Michael D.Heath-Caldwell M.Arch.

Joe Palmer Diary 2010

Joe Palmer Diary 2010

Tuesday 30th March 2010

Dubai

Here we are in Dubai, my sister Primrose (Prim) and I, on day one of our seven week trip to Dubai, England, Ireland, Scotland, Paris and Singapore. 

Prim and her partner Colin were originally invited by Lynette Hedley (Lyn) to spend some time in Honeystreet village, England, where Lyn is house sitting again during the English winter for her friends. Lyn is Prim’s previous husband’s sister. 

When Colin became caught up in business affairs, Prim kindly invited me to go with her, so here I am. I get the impression that Colin may have been pleased that I took his place. Some of Prim’s children have told me Lyn and Colin don’t get on, although Colin has never told me that himself. Prim on the other hand gets on with everyone, including her two previous husbands, and everyone loves Prim, a very kind and attractive woman.

We caught the train from Broadmeadow, Newcastle, and changed trains in Sydney at Central, right on peak hour. Another train to the airport, where a friendly lady checked us in, and after going seamlessly through immigration and security, we finally sat down for coffee and hot fruit bread.

Prim missed a call from her daughter Lee, so she phoned her back and spoke also to her grandchildren William and Charlotte. The long queue began boarding at 9.45pm. Our aircraft was a new looking Emirates A380-800 Airbus, clean and spacious with lots of leg room. Tiny lights in the ceiling looked like stars when the main lights were turned down. We enjoyed the evening meal and breakfast, with snacks of fruit and water during the night. The flight was smooth and so we were able to get some sleep.

Arriving at Dubai’s vast modern terminal, we stepped onto beautifully patterned tiled floors under a roof of circular domes, hidden lights streaming down on white mirrored columns. A central roof of silver leading towards the exit, under which are rows of perfect palm trees, could they be real? 

Exiting the airport we were greeted by Arabian Adventures Tours people, and the unexpected sight of water features and brilliant flowers in manicured gardens, instead of the dry desert we thought we’d see.

My first impression of Dubai is of one giant construction site, especially around here at our hotel “Lotus Downtown Metro”, because it’s the old part of town, and many of the buildings are either gone or half demolished. Workers in hard hats look to be of South Asian origin. A nice but slightly confused man at hotel reception, supplied us with a welcome fruit juice which we drank under chandeliers in a kind of Arabian art deco reception area.

                                      Our Dubai hotel reception area

Our room is really an apartment. The lounge and dining table room is as big as one normal hotel room in itself, the main bedroom has an ensuite, so there’s two bathrooms. Chunky dark wood furniture with gold trimmings, polished wooden floors and bedroom carpet, but dismal lighting, the light is not working on the writing desk, so Prim and I are writing on the dining room table, no problem.

After a clean-up, we went down intending to have coffee, where another nice man (who said he likes Australians), gave us each a voucher for breakfast, which turned out to be a fruit platter, porridge, croissants, and hot toast with omelette made right in front of us.

We headed out past the construction zones to the shopping centre where we had been told we could change money. We eventually asked a security officer who said their banks wouldn’t open until 10am, so we walked out of the centre and found a bank open. My card didn’t work, so went into the bank where I was told that my Visa card would not work in their machines because it was not their card! We returned to the mall, found the money changer, and I changed $200 into 636 UAE Dirham. We were glad to get back to the hotel and lie down.

After about an hour, the phone rang, it was Suzanne from Arabian Adventures, who invited us to the lobby. She is a petite and breezy lady of German origin who has lived in Dubai for a few years. She sold us on a desert safari tour for tomorrow. This was an easy job for her, because Prim had previously told me how much she wanted to go into the desert. 

Leaving tomorrow taken care of, we stepped over the road carefully, as the traffic was flowing in the opposite direction to the Australian direction, and headed towards what looked like a tea house. I heard Prim suck in a deep breath as I opened the door to reveal a café filled only with local men. Prim didn’t want to go in, but I persuaded her to try a bench in the corner where we were soon eating the special of the day, chicken nyrani, flat bread, and tea with condensed milk, total $6.

