Helen Jane, In Jane's footsteps.

 I have just had a lovely few days travelling in England.  First a visit to very very  very very distant cousin, the most famous female writer in the UK and her brother's upmarket pad, then I got to call on Gilbert White, before heading to the beaches of Bournemouth and a chance to catch up with a friend and family.  

I probably first visited Chawton as a child, I do not know how old I was, but I do have a memory of it, a very imperfect memory of it so it was good to catch the train to Alton, spend a couple of nights at a hotel that Jane would have been familiar with and walk to her home the following day.  It gave context to that snippet of memory which is probably about at least 55 years ago.   All along the street, I could feel Jane's presence, but that could just be the effect of too many BBC dramas capturing the time.   In her home, it was harder to find her, but then the walk to her brother's cemented how their lives played out and the many scenes of women walking across the landscape before collapsing in the arms of some gallant when the rains come on.  Chawton House, ionly 10 minues walk from Jane's is worth visiting in its own right.  It is a Tudor residence but also houses a collection of work connected to female writers, including Jane.   Chawton village and the countryside there is just charming.  

Gilbert White, I first came across, when living in Selborne Road, so I have known of him for some time, but not much beyond that, so when I realised he too lived near to Alton, it was obvious I had to go there too.  Like Austen he never left England, like Austen he observed life minutely, but he was even more focusded on one patch than her and that was the patch that was his very large garden and all the wildlife in it.  I therefore knew I needed more time to look around that was allowed if I caught the 10.40 bus.  The alternative however, was getting there a couple of hours before the house opened, but then using the time to climb the zigzag path created by the naturalist with his brother.  It is quite a steep hill, enough to get the heart pumping.   Once in the house, I actually disappeared into his lovely garden, a mix of tailored herb and flower garden space, along with a lush meadow and orchard.   

His house was preserved with the help of the Oates family, on the basis that the Selborne residence became a repository for the story and artefacts connected to Oates and his father.  When previously looking at material on the ill fated visit to the artic, I was struck by how inexperienced Scott was when he started and the fear that this contributed somewhat to the problems they had in the later expedition. Learning about the Oates family, there was a pattern of intrepid travel, but also of ill health, and again one wonders whether that impacted on how he coped in the cold.   I am not a traveller like them in any way, but something about those stories did capture me as a child, they threw caution to the wind, and paid the price sometimes, I now find myself at over age 70 becoming more and more cautious about what I can and can't do and find myself dithering over how to manage going forward.  And perhaps that is why England and little trips like this appeal so much.   

Although I know as a child I visited places like Christchurch and Poole partly to see family, I cannot actually remember how much I knew Bournemouth, but I parked myself there, to catch up with someone I meet on the TELC trip and with an honorary cousin.   It has a stunning beach and a lovely art gallery, but staying there also enabled me to catch up with people.   My honorary cousin probably would not want to be considered inspirational but she is, following surgery that went wrong, she is in a wheelchair, and has many things she has to deal with, especially when getting out and about,  her positivity purs me to shame, but reminds me too how lucky I am that even if I cannot walk as far as I could or do as much as I could, I can do a hell of a lot more than many.     At the other end of the scale, T despite being younger than N, has lived and worked in large chunks of Asia, fallen into work in Scotland and taught English in a variety of places. He is only back in the UK because he wants to spend time with family members who have ill health.  He has his life ahead of him, talking to him, I felt very old and uninspiring.   But it was fun to be out on a night when England were World Cup victors and to hear the cheers emanating from the pubs and houses. 

Southampton was my last port of call. Again I have only visited before in passing, but now one of my brother's lives there. It was my first visit to his home.  My niece, who I have not seen for about 5 years, announced, I do not know who you are,  which made me laugh.  I explained that was why I had come to see her,   so she would know who I was, and I also gave her a pencil sketch of her cousins from N onwards.   Jane, also lived in Southampton, so I finished my visit as I started it in some ways, in Jane's footsteps.  Much of Southampton was destroyed and then rebuilt after the war, but pockets exist that show us her life there.  And if that was not enough,  I returned to the Titanic story, in the town's museum.  It is very much worth going there, much cheaper than the Belfast one, but covers similar ground and much quieter.  

