Tag Archives: England

Out and about in the village
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Out and about in the village

There are a number of notable buildings in and around Aspley Guise. One worth mentioning is “The Rookery”. Although it is now a private home, during World War 2 this secluded Victorian mansion was the home of Australian Dennis Delmer. He was involved in “black ops” which included broadcasting radio propaganda and programmes to Germany which, among other things, suggested that Hitler had Jewish ancestry.

In fact there was much covert activity in and around Aspley Guise during the war with Bletchley Park, the home of the World War 2 Enigma code crackers, only a few minutes down the road.

Another notable house in the area is Aspley House. This is a splendid property set in grounds near the entrance to the village. It was built around 1650 and remains the largest house in the village.

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way …

Today I wandered through Aspley Guise to the village church – St Boltolph’s. There has been a church on this site since 1223 with the current church tower built sometime between 1400 and 1650. For a small village church it is an impressive structure and, as with most English country churches, it has a graveyard around it with headstones dating back almost as far as the church.

As the light was fading (at 3pm) I wandered between the headstones taking photographs. I found myself thinking of that great piece of 18th century English literature – Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.

“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.”

I fear my “escape from the madding crowd” may have been interpreted by passing locals as a little strange given some of the unusual looks I received.

Making themselves at home
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Making themselves at home

It’s easy to tell if the girls are feeling at home. The more couch they take up, the happier they are. Now we just need to figure out where the humans sit.

A surprise in our back yard
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A surprise in our back yard

This morning Jean was doing her hair in our bedroom when she let out a loud cry. Those of you who know Jean know that “doing her hair” is no simple exercise and a cry in the middle can signal a dreaded bad hair day.

I rushed into the room expecting the worse to find her pointing out the window at a small deer grazing peacefully in the garden. I grabbed my camera but, as is often the case, only captured the deer about to leave the garden and head for the neighbours.

Apparently the deer is a Muntjac, a breed imported into the UK in the early part of last century and originally domiciled at the Woburn Estate deer park (just up the road from our place). But as with the best laid plans, the deer escaped into the wild and since then have spread throughout lower England – including our back yard.

Our place – Aspley Guise

Today the sun came out. The all-pervading greyness of the last week vanished and the world suddenly became a warmer, friendlier place. Well, friendlier anyway.

I grabbed my trusty Nikon and made the short walk to Aspley Guise.

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The beauty of Milton Keynes

The nearest major town to our village of Aspley Guise is Milton Keynes. A product of 1960′s town planning, Milton Keynes takes a fair bit of stick for its roundabouts and concrete cows. “What’s the difference between yoghurt and Milton Keynes? The yoghurt has culture” or so the joke goes.

The town has facilities to meet all the needs of it’s citizens, all easily accessible and convenient – shopping, leisure, transport, it’s all there. Everything is so well planned and dispersed, and people’s needs so well catered for that, even standing in the dead centre of the city, it feels a little like an industrial estate – faceless building, wide roads, lots of cars, lots of trees and a distinct lack of people. It feels, well, a little soulless.

But then, when you least expect it, Milton Keynes surprises you.

I was in the city this afternoon running some errands and, as the sun set behind the Church of Christ the Cornerstone located in the centre of the city, beauty appeared.

An afternoon at the rugby

On New Years day Andre shouted me to an afternoon of rugby. The local team – the Bedford Blues – were playing the Cornish Pirates at the home of rugby in Bedford, Goldington Park. Capacity about 5,000 max.

The team is in the English RFU Championship league and has, in the past, had the opportunity to be promoted to the English Premiership league. But the need to build a new, larger stadium to be part of the Premiership league has been a hurdle the club is yet to overcome.

England has a reputation for pretty dour, ‘ten man’ rugby and on a dark, rainy afternoon that reputation didn’t seem likely to be under threat. After grabbing a beer in the bar Andre, his work-mate Neil, Neil’s two boys and yours truly took our (thankfully covered) seats for the game.

In the first 40 minutes the rugby was anything but dour. Open running rugby was the name of the game with end to end movement and some pretty slick backline work. By half time the local team was ahead 29 to 8. The second half was quieter and those niggling errors brought on by a wet ball and slippery conditions underfoot started to creep in but the local team kept their cool and ran out eventual winners by 32 – 13.

All in all a very enjoyable game. The disconcerting thing was that by the time the game finished at 4:30pm it had been dark for some time. Summer in Italy seemed a long, long time ago.

