon Beach and marched forth past the beach huts, locked up tightly for the winter. The waves weren't particularly high but the wind was relentlessly blasting up and down the sands and we saw large vans were turning up at the parking lots. the doors on these opening quickly as guys, (not a single female to be seen), jumped out and changed into wetsuits or drysuits and then dashed down the sand to plunge into the water with their sailboards. There were a couple of kite surfers too but these didn't stay long.

These nutters got down to business immediately, paddling out and then turning around to surf back to the beach. I asked one of them how they all knew when the best surf times were as they all appeared at about the same time. Apparently instead of working like the rest of us, they sit and monitor a website called windguru.com, and as soon as the conditions for surfing look ideal, they all drive down here.

I saw a lot of bright red hands and feet and couldn't resist asking one of the men if he was cold, while pointing to his scarlet feet. "Nah!" he bleated out, shaking his head adamantly at the same time. "You're lying!" I retorted with a grin. He laughed and shrugged, obviously not wanting to impair his manly image. Mum had headed for shelter inside a nearby souvenir shop, but before I joined her I wanted to take a quick walk up and down the sand and study these mad men. I did note that they only made about 2 or 3 runs before deciding to stop. It wasn't too long before they had all dragged their sail boards back onto the beach and were packing up. Obviously it was a little cold, even for them, but I couldn't blame them for not wanting chilblains. When Mum and I left the shop to walk back to the car, nearly all of them had disappeared.

Except for this dude.

Going Home to Maidstone

On December 22nd I excitedly flew home to England. It was an immense relief to know that I had nearly 3 weeks of no work, a long period of relaxation and the joy of catching up with Mum and dear old friends to look forward to. I was not going to think about art graphics or Maggi’s website for one minute but was going to focus on simply enjoying being with people I loved.
Even the crowded plane and the guy sitting next to me nursing a bad cold could not dampen my spirits. I had wrapped Christmas presents in gold paper and attached golden bells that jangled and jingled as I marched through the airport. Friends on Facebook had warned that these would be opened but I sailed through the TSA checks without a hitch. I popped Zicam pills every couple of hours to protect myself against the poor suffering man sitting next to me, and arrived at Heathrow early, finding my taxi driver almost immediately. Mum’s little house was the only one in the close lit up brightly when we arrived about midnight and it was the early hours of the morning that saw us finally going to bed after many hugs and cups of tea.

These cute little knitted critters were bought by Mum at a craft fair many years ago. Likely recognized only by British, these are boiled egg warmers.

 Our delicious Christmas dinner. I’d been looking forward and salivating over this for months before this moment. A Dorset leg of lamb with roast potatoes and parsnips, Yorkshire puddings and veggies. The lamb was amazing; unfortunately American lamb is completely flavorless compared to this. Only once had I been able to taste something similar to this when I found frozen New Zealand lamb cutlets in Trader Joe’s. Sadly I’ve never come across them again. But this dinner was superb and we had lamb to spare for another meal later. And of course we had Christmas pudding with cream afterwards, but for me the highlight was that lamb. Mmmmm.

A little penguin that Mum gave me, the light changes to different colors. We had a lovely slow and relaxed Christmas Day, watched the Queen’s speech and just enjoyed chatting with copious glasses of sherry. During my stay, we had 3 bottles!
We did run out to get service for my iPhone. It was great to be ‘live’ again but my joy was short lived. The reception was fine in Castlepoint where I got my EE SIM card but as soon as we got back to Mum’s house the bars dropped on my phone and the service almost died. Apparently underneath Mum’s house and the surrounding properties lies the UK’s largest military oil reserve. At the back of Mum’s property I could see an electric fence a few yards away and this circles the base. It’s put out that this is a fire training ground but no-one’s seen any fire trucks go in. There’s often guards at the entry point, helicopters overhead  and dogs are sometimes heard barking from within. A siren goes off at noon every Friday. I found a history of the site here. I think this site must affect my phone signal and internet but haven’t had the opportunity to ask neighbors. I met Godwin across the road who is friends with Mum, but forgot to mention it. I found it very annoying at first but after a couple of days I started enjoying my ‘technology break’. I just checked e-mails occasionally when we left the village.

 On Saturday, December 27, I was up bright and early to set off for Maidstone. I’d had one go at driving Mum’s car the day before and was amazed that after 16 years, my first time of driving back in England in a manual vehicle was so easy. I didn’t miss a beat, no wrong turnings or missed gears, so I was looking forward to the 3 hour drive to my home town. It was an easy drive with so many well placed signs, no maps or ‘sat nav’ needed, definitely not the case in America! I chuckled at signs I saw on the way up, ‘No racing by horse driven vehicles’, ‘Queues likely’, and ‘FREE cash here’, indicating no fee ATMs. I also stopped at a couple of places to snap quick photos of places I loved, Arundel Castle, a little house in Tunbridge Wells, the Folly at Hadlow and the once thriving little cricket ball factory at Teston.

