A day of surprises along the road

It's Tuesday (well, really, it's Thursday, rainy and grey, but I'm writing about Tuesday !) and we reluctantly decide to leave the East Anglia area and head back to London but not without many stops along the way.  We know we want to go to Southwold (I think that's pronounced Suthold here) and Aldeburgh (pronounced Albrah), two picturesque seaside villages.  We had been to Aldeburgh years ago on another airfield quest and had the best fish and chips ever while sitting on the beach wall.  Wouldn't mind doing that again! Southwold had, by chance, been referred to us a few days ago by new friends, Ken and Vera, not knowing that at the time we were closeby.

I say we reluctantly left East Anglia because it's one of the most "comfortable" areas in England to me.  I said to John a few minutes ago that "if I had to live in England" (at which he chuckled - more about that later!), I would want to live in East Anglia because it's a slower pace, it's not as "touristy", and there's not an M road anywhere! But you can easily get to a cathedral city, Bury St. Edmonds, the shore and lots of historical and picturesque sights without the battle of others trying to do the same.  Or having to get out of London to start on another outing. 

On our way, with Southwold as our first destination, we were quite willing to take side-trips to anything we saw that might interest us which is why John managed a prompt U-turn when I said "There's a sign for Framlingham Castle!  Wanna go?"  Down the little curvy town streets we went following the signs that finally took us around a hairpin corner and BOOM there's the castle, hidden before and now in full view.

Framlingham is a 12th century fortress and was where Mary Tudor rallied her troops in 1553 to secure her throne.  If she hadn't, a lot of lives would have been saved, but that's history.  Despite the fact that the castle walls have been standing for 800 years I was still nervous as we did the wall walk - in the pouring rain!  Very English event. (I mean, what if they should suddenly collapse - I have gained a few pounds over here, you know.)

Many school groups were visiting and it was fun to watch their excitement as they learned the history of their country and how people lived in the castle and, for instance, retrieved their water from the well.

Knowing more about Framlingham now gives me a point of reference and a visual picture as I continue reading and studying the Tudor era that I love so well.  I am right now reading Mary Tudor, England's First Queen by the historian Anna Whitelock so I'll be right there with her during that phase of the book.  If you would like to know more about the castle (because we still have many places to go today) use this website.   http://www.castlexplorer.co.uk/england/framlingham/framlingham_links.php#maine

From there, we continued out of Framlingham through the beautiful countryside of rolling hills and fields of rape now sagey yellow rather than golden.  I suppose it has to go to seed before it's harvested and therefore eventually loses its brilliance.  I miss those patches through the fields and now what had become marshland.  We were in the Broadlands, an area of England we had not seen.   Suddenly I saw on the left of the skyline a magnificent cathedral and it's another "Turn around, John!  We have to see this!" moment.   Turning around meant losing sight of it but I was sure I saw a road signed "Church Street" which seemed a logical place to turn.  Still not seeing it but turning there, anyway, we found ourselves in a hidden muddy car park and the cathedral right in front of us.

From a distance, it had appeared to be a ruin.  In fact, I now recall John asking why we had to turn around and I remember saying "Because it's a ruin and we have to see it!"  Well, it wasn't a ruin at all - because it's clerestory windows were clear glass instead of stained, in fact all it's windows just about and you could see through them, from a distance, it looked like it had no glass just openings as if it were in ruins.  We had found the Cathedral of the Marshes in Blythburg.


Stunningly bereft of color, the interior of the church appears to have been whitewashed by the marshy air and deterioration of it's wood.

In 1577, a fierce storm and lightening caused the tower to fall and destroy the bells and the font and it wasn't repaired for almost 200 years.  With delight, we discovered that the end of each pew had a carved figure that had not been destroyed during the Reformation.  However, the large beautiful angels at the apex of some of the crossbeams were used as target practice and shot up.

There is a re-creation of one over the door painted in the bright colors that would have been there in the beginning.

We discovered a TINY circular staircase in the corner by the front door inviting us to go up to "the priest's room" restored in the 60's.

We curled our way up the tiny stairs into an amazing large room in comparison - probably about 14' x 14' - with an altar, several hand-made benches and large windows overlooking the front doorway.  There was also a peephole into the sanctuary but you couldn't see much other than some who might be entering.  The room was whitewashed and there was a coffee mug on a shelf!  We read that sometimes this is used as a chapel for weddings but I can't figure out how the bride could get up and down those stairs in any kind of a dress.  I could barely manage it in my jeans.