The war on Iran goes on, my friend in the Ukraine, says it is getting worse there, and the sun is shinning relentlessly, the effect of climate change. Travelling seems an indulgence in these circumstances, but has been such a big part of my life, I hope even, if only in these small ways, I can continue as long as possible. 

A sunny day in London brought some happy memories.

 How lovely to return to Crouch End, not far from my former London home, to catch up with a friend and to listen to some good music.   I first met Ramon about 12 years ago but he also played music with my friend, the late great Abdou Diop.  So whilst it was lovely to enjoy the music, it was also nice to reminisce. 

Burning Belfast

 Having only just recently been to Belfast and loving it's internationalism, sadly the city is now burning - literally.  Racists are attacking anyone perceived to be an immigrant and locals are getting caught up in the terror.  Cars on fire have set homes on fire.  My friend is on the streets directly affected and these are two of her images.  

Clearly any knife attack is terrifying.  Sometimes being a trauma victim makes migrants and refugees vulnerable, as we all are, to  very serious mental health problems.     This is why supporting and welcoming people is so important,  as the more people feel safe, the less likely are their traumas going to foster violence.     The people of Belfast have also suffered generational trauma because of the troubles.  So is that is what is partly behind, so many of them taking to the streets and terrorising anyone in their way.  I do not know.  But racism and fuelled racism does seem to be one of the causes behind the terrible rioting.  We know that racism is being fuelled both by right wing activists from Musk to Robinson, but it is not helped by the anti immigrant sentiments of many more centre based MPs.  

Climate change is one of the causes of migration, but the terrible wars are really fuelling movement.  Most Sudanese are lovely,  (see Green Kardofan for example ) but that country is also in crisis, and perhaps that has affected what happened in Belfast this week.    Racism damages all of us, as these pictures show. 

 

Burgeoning Belfast.

Last time I visited Belfast, it was lovely to see friends, but the place was interesting rather than captivating.  So I am glad to have come back and got to know and enjoy it more.  Staying in leafy South Belfast helped.  So did the weather, dry and towards the end of the holiday both sunny and warm (England was broiling) and the company was good too.   But what added to all these pleasures was the sheer diversity of the place now.  A friend messaged me to say I would have lots of potatoes in Ireland, but I am not sure she has been there lately as it is very hard to find traditional Irish food, unless you go somewhere as touristy as the Titanic Quarter,  where we had a lovely fish chowder, in the Titanic Hotel.  Other days we had  salads, cheese and biscuits, Italian, Chinese, and with a nod to Irish culture and my friend's comment, bacon and farl for breakfast.  But given there was a food festival on I could have had African, Turkish, French etc.etc.  

Belfast City Hall. 

Vane family portrait at Mount Stewart

I arrived Wednesday,  just a hop and a skip from home, via Stansted, to Belfast where my friend met me, we went home for a catch up, then headed out to the city, where a stop at the Central Hotel to catch the view, resulted in tea and toast in the lounge bar.  Thursday after our Chinese, I headed into town and mooched around.  Friday morning, it was back to the botanic gardens to meet up with my other friend, before heading to St. George's market, and a walk along the Lagan.   Saturday we stepped the pace up a bit with a visit to Mount Stewart,  a famous garden, not far from, Belfast.  I only got half an hour in the interesting house, but was surprised to discover the family who owned it are linked to Raby Castle in near Durham, and the famous Governor of Boston, who was beheaded when he returned to England because of his radical ideas! 

N and A in the Mount Stewart House gardens. 