Thursday 1st April 2010

Dubai

6.30 am. We are sitting and sipping coffee next to a moving footway at Dubai airport. After my last entry 2 days ago, we caught a taxi to Dubai Mall, an enormous, ritzy shopping complex, right next to the newly opened tallest building in the world, Burj Khalifa. On our way there, we passed through what looks like the new downtown, with skyscrapers of wonderfully different designs, and stepped out onto a wide boulevard and plaza, gardens of flowers, and a row of date palms framing the cityscape beyond.

                                  Primrose arrives outside Dubai Mall

Ritzy shops inside Dubai Mall such as Tiffany’s, no department stores here. A two storey high fish tank was about as long as a couple of Olympic swimming pools, complete with sharks, rays, and gropers.  Inside the pool there were scuba instructors with their students floating around. 

An ice skating rink about the size of a city block, lit by large circular skylights tinted with pastel colours, huge video screens on the back wall of the rink.

Not only at the airport, but almost everywhere in Dubai, we walked on creatively patterned floor tiles. Petunias seem to be the flower of choice at the moment, with patterned displays of white and bright pink next to roads, flyovers and malls. 

Prim was feeling a bit overwhelmed with the enormity of Dubai Mall, so we stopped for a coffee (which cost more than the taxi to get there), overlooking the children ice skating. 

                                      Water feature inside Dubai Mall

Outside the mall, we walked beside a large man-made lake, more like an oversized swimming pool in its perfection. There were ledges to sit on, framed by shops and exclusive apartments. It was disappointing, to me anyway, that the nearby brand new Burj Kalifah skyscraper was not open at the moment, because the elevators are not working properly. I think Prim was relieved to find she didn’t have to go up it. As our parents used to say, “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good”.

As the evening came on, we sat on a warm stone ledge overlooking the lake. It seemed at first to be the perfect place for Prim to relax. Soon hundreds of others began arriving all around us. There was an increasing feeling of expectation that something was about to happen, although we had no idea what it could be. Suddenly, loud Arabic music burst out, and the once still water erupted in a fantastic display of patterns, shooting at least 100 meters in the air in time with the music. Stunned, we stayed there when it finished, only to be rewarded again with another choreographed performance, but this time with classical music, a great experience, innocently unexpected.

We took a taxi back to our hotel, where I found a tiny supermarket nearby, and bought tea bags, milk, biscuits and bananas. Later, I went over to McDonalds and bought a McArabia, which is a sort of chicken burger in flat bread. We enjoyed sitting in our spaciously quiet room eating it. 

The following day (yesterday), we took our full day desert and wadi tour (wadi means valley). At 9am, we headed out of town in a 4 wheel drive Chevrolet with Latif at the wheel. Latif is a chubby cheerful guy originally from Yemen. 

In the middle of nowhere, we pickup up our fellow travellers, an Italian lady and her son who were holidaying in a naturalistic looking resort, built to resemble an Arabian village in the desert. The boy was visually and hearing impaired, and was a nice kid with an enquiring mind, who kept our friendly guide busy with questions.

                                     Walking in the desert outside Dubai

A couple of hours later we headed off the road and onto the red sand dunes. It was a bit scary at first, with the driver heading straight for the edge and dropping down the other side. The boy was sitting in the front and obviously terrified, but our driver kept talking to him in a joking way, which helped us all. We stopped a few times to walk in the desert, the sand felt loose underfoot, and the shock of the desert heat hit us after getting out of the air con vehicle. It looks as if it never rains here, but I guess it does sometimes. There was the occasional camel or group of black and white sheep sheltering under sparse trees or scrub. We drove down out of the dunes to see some surprisingly fat cattle grazing on tufts of sparse grass.

By this time, the Italian mother and son felt car sick. Prim had wet tissues for them. The mother didn’t seem to know what to do, and it was Prim who got out of the car to help the boy clean up with tissues and her water bottle. The Italians were in no state to share our snacks with us. It was at this time, that our driver said quietly to me that we must be from Australia, because it’s always the Australians who bring survival gear such as food and drink on his tours. Australians are prepared for anything, was his summation.