Outside, the cemetery had been designated a wildlife center which is apparently being done around many churches and cemeteries as open areas begin to disappear.  However, since this church yard was in the middle of a huge marshland, it seemed the only wildlife taking advantage of this space was the rabbits who had tunneled all over the cemetery.  In fact, we saw several scurry as we walked around.  Guess these rabbits won't have to worry about development like the ones in Watership Down!

Amusingly, there was also signage to toilets through the cemetery, down a wooded path almost into the marsh it seemed where there were two what appeared to be porta-potties but with flushing toilets and individual sinks!  I made John go in and look!

The signage made it clear that these toilets were meant for the public as well as church attendees!  Grateful public like me...

Off again to Southwold and not seeing major buildings like castles and cathedrals any more, we finally arrived in this delightful and once again colorful seaside village.  Broadstairs was colorful, we will find Aldeburgh to still be colorful, and Southwold continued this tradition.  By the way, speaking of colorful buildings, Suffolk County, the area in which we were in and had been in since Rattlesden, is known for its pink houses.  Suffolk pink it's called and it is suggested that when these cottages were being built in the 1500s and later that the materials available for building were chalk, sand and heavy clay.  For coloring, there was ox blood and sloe juice from sloe berries (had to do some research on that one!).  I'd heard about the blood for coloring, but not the sloe juice - from which you can make sloe gin which might account for all the men around Suffolk not being bothered about living in pink houses!  

Don't miss the thatched roof!  There are more of those Suffok than anywhere else we've seen this trip.

Anyway, many were also pargetted which was a method of decorating the exterior by slabbing on thick areas of plaster and carving flowers, animals, and other designs into it and then carving away from the outlines making the figures 3 dimensional.  Most we saw were quite beautiful and a testament to the pargetter's skills.

The first area we headed for in Southwold was the waterfront and we came across a long row of the beach huts some of these towns are famous for.

Then we headed to the harbor which is really more of a widened area in a river whose mouth wasn't far from us out into the sea.  The fishermen's huts and the fishmonger's stalls were opposite in appearance, being weather stained and drab but having colorful and delicious interiors of fresh fish and FISH AND CHIPS!

Yum - here we go again.  But since we were headed to Aldeburgh to relive my waterfront experience there with the fish and chips, we only ordered one serving.  That's a fried cod about 10" long sitting on a large bed of french fries, ooops, sorry - chips!  Very, very good and since we were sitting outside on the harbor, good competition for the Aldeburgh goal.  And there was competition for our meal as well!

After driving through the once again quaint and curving streets and seeing the pink and yellow, blue and cream houses and John longingly gazing at the Adnam's brewery which sits right in the middle of town, we decided to move on to Aldeburgh.

It's only about 30 minutes south unless you have another sighting - and this was John's turn (I was so proud of him!).  He spotted the ruins of an abbey off to our right and made a quick swerve onto its drive.  He had found Leiston Abbey, a gorgeous ruins of an abbey I had never heard or seen reference to.

Once again I stood in awe at the size and grandeur of what man had built to the glory of God.  In this case, you could only imagine what it might have looked like in its beginnings and why men would want to isolate themselves away from society and family to worship Him.  Good works need people to be done.

The clouds and sunny blue skies only added to the beauty of this place.  Our weather had improved greatly since morning but I could imagine that cold and rainy weather over these hills would make the abbey a cold and formidable place of self-sacrifice from worldly comforts. 

The day was slipping away from us and we wanted one last look at Aldeburgh and old memories.  Aldeburgh has a shingle beach.  That means that instead of sand, it's beach was of rocks and we wanted to hear that sound we loved so much of the rocks rolling over themselves as the waves went in and out.  Unfortunately, the tide was out and there wasn't a lot to hear.  I've tried to describe it before as a bubbling, frothy kind of noise but it's hard to do.  We knew we would have a long wait for the tide to come in enough to record it so we did the next best thing and went to the pub we had stayed at on our last visit, The Mill Inn.  (By the way, we decided today to start a list of pub names just for the heck of it and on our first day, we collected over 20 names of pubs we passed or signs we saw.  Wonder how long it would be if we had started on day one!)

The pub was very quiet in comparison to the night we were there when there was a wake celebrating the life of one of the lifeboat mates.  Aldeburgh is again an ancient town brought to prominence in the 1500's when a natural harbor began to form.  It is known for its lifeguard station that has been in existence for 180 yeaars.  One of their mates had died and they were celebrating his life in the pub they all frequented.  In fact, they were so rowdy that the publican came over to us and asked us to please not be afraid of them, they had just buried a mate and they were celebrating his life.  Since we had reservations to spend the night there, we decided we wouldn't be!  But Tuesday afternoon it was dead silent (not to coin a pun at this point!) and sort of boring.  We like it better lively!