Looking back at 2011

Last year was quite a ride for Jean and I and the girls. We started it in our home in Wellington, New Zealand, doing what we have done for the last 20 years and ended it in a pub in the English countryside doing what we enjoy most – celebrating with friends.

In between we rented our house, quit our jobs and moved the family halfway around the world to spend 9 months in Italy. Going through some of the 3,915 photos I’ve taken since leaving New Zealand brings back memories. Here are a selection covering the full 9 months. Some we’ve used in previous blog posts but others are new. Enjoy.

A pilgrimage of sorts

In my humble opinion the best TV drama series ever made was Granada Television’s adaptation of the Everlyn Waugh novel Brideshead Revisited. It was shot in 1981 yet still remains an outstanding piece of TV drama. In the series the location for the Marchmain family home of “Brideshead” was Castle Howard situated about 30 kms outside York.

When Sebastian Flyte first takes Charles Ryder to Brideshead they pull up next to a lake. Beyond the lake is a view of the house (Castle Howard) and Sebastian declares that “this is where his family lives” specifically excluding himself from those who call this place home. This dislocation is one of the key themes of the book and sets the scene for much of what follows.

If you haven’t seen the series, watch it. It is a real treat.

Being a fan of the series, I had always wanted to visit “Brideshead” and as we were in York just a few minutes drive away, this was my opportunity.

Castle Howard is open to the public over summer but in December we could only visit the gardens. It didn’t matter, the opportunity to make a pilgrimage to the house could not be missed. So on a cold, overcast day Jean, the girls and I drove to Castle Howard. Despite being the low season there was a steady stream of visitors through the gate – in the summer it must be packed.

The good news is that the dogs were allowed in with us. To see Daisy and Poppie walking the paths and standing in the grounds of the castle was surreal. They, of course, just thought this was the best playground they had ever had and despite the brisk 4 degree temperature seemed to be everywhere. Even old Daisy had a new spring in her step as she walked along the main path to the house past the walled garden and rose collection and the Atlas fountain.

We had just started to explore the gardens when the rain arrived and we were forced back to the car. With no sign of the rain abating we headed back to York. Despite being cut short my pilgrimage had been a success.

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The Minster at night

York Minster at night taken with my cool new iPhone 4S - handheld

Tonight was our last night in York. We walked downtown to have dinner and on the way we passed the Minster. What is a Minster? According to the publicity material provided, Minster Churches are basically churches that were established in the Anglo Saxon period as missionary teaching churches. York Minster is also the Church of the Archbishop of York. He is the most senior bishop in the North of England. It is where he has his seat, called a Cathedra, which makes York Minster a Cathedral as well.

Not all Minsters are Cathedrals, and not all Cathedrals are Minsters, but York Minster is both. The York Minster is the largest Gothic Cathedral in northern Europe and was built over a period of 250 years.

So there you go. It seemed worth a photo.

A trip to York

After all the Christmas festivities have subsided, the team are off to York for a three day stay. The Mowdays went with Gill and Andre and the kids and friends Ali and Sue, kiwis who are currently living and working in the UK.

Tuesday was moving day and the team set off from Aspley Guise at 10:30am for the 3 hour drive north – to “The North” as it’s called over here – but soon found multiple accidents on the M1 meant diversions were the order of the day. As always, the Mowdays took the longest route and arrived at the hotel in York 5 hours after departure. Jean and I both have bad head colds so an extended day on the road was the last thing we needed. Having said that we did get to see a good slice of English village life along the way as we passed through Yorkshire villages with names like Selby, Brayton and Thorpe Willoughby.

We are staying at The Churchill Hotel just outside the walls of York. It is a lovely old hotel based in a Victorian house. The staff coped well with the arrival of 8 kiwis and two dogs. The girls immediately made themselves at home in the hotel room and are, as I write this, sleeping on the bed. Two dogs, two people and a good nights sleep in a double bed is going to be no mean achievement.

The first day out and about proved the worth of everyone’s winter clothes as the official temperature of 9 degrees was reduced by an Arctic wind. The girls came out for a walk in the morning but spent the afternoon in the hotel room while the human contingent explored York.

York is a walled city, situated where the Rivers Ouse and Foss meet in North Yorkshire. It is a significant tourist destination with many historic attractions, of which York Minster is the best known. In the old city there is also a narrow old street known as the Shambles where the buildings lean in over the street, almost touching 2 or 3 stories above the cobbled lane. The city dates back to Roman times and has a long and colourful history including a period under Viking rule.