We drove through rugged hills and down into the wadi (valley), which looks liked it carries a lot of water when it rains. A few puddles became a clear tiny stream as we slowly drove up the stony valley. We stopped for a tranquil picnic in a sort of oasis under a group of trees in the middle of nowhere, the calming sounds of trickling water nearby.

                                       Our oasis picnic by the stream

On the way back to the city, we stopped at a roadside market. Gaudy carpets and fruit stalls all identically set up, plus a few plant nurseries, the lush green a relief from the barren landscape. The Italian lady told our driver that the markets were a horrible experience, but he seemed unruffled by that news. Meanwhile poor Prim had her first unpleasant experience of an Arab desert toilet, which was standing apart from the buildings in the sand, just like an old Aussie dunny. I waited outside it, and when she got out, told me what I expected to hear.

It was great to spend the day in the wilderness which is the natural Dubai, but we were glad to get back to our spacious hotel rooms and have a cuppa. Out again in the streets we found a place called Nachos to eat. If you feel too hot, just go into one of the bus stops, where there are seats in air con glass cubicles. You get the feeling they have money to burn here, it must be all that oil under the ground.

After an early night, we got up at 3.45am for our flight to Heathrow. At the airport, interesting messages over the PA system such as the beautifully spoken female voice advising “unattended bags will be dealt with by security personnel”, code I guess for taking them out the back and blowing them up. After a delay, we are boarding now at 8.50am.

Sunday 4th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England.

It is three days since my last diary notes. I am sitting in a comfortable leather lounge where Prim’s sister in law Lyn Hedley is house minding for her Australian friends Syd and Trish Woods. Yes we are in England at last, in the quiet village of Honeystreet, near Pewsey, Wiltshire. We are right next to the canal, and from the upstairs windows, I can look out over farmlands to smooth rolling hills. On one of those hills is the stylised figure of a giant white horse, one of several in this part of England apparently.

We had a comfortable flight here from Dubai. We were looking on our screens at the camera view from the tail of the plane, and as we approached Heathrow, it started to rain, so appropriate I thought. 

At Heathrow, no security or baggage checks, a quick pass through Immigration control, changed money and headed through a labyrinth of tunnels following the train signs. After a confusing message at an information counter, queued up for a long time to get two tickets to Paddington Station, but couldn’t find the way to the trains. We took an elevator down to a platform where the sign said “Express to Paddington”. 

Finally boarding the train we were congratulating ourselves, when an inspector told us we had bought tickets for the normal underground, and on this line it would cost us £40 each, or we could be returned to Heathrow at no charge, and get the all stops underground on another line. We said we’d think about it.

We arrived quickly at Paddington. The inspector got off with us (the cold air hit us for the first time), and when we told him we would go back, he told us we could pay half. After more talk, the price went down to £12, which I paid. 

We were happy to get into the masses of people on Paddington station, and bought 2 tickets to Pewsey. I had left my mobile phone in Australia because it was needed to keep my business running, but Prim’s phone was not charged up. I tried to phone Lyn from a public phone, but couldn’t get through, finding out later I should have added a zero before the number, who would have thought? 

We grabbed a coffee and boarded a packed train. Prim was able to sit down while I stayed with our bags, and later we could sit together, finally leaving the city behind and heading into the rolling countryside.

It was dark with a cold wind blowing when we arrived at the deserted Pewsey station, which had no public phone. We dragged our luggage around the empty streets looking for a phone or indeed a human being, and luckily saw a solitary lady dragging her own bag toward the town. This saviour of an English lady let us use her mobile phone to call Lyn, and we sheltered in a shop doorway (everything was closed) until Lyn arrived, what a relief. 

The warmth of the car felt luxurious as the car’s headlights revealed clumps of daffodils dotted beside the road. My room here is up separate stairs to Prim and Lyn’s quarters. The house is centrally heated, so it’s a shock to go outside and feel how cold it really is.

We braved the cold next morning just outside the house to cheer on the canoeists in a canal race from Devizes to London. They braved a temperature of about 5° centigrade and stinging rain.

                 Early morning canoe race in the canal at Honeystreet

After hot soup for lunch, Lyn drove us to Devizes, a town of narrow streets and charming old shops. Prim and Lyn headed straight to the second hand clothes shops, where Prim bought a sort of fur lined pink jacket. 