It was time to do one last thing before we headed home - the fish and chips!  Now, you are thinking - you have already done that today.  Yes, but!!!  Remember we only ordered one serving in Southwold and that's all we are going to do here so all together we had one serving each.  The restaurant takeaway area opened at 5:00 and when we arrived just a few minutes early, there was already a line.  And of course we ate it on the sea wall along with all the seagulls who joined us! 

Our trip back "home" was  uneventful until we realized that Gertrude once again was going to take us the shortest route home rather than on the highways.  We were going through downtown London!  Poor John.  His driving skills are wonderful over here but it's not everyone that gets to drive in London down Piccadilly and past Harrod's.  Not too busy an area!! We hit the beer and wine when we got home at 8:30.

Monday, June 7th - Serendipity plays out....

The next morning we set off to revisit Rattlesden airbase and visit the memorial that was planted about twenty-five years ago by grateful local citizens.  It's a beautiful stone placed on the road side and behind the hedge is one end of the runway.

We went on to explore the base again and when I climbed the stairs to stand up on the "porch" of the tower, probably where the commanding officers would have stood as they counted the number of planes returning vs. the number of planes that left, I could almost feel the anguish they must have felt as they found out how many of their men were returning ... and how many were not.  The place felt almost sacred.  No, it did feel sacred.  How many planes returned with engines burning, landing gear not down meaning the airman in the ball turret knew he was going to die, men injured and shot up?  As we stood there, the sound of a plane in the distance whispered over the field, the same sound that all on this post would wait to hear many hours after the squadron left.  It was almost ghostly, spiritual, and yet it was 65 years ago.

This shot is from the tower looking toward the runway which runs near the tree line in the distance. 

What looks like an ordinary runway leaves a heritage of extraordinary events.


An avenue of Quonset huts was still there, each hut numbered.  We could only peek in one small one whose windows were at eye level and it is now someone's wood working shop.  Funny how time moves on, isn't it?

It was time for us to move on, too, and see if we could find the museum in Buxhall.  Find it we did with a hand-painted sign on the road "Granary Crafts, Tea Room and Bygones Museum" and when we got there, it was closed!  Reciting our story once again to the white haired man trimming the hedges, we found out it was his collection and he would be happy to show it to us but his wife had gone off with the keys and we should return at 2:00.

It was now around 11:30 and having to be back in this area at 2:00 meant we could not move on with our day as planned, so back we went to Rattlesden to its other pub which we had been told served no food and was where the drinkers went!  We had now traversed the same roads about 4 times, each time saying "We've been here before!"  It got to be a joke for us.  Since this was only a drinking pub, lunch for us was two bags of crisps (what we call potato chips; chips here are what we call french fries), a bag of cashews, 1/2 pint of Adnams Spitfire ale and a diet Coke!  We have found that our nutritional needs here are often compromised by our adventures. 

Unfortunately, we just missed meeting a very elderly man who, as the "drinkers" there told us would probably have enjoyed talking to us all day.  We were sorry about that.  They soon will be gone and their stories with them.

Returning to the Granary Crafts, our host and his wife (with the keys!) were waiting for us and showed us into the back of the shop where there was room after room of the most amazing collection of bygones, for sure!

We were directed to a small room on the right where his collection of local WWII memorabilia was displayed.  And here is where the serendipity occurs - on the bulletin board was a picture of Uncle Robin and his crew of "The Paper Doll".  Granted, it's a picture John already has but to think that it would be in the back of a craft shop located on Lower Street, Buxhall.  It literally brought me to tears.  What respect it shows once again by the English people of the role our country played and the sacrifices these men made.  A casual conversation had led us to a touching display of loyalty and recognition of "our boys" and the role they played in this country's war.

Frances Robin Graham, 1st Lt. and pilot, stands on the far left with his crew.

After profusely thanking our hosts for their concern and hospitality, we moved on to Lavenham because we had heard there was a pub called The Swan which might possibly have signatures of American servicemen on its walls.  Lavenham is known for its half-timbered buildings, it's Norman church and it's history as a wool town and once one of the richest cities in England.  One after another, the streets are lined with homes and shops built in the 15th and 16th century.  Whenever I say something like that, it just sort of boggles my mind.

This house has a herringbone pattern in brick in between the studs.

And this is one of the main streets in the town.  Amazing, isn't it?  The Swan is on the right and includes all the timbered building you see to the curve. 