Talking of radical ideas, apparently my wormery is causing distress. Rather than throwing the old one away I thought I would share it with the community allotment, but one of the women there keeps nagging on at me about being cruel to worms.  Her digging will do more damage, unless I fail to keep my worms happy,  but ....  same old story with the community allotment, bloody out of step with the rest of them, and it is very painful, but hopefully I will only lose my temper over it and not my head. However, I did go up to make sure my worms were happy tonight, and prayed once again to the No Dig God to let my tiny plot flourish to help put my case.  7 years of gardening up there approx and I still have not been able to produce enough to convince, whilst my car parking space is packed with chard!  Hey ho.  

My final day was a visit to the Titanic Museum, which is very expensive, and perhaps surprisingly, rather wordy, so a lot to take in, but there are also fun special effects.  Unfortunately we went on the hottest day of the year, on a Bank Holiday Sunday when two cruise ships were in, so perhaps no wonder that my host began to feel very fragile and ducked out.  However, we were there almost two hours and if you are not claustrophic and ideally have longer than that, it is a story worth revisiting, even if a familiar one.  Years ago, I am sure one of my mother's friends, told me her father had been involved with receiving one of the SOS messages unfortunately there was no mention of him and I have lost touch with the family so cannot verify this, but it seems that the film Titanic was a pretty accurate representation of the ship and its catastrophy.      But as far as I can recall there was no fire on board, whereas there was one in the Titanic Quarter, which prevented us catching the Glider back on schedule, but despite that I was home in England before 10 pm.  How neat is that.  Next time I hope to go the slow route as there is more to explore,  and to understand more about our neighbour, which is both part of the UK and not part of the UK, but part of Europe and with whom we have a long, complex and troubling history as the Vane's exemplify. 

History and buns, creativity and nostalgia.

I have succombed to two sticky buns, a reaction to anti Muslim comments at the pottery group I have just rejoined.  We all tried to navigate the tension to something manageable, and I was able to make a couple of comments that may have impacted from my experiences in Senegal and Kyrgyzstan,  and because even 30 years ago Broxbourne school had Muslim students, but is painful, for all. There they were happy in their ignorance and along comes this newcomer, who challenges them, but then hates, the tension it causes.  Same on the allotment,  challenging them there about digging.   Anyway I have succombed to two buns to cope but am now buried in an exploration of food in Wormley in the 17th Century, to distract myself.    I have it in mind to explore our local food culture from the Abbey to the plethora of excellent Turkish cafes in the area. 

The other day I was in woke heaven.  The new V and A is testament to what blending cultures can do for creativity.  There was a queue to get in it has proved so popular and in the lobby there were young people playing reggae.  30 years ago similar youths would have been on tower blocks in Hackney champtioning pirate radio. Today they are part of the establishment.  Reform would hate it.  

But things both move forward and backwards.    Stratford Royal Theatre, opened in 1884.  The area wasn't rich, but with the support of a coal merchant got a small theatre.  Electricity arrived in 1902.  Nearby Hackney built its theatre around the same time, also with electricity.   Having just been to both of them, they are glorious reminders of the past,  and how theatres can attract diverse audiences.

  

The musical The Harder They Come, based on the Jimmy Cliff film was first devised at the theatre at the beginning of this century,  and we went to the opening night of its 2026 revival.   I loved it.  My brother had been into ska and I heard and enjoyed standard singles from Bob Marley, but I didn't and don't think of it as my kind of genre particularly, but listening to all those tunes again, embedded in the story, brought out the lyrics, making me realise that whilst R, my partner,  as someone of Jamaican heritage, understands those beats, much more than a white kid in Kent, something about them had entered my story, much more than I had realised.  And of course when N was little I introduced him to the story and the music too.   

Black people have lived on these shores since at least Roman times, the first followers of Islam came to live in the UK in the 16th century,  as Elizabeth sought to benefit from trade relations with places like Morocco.  Yet in small town England, people can still say, why should local Muslims have a mosque!  And my waistline, suffers in protest. 

Wise words and wonderful walks.