It is also a compact city with almost intact walls so a day walking around the old city is well worthwhile. That day is probably best not in the middle of the post-Christmas sales that are on currently as the population seems to swell quite considerably.

After sightseeing it was dinner in a local pub which included, what else but Yorkshire pudding washed down with a local ale.

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So that was Christmas

I’m writing this at 10:30pm on Christmas night sitting in the living room at Aspley Guise trying not to nod off to sleep. The day has been a blur of presents, food and drink.

The day started early as the kids woke up and discovered a trail of reindeer hoof prints leading from the chimney to their bedrooms. Santa’s beer and snacks were gone and in exchange there were presents stretching from one side of the lounge to the other.

For 30 minutes it was a present opening frenzy. The kids found that Santa had answered every wish they had on their list. I found that Santa had managed to organise, among other things, a new iPhone and Jean found that a D&G watch she had spotted in Italy had been delivered by the jolly red guy.

Lunch was for 12 and included a turkey the size of a small horse, ham on the bone and potatoes roasted in goose fat. This was followed by the traditional pavlova (made by Gill) and ice cream (home made by Jean to an old Italian recipe). By 3pm all 12 of us were struggling to move.

From there it was all downhill. A round of party games saw us through to a light tea and suddenly it’s – now.

After events like today it’s traditional to thank the ladies for the spread and the blokes for bringing the booze. So thank you ladies and gents, our first UK Christmas.

An afternoon ice skating

What could be more quintessentially winter than an afternoon ice skating on a frozen village pond? Well when the temperature has soared to a tropical 9 degrees centigrade the village pond is replaced by the ice rink set up at the local garden centre, but the fun had by both participants and spectators was about the same.

In our case the participants were young Josh, the son of our friends Gill and Andre, and three of his mates, all aged 12 or thereabouts. The spectators were Jean, Gill and I. Gill wasn’t exactly a spectator as she spent most of her time running around after the lads ensuring they had what they needed to skate, and at the same time making sure they didn’t lose clothes, shoes, gloves and possibly their heads while skating.

Talking to the boys before the skating they seemed to be seasoned experts. They discussed the techniques they would employ and how they had done this many times before. But, as Jean said when we arrived at the rink, ice skating is the great leveller. If you don’t know what you’re doing it is totally debilitating. Everything you know about moving forward, backwards and staying vertical is useless and you start learning all over again.

Our young experts quickly realised this as they clung to the railing with skates pointing in different directions and their young ankles bent sideways at close to 90 degrees. Suddenly the bright orange “seals” that others were holding on to for support (imagine bright orange seal shaped Zimmer Frames and you’ll get the idea) were in use by our lads as they slid, slipped and tiptoed over the ice.

Thirty minutes later they were finding their feet and starting to look a bit like ice skaters but at that point the bell rang and the next group of eager skaters were ready to take to the ice. It was time for hot chocolate and cake and to adjourn to Josh’s place for an afternoon of “nerf gun” fun followed by McDonalds for tea.

Oh to be 12 years old at Christmas time.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Within 48 hours of arriving in the UK we were treated to the first snowfall of winter. We awoke on Friday to 3 centimetres of snow on the ground with more falling throughout the morning.

The backyard of our friend’s home was turned into a white blanket and the trees around the edge of the garden started to droop under the weight of snow on their branches. Poppie and Daisy didn’t know what to make of it but soon discovered that snow is really cold – particularly on little paws – and spent the morning watching the snow fall with no real inclination to go out and explore. By mid morning Poppie’s adventurous nature got the better of her and she did a quick swing around the garden. It confirmed her earlier opinion about snow being cold and wet, and she retired to the bed for the rest of the day.

With no wind to speak of the snow drifted slowly to earth. It was enchanting. Apparently it has also led to British bookmakers slashing their odds of a white Christmas. Bring it on we say.

Buon Natale
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Buon Natale

It’s Christmas time already and with only a few days to go we are in the UK, waiting for the snow to start falling and frantically checking our Christmas lists – twice. Jean, the girls and I would like to take this opportunity to wish all our loyal and lovely friends and readers a Buon Natale (as the Italians say) and a full, fruitful and enjoyable new year.

We have really enjoyed sharing our Italian adventures with everyone over the last 9 months and appreciated all the feedback we have received. And even though we are no longer in Italy we will continue to write about our adventures over the next few months wherever they happen to take us.

Once again Buon Natale and best wishes to you all.

Jean, Graeme and the girls.