We were so tired when we arrived in Lavenham (remember that late night we had last night?), so we found a parking space, put the seats down and zonked out for about 30 minutes!  When we woke up, we realized we were on the corner where The Swan Hotel is located. Since the hotel had the same name as the pub we were looking for I felt it made sense to go inside.  There are many pubs named The Swan in England so this could just be another repeat but it's worth a look.  When we entered the lobby of this very swank hotel whose buildings are around 500 years old, there was a framed notice on an easel that we were welcome to look around and please visit the Swan Pub where servicemen from WWII had signed the walls!  We found it and it was really touching to not only see the signatures but to see how the hotel had taken precautions to protect them by putting a glassed frame over the wall. 

Since the pub with the signatures turned out to be about 10 miles from Rattlesden, we realized that it was unlikely to find Robin's amongst them, but John photographed them all to look over closely at a later time.

 
This is the interior of a meeting room and you can see how they remove the walls but leave the framework so you can see the interior beauty of the structure.

One of the most famous buildings in Lavenham and probably in England is the Guildhall.  This was built as a community meeting hall and 500 years later is still being used for the same reason.  It is also a wonderful museum of the town and the wool industry that made it rich.  This fireplace is so big I can almost stand up in it.

One of the architecturally outstanding buildings in Lavenham is the church, of course, as in many towns.  This church particularly reflects the wealth of some of its citizens.  It's called a "wool church" because it is the wealth of the wool families that built it.  The chancellery dates back to the 14th century but most of it is 15th and 16th century. 

 Although many of the churches are very similar, I never tire of going in and experiencing the awe I feel as I contemplate how these massive buildings were built, the skills and patience of those artisans whose efforts created these sacred, quiet and soaring spaces for generations who want a place to worship.

After visiting the church, we walked down the street to The Cock - that's a bird, folks - for dinner and returned to the B&B for a quiet time of reading and writing in the lounge.  We were so grateful for the precious things and places we had found today. 

Sunday, June 6th - Serendipity....

We left London yesterday - Sunday - about 10 AM to venture out to East Anglia.  This area - if you were looking at a map of England - is the "bulge" on the east side into the North Sea.  It is a very flat area and for that reason was used extensively during WWII for airbases of the Royal Air Force and the US Army Air Force (USAAF).  

The reason for our trip to this area is to see if we can track down anything about John's uncle, Frances Robin Graham, who was a B17 pilot killed when his plane went down over the North Sea.  The crash was caused by flak from other American planes crashing into each other as the planes in front of the formation received orders to abort the mission before the communication got to the planes in the rear. 

Many of the old airbases still exist or the runways are evident still; many have been returned to the farmland they once were.  Rattlesden, John's uncle's base, is still somewhat intact because it is used by a gliding club.  The two story tower still stands and looks very much like the towers you see in the old war movies with John Wayne and others.  We visited this base about 6-7 years ago with an escort but we wanted to go back and do some more exploring.  It's not very impressive looking, is it?  Not until you stand on that balcony and look out at the airfield.....



I'm getting ahead of myself.  We got into the area around 1:00 and had plans to meet our new friend Mary for lunch at The Gardener's Arms in a little village called Tostock (pronounced tosstic) at two.  We met Mary on our trip to Oberammergau and since she's a very special person, we want to stay in touch.  She's American and lives only about 65 miles Rattlesden (which is outside Bury St. Edmonds for those of you who know the area or are looking it up) and it seemed like a good idea to meet so we could get to know each other better.

Since we were early, we took advantage of the time and visited The Brewer's Arms in Rattlesden, the most likely pub that John's uncle would have frequented.  We had been told that there is a pub somewhere in the area where the airmen and servicemen had signed the walls while they were there.  This seemed like a likely candidate.  Parking was a bit tight this Sunday afternoon, so we asked a fella we saw if we could park in front of his house.  One thing led to another as it usually does for us and while we were telling him and his wife about our search, she mentioned that in a small village nearby, Buxhall (pronounced Buxle), there was a  craft shop that had a museum in the back with a lot of WWII memorabilia and we should check it out.  Not knowing how significant this tip would be, we put it on our " to do list" and said we would.

We went into the pub and found some photographs of a B17 and a few of the airmen, but nothing else.  We were pleased, however, that the locals were still displaying 70 years later some acknowledgment of the role "our boys" had played in their country during this world's war. 

Time to go meet Mary and after a very pleasant two and a half hours and too many desserts (I am so going to regret this!), we parted better friends and John and I went on to our bed and breakfast. 