 When I was first an elector, I voted Labour, we were in Ed Heath country!, and I used to fight with my best mate, Brie, whose birthday it would have been today, but she died recently, we used to fight as I was left and she was right. So it never would have occured to me that I would be grateful for a Tory, but this week as the Tories mostly kept Reform out of my Borough, it was thank goodness for the Tories. I came third again.  Thank you kind voters.  And on the whole the Green Party did much better than before.  

The other reason for being grateful to a Tory is the wonderful railway journeys done by Michael Portillo, it was because of him that I suddenly realised I could visit the south of France in spring because that was how it was originally done and because of him I have become aware of all sorts of routes.  But recently I have been ahead of him. He has just done a series on Japan, which enabled me to reminisce about the places I went to you and learn about the many places I did not get to and now he is in Uzebekistan, but I visited there whilst studying to be a journlist so during my 20s.  

It is so long ago I cannot remember the full details - my sister, Dad and I had visited Moscow and Leningrad over Christmas the year I divorced and I must have gone back to the Soviet Union in the March of that year , or the year after, as I was so taken with it.  We visited Moscow again, and then I think flew down to Samarkand and onto Bukara and back via Taskkent.  I remember our flight was delayed, so we missed quite a lot of Samarkand, but in the evening I went up to see what I could see. I was frightened by some dogs,  fear of rabies, and a man called the dogs and I somehow gestured to him I was trying to look at probably the Registan Square.  Well he took me inside the building and showed me some of it, before I perhaps stupidly took fright and thought I had better get back to the hotel.  It was suprisingly cold in Samarkand, they had snow, which was unusual at that time. It might have been in Bukara that we saw women celebrating International Women's Day, the first time I had heard of the festival.   The country now, based on TV shows, is now very modern in places, but Samarkand and Bukara are timeless and wonderful.  I bought the black hat, you can see in the picture, at a factory we were taken to, and even though it was a man's hat, everyone liked that I was wearing it.  I got lots of thumbs up.  My coat came from Laurence Corner, which was once a famous shop for all sorts of eccentric items.   Amazingly I still have the skirt that is in the picture. Very green.  

Such a long time ago,  but shows I was interested in travel even then, this year what with the war in Iran and everything most of my trips will be very local, but there is still so much to learn. For example I went on a Rogation Pilgramage on Sunday in Hampstead and on Hampstead Heath.  It was quite painful in many ways as it took me back to living in the area, but that was also why I wanted to do it.  I learned so much about a place I had lived near to for a long time.  For example we started with the graves of Constable and Harrison, the clock maker, then to a French church, where Graham Greene was married and where De Gaulle worshipped during the war.  It was built by a French refugee and allowed to be built as it was specifically for the Frnech community in the local area, despite Britain being at war with France at the time.  On past the Quakers to a more modern gothic church, at almost the highest point in London and from there onto the heath, and the boundary way markers between St Pancras and Highgate Vestry.  I was distracted a bit much of the time by one of the other participants.  Was he, or was he not, but then blown away to discover one of the other pilgrims had gone to school in Broxbourne with my son!  Rogation is to do with community and agriculture, so I figured I can do that, but the most sacred space we touched was the beech tree cathedral.   Heavenly.  I need to return.  

St Mary's with x in the background?

Wales, Wales, and Worcester.

As a Green an unnatural period of heat, and sun, is a concern.  As a traveller how extraordinary to be in Wales and have non stop sunshine in April.  It was bliss.   

St David's Cathedral with the ruins of the Bishop's Palace behind. 

That being said a few things did not quite work, but in the end, it does not really matter. One I slipped in the bath (again) whacked my face, and shock myself up,  but luckily no long lasting effects. (I was having the bath to ease out my very painful back, so one pain, helped cancel out another!)  Two and this I have taken longer to get over, despite the brilliant weather,  I did not get on the boat to Ramsey Island which was what I was really trying to do on the holiday.  It was very frustrating in many ways as to have non stop sun is almost unheard of in Wales but it still wasn't the right weather for my trip, so it got cancelled.  A later trip would have happened, but there were not enough people signed up to do it, and frustratingly, with another company, they too did not have enough people to go out.  So several people had made the effort to get to St. David's and spent money too, to get there, but their trip did not happen, partly because the boat companies have not found a way to work together for everyone's benefit!  And there is quite a bit of hanging around before all this is worked through, which when the sun and sea beckon is frustrating.  

