Those were the days, my friend.

 So England is out, again,  they came so close,  but not close enough.  60 years ago, a skinny, tall, girl with red hair, put the finishing touches to her school project, celebrating England's win at the World Cup, I can still feel the rough touch of the green spongey substance covering my project.  The book disappeared when my tenant trashed my flat.    Today's children, won't get to create such a celebration.  But we have done better than we might have done.  

60 years ago I also started my secondary school, and a couple of days ago, experienced the nerves and excitement all over again, standing outside my school buildings. That day a woman asked me directions as she thought I was an established pupil, but of course I had no idea where anything was.  That first day we were seated in alphabetic order,  me the tallest and Christine, the shortest next to each other. 

For much of my time at school I thought I was doing okay and given that I was almost always in the top 5 I was.  I was also happier at school than at home, but the end results were disappointing.  Low grade GCSE's except in History and Geography.  Some topics I think I might have got were excluded because of the timetable, but in key subjects, I really wasn't great, Maths I struggled with and even today my grammar is not strong suit and I dropped out of Science, and I was only offered the chance to do two A levels at 6th form, so moved on to Erith college where I did do muc better comparatively getting three A levels, two at a good level.   I also had some very deep anxieties at school, which hovered through the day, and for the first two years only made friends, not firm friends.  But everyone got on well, we could have been stretched a lot more and I could and should have stretched myself a lot more, but my experiences there were largely positive.   

But going back, wow it churned up both the positives and negatives.  I also had to deal with nerves around meeting fellow pupils, especially as I felt excluded from their reunions.  However, all these years on, what is truly wonderful is the school today.  Now it is a grammar school and the girls exuded talent and confidence. Whilst they have lost a couple of the wonderful tennis courts and the pottery,which I loved, they still have the grounds we played rounders in, and now have much better science facilities, music facilities, and language facilities.  It is twice the size of my old school and unlike me, the girls are allowed to walk around in socks and bare legs and have long hair, and they are really given opportunities we did not have.  Then no one expected much of us girls, career wise, and most of us have done much better than perhaps the school imagined, but these girls, despite the challenges of the times, seem match ready for the future.   Unlike the poor old England team, who have to go back to the start and try, try and try again. 

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.