What a lovely place Oak Farm Barn in Rougham is, located in another little village with an airbase located 10 minutes from Rattlesden.  It was an OLD barn that Ray and Rachel and their builder son dismantled down to the studs. Rachel said the scariest part was when they jacked it all up to build the new foundation under it and it started to sway!  There was a big lounge on the upper story with a huge window for relaxing, happy hour and eating breakfast.  Downstairs through this glassed wall and outside was a patio that looked over the hedge to a field and paddock with four horses.  We took advantage of all the spaces the two nights we were there and enjoyed every minute.

Lovely walk in the Bishop's Garden and my hair is cut!

My foot was considerably better this morning and I suggested a walk to John.  My appointment to get my hair cut was at 2:00 so we couldn't do a day trip far from town..  We decided to go along the Thames Walk which is about 20 minutes away and walk toward London to Bishop Fulham's Palace.  By the way, our street is off Fulham's Palace Road, a very busy street, so we were going along the river to the park because it's pretty and quiet.  The Palace was the home of bishops for hundreds of years with the site occupied for over 1300 years by clerics.  "The medieval Great Hall has been the scene of royal banquets and supposedly the persecution of protestant heretics whose ghosts are said to haunt the Palace corridors.  The surviving building dates from 1495 and is Grade One Listed." (www.fulhampalace.org) It was once moated and the gardens have had many botanical firsts.  The house wasn't open today but it is worthy of a return visit.  It reportedly has ghosts!

On the way we passed the Fulham Football Club stadium.  Football - soccer to us - is BIG here.  This is the local club and I don't think they have made it into too many finals but the stadium is close enough to Ellen and Philip's that they left us a schedule so we would be aware of game days.  Apparently, parking spaces are at a premium and it's a good idea not to go anywhere on game day for fear when you return to your own street there will be no place to park your car for hours!

As we walked along the river, we could see the rowing teams practicing and hear their coaches on loud speakers urging them on and commenting on their form.  The tide was in and the river was high. John took this picture yesterday when he walked to the Fuller brewery for a tour.

This is the same spot after the tour!  The Thames is a tidal river and sometimes the tide rises and falls between 15 and 21 feet.

When we got to the parks that surround the "palace", we saw many little people with little soccer balls and little goal posts practicing their game on a great big field with lots of big people supervising and helping along.  Seemed to be very informal and low key, not quite like our soccer games with the kids. 

Down the wide tree-lined pathway, we came upon a VERY LARGE sandbox and matching wading pool with fountains filled with more little people building castles and stomping in the water, even riding their scooters into the water.  We watched for quite awhile, enjoying the pleasure and happiness of the scene.

A walk through the palace grounds and back on to the pathway brought us back home after about two hours.  The weather was beautiful, the sky clear and the breeze pleasant in the shade.  In the sun, I was wishing for the cool days that had recently left us.

At 1:30, I began my walk to the beauty parlor to get my hair cut.  It's a bit nerve-wracking to go to a stranger in another country to have your hair cut when you had been using the same hairdresser for about 20 years but it worked out okay so I'm pleased.  That was a hurdle I hadn't been looking forward to.

We're going out of town again tomorrow for three days - to East Anglia where most of the American WWII airbases existed.  John's uncle, Frances Robin Graham, was a B17 pilot who was killed over the North Sea in 1944 on a run to Berlin.  The squadron was told to turn around because of  fog and when Robin turned his plane around not all the B17s had gotten the message.  There was a crash and the debris from that crash hit his plane and it went down.  Tragic, really.  We have been to Robin's air base in Rattlesden and want to find the pub that the airmen went to.  It's reported that many of them signed the walls of the pubs around their air fields so we want to see if we can find his signature.  Hope to leave early in the morning.  We're meeting Mary, a lovely young American woman we met in Oberammergau who was there with her father.  She is living in England for three years about 65 miles from where we will be so we'll  meet at an old pub for lunch.

By the way, John had a good time at the brewery's pub!

PS - Did I ever tell you ...

Did I ever tell you that you can click on any of the pictures on the blog and they will get bigger?  Here's one I took  - early, early morning in Broadstairs from the flat.

6/4 My Left Foot!

Do you think there's a copyright on that title?  Probably but I'll take my chances.  My left foot is better than when I woke up this morning.  It seemed appropriate not to go on the Fuller brewery tour with John when I could hardly walk!  After several hours, it seemed to be better - maybe it's gout what with all that fish and chips last night!