Whitesands Beach

Caefie Beach

All of that could have potentially spoilt the trip, but when the sun shines that part of Wales is so lovely it is not such a problem.  I started in Havefordwest and at one time it must have been a handsome place, but arriving late in the afternoon it was almost all shut.  However,  I could explore the remains of an old abbey and look up at the broken walls of what must at one time have been an awe inspiring castle, so that felt like a mini adventure.   There was so little there, I was able to catch an earlier bus next morning onwards to St. David's.  Too early to sign in to the hotel, I headed downhill, with case, to the Cathedral.  It is the most wonderful sight.  Pictures do not do it justice and inside it has a lovely energy.  But I was also there for brunch with welshcakes. However, if I could have I would have been tempted just to sit and sit in the peace of the nave.   When my boat trip did not happen the following day,  I returned and spent more time there.  Apparently if you do two trips to St. David's that is the equivalent of a pilgramage to Rome, but not sure if two brunches count.  

The other enticing thing about St David's is that you can see the sea from this tiny city, and it was so inviting I found myself walking across a field down towards St Nons but instead arrived in Port Clais just in time for the bus.  I was so careful with my footing trying to hurry to catch the bus but not fall, it is ironic that it was a bath than felled me.   The following day, I returned to the area to explore a bit more, going up the hill, sitting and just watching the sea and the sky, and then going back down the hill in time for the bus again, but this time onto the beach for the afternoon.  

A long time ago, my brother was sun burned so badly on a Welsh beach he had to go to A and E, so dozing on the beach I was mindful,  but it was lovely to bask in the heat and just watch the dogs and a couple of kids love running up and down on the largely empty beach.   I was tempted to stay long, but figured that despite the apparent regularity of the buses, it would be good to get back to St. Davids in time for tea and cake.    However, at that moment the buses failed me,  and by the time I got back the cafes were shut, so intead I had very nice fish, with so many chips I could not finish it all.   Rather than throwing them away something inspired me to take them with me and as it felt too early to go back to the hotel, I explored futher and found myself on the cliffs overlooking Caefai beach.   Here the birds were wheeling and keen eyed, but the wind stopped them landing on the harvest I had saved.  But as I left, I scatted the chips and the birds ensured no litter remained.  A lovely ending to the time there. 

Breakfast next day was a bus ride away in Fishguard, lunch in Aberglasny Gardens, with aforementioned brother, and wife, where it was so hot, we had to seek out the shade of the wild flower meadow and the evening meal was in Brecon with more of the family and live music.  Happy Days.  Saturday I spent almost the whole day in the garden, apart from doing my second Brecon park walk, but Sunday, and this was the event which sparked the whole trip we went to Builth Wells for the Wonder Wool event.  I bumped into someone who had been at the trip I did in January, and loved seeing all the beautiful wools but it was the weaving that really captured me. 

A surprise in Brecon (One of Dad's aquisitions, looking for a new home 

With my bus pass, I can't get free travel in Wales, but it is still good value to use the different routes, apparently the direct bus to Cardiff has stopped, so I have missed a trick there, but the route through to Hereford still operates, so that was where I headed next, on route to see a friend in Worcester.  And there the weather finally turned and there was a very cold wind, but the Commandery is a great place to stop and learn more about this area and a part of British history which is absolulutely seminal but not always covered in depth in school.   

Worcester

These days trips abroad are more complicated, so it was wonderful to discover part of a previously unknown bit of Wales and to revisit places, but to see them from a new perspective.    I am already hoping I will get to return as there is still so much more to see and experience and who knows, perhaps I will one day see the birds flying over Skomer. 

Aberglasny

A modernised version of the Mapa Mundi