 As I neared Maidstone I called Boo and also Phil to let them know I was near. A few minutes later I saw my dearest friend standing on the street waiting, and so together we began a whirlwind of a weekend filled with hugs, laughs, tears and more hugs. Americans don’t enjoy hugging, contact is usually an ‘air hug’ where arms circle around another, barely touching, and followed by a light tap on the shoulder. I had more bear hugs this weekend than in the 16 years of living in the U.S. and my arms were nearly dropping off on the drive back to Dorset afterwards!
Bett and I drove straight to Phil’s where I finally met his Mum, Joyce. We’ve been exchanging Christmas and Birthday cards with e-mails for years but never met. Yet it seemed like we had known each other for ages, it was lovely to finally see her. We all chatted over coffee, reminiscing on the past and laughing. Phil is in the photo above, dressed in his Fez Head Morris dancing gear.
The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of love, hugs, laughing over memories, more hugs, Kenny Cramps cider, and just an overall atmosphere of loving friends and family. I have 2 adopted families in Maidstone, Dad Derrick who has always been like a second father to me and the Bosmans, my dear friend Cathy who took me in when I was 18 years old and whose wonderful family treated me like one of their own.

 Boo and DD outside his garden shed. He was adamant that I would spend the night with him after my night in the pub and had to assist me in entering the house later that night when for some reason I couldn't get the key to work...

 His statue at the end of the garden. When buying it, the sales assistant had asked why he wanted it and he had told her he wanted to put it at the end of his bed!

 Me and DD.

 The dreaded Kenny Cramps cider. I had gone to the pub with every intention of having just 3 beers but Mouse led me down the wrong path and the rest of the evening has lots of cider induced memory blocks.

 Long time biker friends. Dear old Mouse on the right made sure I got home safely, bless him.
The next morning DD took me for breakfast then later saw me off dosed up with coffee and aspirin. I picked up Boo and we headed off to Cathy's house where she greeted me at her open door with arms held out even before I stepped on her pathway. It was lovely to hug my old friend again and before I knew it we were following her and Phil to brother Billy's house in Harrietsham.

 With Bill and Cathy. We laughed over old times and caught up on current events. I could have sat and chatted for hours and was sad when I had to leave to head back to Dorset, but I wanted to quickly whizz around Lenham, the next village, where I used to live, before heading back.

 Bill's awesome wreath on his front door.

 The fire station in Lenham hasn't changed a bit but it seemed like so many years ago when I'd worked there and had been the first female firefighter in Kent to become fully qualified. I also chuckled as I remembered the time when I was being tested by a 'whitehat', as we called senior officers, on knots and lines for my 22 month (and final) assessment. I had been told to tie an electrical fire extinguisher so it was ready to be hauled aloft and when he had tested the knots by lifting the extinguisher the damn thing had gone off, covering us and the whole bay (behind the red doors in the photo above) with very fine pink powder. Complete silence had followed as we looked at each other, me with extreme fear and him with intense anger, and then suddenly he barked, "Get out!". I scarpered, running to join my crew members and we waited for our station captain to come back with news. I didn't see the 'white hat' again but it was determined that the pin on the extinguisher had been faulty and I was let off having to clean up the station. I also passed my test.

 My old house in the square. Boo told me that the bluebells I planted still come up every year but once beautiful garden that I had planted and tended is now overrun and the old fashioned rose bushes are all gone.

 Just a small wreath on this house and a star fashioned from brussel sprouts on the door.

 We just sat and looked at this place with no idea what was going on here. Was this for Christmas or an all year round 'display'?

 I designed this sign for Lenham many moons ago and was delighted to see it still standing, but have to admit they need a new one now, it's a bit weather beaten.

We drove back to Maidstone where I had to drop Boo off. It was very hard to say goodbye but we did manage a photo before the tears started and we hugged goodbye. We've always used quotes throughout our friendship from my favorite book, Great Expectations, and they all came out as we parted. "What larks, Pip, old chap", and "Ever the best of friends".

 I drove past Paddock Wood on the way back to Mum's so I could see the Hop Farm and managed to grab this silhouette of the oast houses in the fading light.

This great graffiti artwork on a bridge was my last shot and then I had to concentrate on the road as I headed south. It was a great drive even in the dark and I still didn't need sat nav, I just followed the finger posts to Mum's front door where a welcoming hot pot of tea was waiting when I arrived.