Anyway, it felt well enough to walk down to the tube station where there is a beauty shop that does haircuts. (Vanity, vanity, thou name art woman!) Mind you, I had my hair cut 8 weeks ago and even though I had it cut extra short before I left, I am beginning to look a bit shaggy.  Even John noticed.  (I have asked him to let his grow longer, by the way.)  When I got there and talked to someone, they had never heard of a razor cut and referred me to the shop across the mall.  The only person there who did that was leaving for lunch and I was asked to return in about a half hour.  I saw her later in the mall and her hair looked so bad that there was no way she was going to work on mine!  So I lost my courage and decided to - now - hobble home.  It was a longer walk than I should have taken.

On the way back, I noticed an oval shaped metal restroom on the sidewalk that before I had just walked around and ignored.  Feeling the urge and having about a .8 mile walk ahead I decided to see how this little place operated.  It's about 8' long and 6' wide and maybe 9' high.  It's a stainless steel color and it is metal but I won't say it's stainless.  Would make sense though.  On the outside, there is a large orange button that you push for the door to open.  When you go inside, a very mechanical and very loud voice says "The toilet is on your right opposite the door.  The sink is next to the toilet.  When you are finished, you may wash your hands in the sink (or something to that effect).  For your personal safety, the door will automatically open after twenty minutes!  The toilet will flush and be cleaned after you leave."  When you get out, you push the green button, the door slides closed and no one will ever see that toilet being flushed and cleaned inside!!  So who knows? 

As I proceeded on my way, an attractive woman came up to me and asked me if I knew the way to Charring Cross Hospital.  Oh, I was so excited!  I said to her "I'm an American here and I can give someone directions!!"  The hospital was on the main road about 3 blocks up.  We got to talking about haircuts, etc. and while walking, we passed a salon I never noticed.  This lady said why not try there, so I did!  The shop was clean and well outfitted, not like the others and the dresser there said he knew what to do to cut my hair.  Well, you are a little gun shy, you know, when it's your pride and joy!!   So I have an appointment at 2:00 tomorrow; wish me luck.

Spent the rest of the afternoon with my foot up and finishing yesterday's blog.  John went up to the Turkish restaurant we enjoyed last week for some carry-out and we ate a very late dinner.  Lovely uneventful day.  We all need those, don't we?

5/31 - 6/2 Lessons in history and wifehood!

We've only got a few more weeks left ahead of us and we wanted to fit in one more visit to Broadstairs, that lovely seaside village on the shores of the White Cliffs.  And we had to go back, not only because it is so lovely but because we hadn't changed the sheets!

We left Monday afternoon, only about two and a half hours after we had planned!  It was close to dinner time when we got near Broadstairs so we stopped at the grocery store to get a few supplies.  We found dinners of Indian food complete with rice and nann bread in the fresh food department.  The English have a fondness for Indian food that we acquired years ago.  You know, we have found that the longer we stay in the grocery store the more likely we are to get into trouble and get things we shouldn't  - like Eccle cakes and really good bread.  Eccle cakes are one of the joys of coming to England.  They can be found fresh in bakeries or prepackaged in the grocery.  They are usually round, flaky pastries filled with currants and raisins and made with real butter.  They melt in your mouth with the succulent and tingly taste of a mince meat pie and either you like them or you don't.  Unfortunately, we do. Oh, we are going to pay for all this with days of dieting, I am sure.

Off to the flat.  This lovely little spot that Ellen and Phillip decorated in oranges and golds, lilacs and purple looks out over the beach of Broadstairs and the English Channel.  The history this little town has seen is just a microcosm of the histories of England.  There is a dock area that juts out into the water and if you could go under it you would see the original foundation that Henry VIII ordered built.

The village was a favorite haunt of Charles Dickens in the 1800s and there are several hotels and houses that he stayed in that you can visit.  In 1940, the village citizens were witness to the small boat armada that rescued 338,000 soldiers from Dunkirk and the German planes on their way to blitz London.  And now when you look out the flat's windows, you can see off in the horizon, the windmill farm being planted in the Channel.  I'm not sure how many there are but probably hundreds.  Most days it was misty and the first time I looked out the window back in April, I couldn't figure out what I was looking at.  Looked like little white toothpicks all in a hazy row.  And of course, the area's history extends way back into the days before William the Conquerer in 1066.

You know, if you took a map of England out, closed your eyes and put your thumb down on it, that little bit of area you covered - no matter where your thumb landed - would keep you busy exploring for at least a week.  Love it!

However, there are times when your exploring just doesn't pan out the way you planned!  For instance, we decided that we wanted to go to Margate and explore the Margate caves that are featured in the town brochures.  Margate is the town north of Broadstairs and also on the coast, so expecting of course another charming seaside village, we were visibly disappointed to find a town of grim and dirty streets lined with houses of little charm and no visible beaches.  When "Gertrude",our GPS, got us to the location of the caves, there was only a dilapidated shed, a stone wall that someone had painted "SAVE THE CAVES" on, an alley way leading who knows where that even John wouldn't go down, and no indication of any caves anywhere.

 Then I wanted to go to the Shell Grotto which had been discovered in 1948 when a child and his father explored a hole in their garden, or some story like that, and found this grotto covered in shells.  No one has ever discovered who did it or why which I think is amazing.  However, John said he wasn't interested in going and being a good wife, I relented and we skipped it.  Now I'm kicking myself for not telling him to go do something else and drop me off there.  Let that be a lesson to you, all you good wives out there.  You'll both be happier if you do your own thing and tell the other one to go away for awhile and do theirs while you do yours.  That's what we usually do!  I mean, that's why we each have a cell phone so we can go off and do our own thing and stay in touch.  What was I thinking???  Picking my battles?  Not this time; I just gave in and resented him for not handling it differently.  Now I'll always wish I had been the one to handle it differently and resent the fact that I didn't assert myself because I doubt we'll ever pass that way again.  For more information on what we missed, take a look at this article from its website: http://www.shellgrotto.co.uk/pdf/twymanarticle.pdf .  This researcher believes that all signs point to it perhaps having been a hidden and secret worship area in the 1200's for the Knight Templars!!  Maybe John will even be disappointed after reading this!  All in all, though, one disagreement in 8 weeks of 24/7 is pretty exemplary, don't you think?

We decided to do some driving around trying to follow the coast line by car.  Margate has the good fortune to be located on top of the chalk hills but in turn that seems to prevent people from easily getting to it's natural beaches and bays.  John followed my directions of "Turn left, turn right, etc." as I tried to get us closer to the coast (probably thought he'd better at this point!) and we eventually came down a hill and saw off to our right and down the horizon the prettiest spot in the cliffs - an arch carved out of the wall by millions of years of tide erosion.  (You could almost hear John breathe a sigh of relief that he had found something I liked!)

There was a pub up on the cliff road above the arch with a parking lot but we found out that they charge £10 for beach goers to park there, walk down the road off their property and down a flight of stairs to the beach near the arch!  So we drove about a half mile up the road to a "Paid and Displayed" car park for another beach(that is a parking lot where you go to a machine, put in your money and display on your dash board the permit it prints out; they are all over the place, there's even one on our street for non-residents) and walked back down the hill passing a castle on the way that is now private apartments.


This is a view of it from the road as we peered through the gates. It is Kingsland Castle and has been remodeled and divided into expensive rental apartments.


The beach was secluded by cliffs on either side with only a few families enjoying it, the others being at the larger beach next to the car park.  John took some great pictures and I picked up a few chunks of chalk that had fallen off the cliffs.  It really is chalk!!  Writes and everything.

This is the same castle apartments now seen from the beach which is book-ended by the cliffs on the other.

We headed on back to Broadstairs, looking forward to our dinner at Eddie Gilbert's in Ramsgate.  You might remember in a previous blog when we got caught in the tides that the ladies on the beach who told us to hurry up and get out of the tides had recommended EG's for the best fish and chips in the area.  We had visited our friend Patrick on his boat Tuesday and he recommended calling right away to make a reservation for the next day.  His and Julie's schedule wouldn't allow them to meet us for dinner but we were looking forward to meeting them afterwards at "their" pub.  EG lived up to its reputation fpr the best fish and chips - cooked in beef fat, the old fashioned way before the days of healthy eating!  Now, if you can believe that any fried fish and chips can be healthy than you haven't been keeping up with the times, and most nowadays are fried in vegetable oil.  Unfortunately, we have eaten our share on this trip and there is a definite difference that you can taste.  EG's was well worth the trip (and they were fully booked so we were lucky to get in, thanks to Patrick!) but I'm determined that that was my last fish and chips for a long while.  The belt is getting tighter and there are no holes left!

After dinner, Julie and Patrick picked us up in their Jag - whoa!, nice car... and we enjoyed a pint at their pub.  Well, the boys did.  Julie doesn't drink and after that meal I had with wine and OOOKS ( a local brewery's barley wine which was more like a beer but served like a glass of wine), I had a deep desire for water!  With ice and a slice as they say!  It was an interesting discussion as we talked about the contemporary politics in our respective countries, the difference in our governments, what the English think of Obama vs. Bush  (and in respect to my Republican friends, I won't pass it on) and some of our respective zany customs.  They insisted on driving us home in the Jag and who could refuse, especially since we had come by bus!  We gladly accepted their offer and hope that their dream of motoring their boat down the coast of the US some day comes true so we will see them again.  We will certainly stay in touch.

Thursday morning was our last day at Broadstairs.  Of course, it was bright and clear for the first time that we had been there and we could really see the windmill farm.  The beach was beginning to fill up with families and all their paraphernalia (school's out this week) making the view a jigsaw of colorful pieces.  I took this picture the day before when it was cold and rainy.  The beach was empty and the children you saw were looking very sad.

Ellen and Philip's flat is in the picture above way back behind the lamppost on the right in the brick building.
After dusting and cleaning and vacuuming and, oh, yes, changing those sheets, we took out the garbage, packed up the car and took off down the road for -  not done yet - one last destination.  Chilham!!

Years ago, maybe our first trip to England, we found by chance a treasure of a little village with a castle at the end of the main street.  I'm pretty sure it was in the county of Kent where Broadstairs is located, but I couldn't remember it's name.  If I had spent the time before we left going through the suitcase and bags of brochures I've collected from our 13 other England excursions that I have in the attic, I might have found it.  But the attic was hot at home and our time was short, so I didn't; somehow, with Google or something, I can't remember, I read about Chilham and it was described as a village that had all the characteristics of a medieval setting with a castle and the homes of the residents who provided a workforce for it coming right up to the grounds.  It sounded good whether it was the right place or not and we found it after following Gertrude's meanderings through the countryside.  She's always right but sometimes you wonder where the heck  you are going because she takes you down roads you can't find on the maps and some of them are NARROW!   We drove up a little wooded road casually marked Chilham and all of a sudden we were in a village square surrounded by black and white timber buildings that must date from the 1400s; shops, pubs,  tearooms, a church at one end and a "castle" at the other. 


Absolutely charming - the church looks like a castle and was reportedly built for Henry II.  Wikipedia says that Thomas Becket is reported to have been buried there but I know his burial site became a shrine in Canterbury and eventually Henry II had his body moved.  I'm not sure, it would take hours of research to get this right for you and I can't do that today but this conjecture might be one of those points in Wikipedia that should be disputed.  Of course, we had no idea at the time and I had no notion of this until today, but if we had, we probably would have looked around the cemetery for some evidence (which doubtless would not have been found) and asked some of the locals if they knew anything. 



On the other end is the "castle" which really is a manor house built in front of a castle keep that you can't see.  The house is brick, built in 1616 supposedly by Inigo Jones, is privately owned and not open to the public.  It is called Chilham Castle, however, which is certainly misleading.  If you want to do some research on that, it's present owner is Stuart Wheeler and a nationally known figure in politics.  If you read about him, you'll know why he needs privacy!

(You know, it's not easy writing a blog about England!  One thing leads to another which leads to another and I'm conscious of the time my readers have and the amount of time it takes me.  I could go on all day which would probably lead to boredom so those of you interested in these sidelines will just have to go off on your own with them!)

To get back to the village, two great pubs (one at the end of this row and where we ate), a couple of charming B&Bs, hiking trails everywhere and lots of history.

We stayed about an hour exploring the church and walking the lanes.  A metropolis like this needs street signs so you won't get lost.

We stopped in at the White Horse pub and were served the biggest roast beef sandwiches - each one made of a thick slab of real rib eye on home made bread.  Each half was the size of a normal sandwich for us so half of each of those went home for dinner.  The bartender pointed out a picture hanging on the old fireplace surround showing a group of men grouped around the hearth.  He pointed to the upper left hand corner of the photo and asked if we could see the face in it.  Well, we could and we couldn't but reportedly, it's the image of a ghostly visitor.  I wouldn't be surprised.  The pub dates from the 1600s.  I'd love to meet a ghost!  It's on my bucket list!

Here's the interior of the room we were in with the ghostly  picture on the fireplace and the required dog at our feet.

We arrived home around 5.    It's now the next morning and John has gone off to a tour of the Fuller Brewery not far from here.  My left foot (ha, wasn't that the name of a movie?) has something wrong with it and I can barely walk on it, so I am still in my bathrobe at almost noon hoping that the pain will go away.  We have a lot of plans ahead of us in the last 3 weeks we have including the WWII American airfields in East Anglia, 4 days in Paris and another canal boat trip with Ellen and Phillip.  No hobbling allowed!!








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