We enjoyed coffee and fruit cake watching people walk past in the sunshine. I bought groceries in a supermarket, and we drove home with detours through small villages and more clumps of daffodils flowering on the side of the road. For dinner I cooked grilled fish and stir-fry vegetables on Lyn’s large gas stove.

Next morning we drove to Pewsey. Lyn had a doctor’s appointment while Prim and I found a tempting cake shop and started looking around as we ate cake. I bought a “Spode” cup and saucer from a second hand shop, and we looked inside a Pewsey church which the ladies were decorating with flowers for Easter Sunday. There was an old open clock at the back of the church, it rang 11 o’clock as we watched the old cogs whirling and pulling a wire rope to ring the bell.

Lyn was advised to have an X-ray, so we drove to Swindon hospital emergency department. Prim and I waited about 2 hours, and passed some time with a shocker of a coffee from a vending machine. 

We all drove to Marlborough and ate a hearty lunch at the Castle and Ball pub. Lyn then drove us home in the rain, it had been between 5° and 7° centigrade all day. I started baking date scones and then joined the girls drinking wine with cheese in front of the fire. Lyn’s ankle is not broken, but has been told she will be limping for a month or two.

Monday 5th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England.

Yesterday was Easter Sunday. We rugged up and walked to nearby Alton Barnes, where there is a tiny church which has existed in one form or another since Saxon times. The door was closed, and as we opened it, the first hymn started. The church looked full, but we squeezed into short pews that would normally fit 3 or 4 people. The lady next to me gave me her hymn book while she shared her husband’s. Lyn and Prim were behind me, and I was surprised to hear Lyn’s beautiful singing voice, I had no idea she could sing so well. 

We were at the back, where a low wooden gallery above us accommodated a few more people. An ancient foot peddled organ gave strength to the old world atmosphere. Simple stained old glass windows set in walls about a metre thick. The priest brought the bread and wine to a very old couple in front of me. We had a chat with the priest and some of the congregation afterwards.

Outside, I have never seen graves so well cared for, with so many fresh flowers. We talked to a retired builder, who told us how the German POW’s were forced to uncover the white horse monument at the end of World War Two. It had been concealed during the war to hinder German navigation.

                                       The tiny church at Alton Barnes

On the way home, we stopped at a kind of backyard museum, full of local memorabilia. We talked with an Aussie there, driving around England with his two kids. My fingers were numb by the time we arrived home and out of the cold wind. 

As soon as we warmed up, we drove to a Pewsey pub for lunch, but they we full up. As we crossed the canal, we saw people dressed in pink leaping around near another pub, with their attached bells jangling, clashing sticks and waving hankies to the lively accompaniment of violin and accordion. They turned out to be the Morris Dancers. 

We decided to eat lunch at that pub. The dancers were finishing up, but one of them, a character named Dennis “The Horse” told us they were heading next to the “Barge Inn”, which happens to be the pub right across the canal from where we are living. We finished lunch, and went home to where we could see and hear them in action across the canal. 

Unable to resist, we walked over there, where Lyn said something to Dennis “The Horse”, who immediately said “Oh I am undone” as he looked to where his horse costume is usually attached.

                                              The Morris Dancers

We entered the back door of The Barge Inn and into a pool room which had a surreal crop circle painting on the ceiling, and a wall with photos of crop circles, all with fantastic designs made in perfect symmetry. A narrow corridor lined with photos for sale by a local photographer led to the bar, people still eating lunch there at the tables, large windows through which we could see the Morris Dancers leaping around, and heavily worn old wooden floors, a relaxing atmosphere.

We sat for a drink with Kerry and her husband, they live next door to us. Kerry has given Lyn a video of her performance in a local Christmas pantomime, which I hope we see soon. I cooked spaghetti for dinner, and arranged tickets on Ryan Air for our trip to Ireland.  

The next day, today, I phoned our cousin (second cousin once removed) Jeremy James Heath-Caldwell (known as JJ), and we all drove to have lunch at a pub near his home. JJ is a charming and intelligent man, who is interested in family history, and has been able to save some memorabilia, such as old oil paintings of family, saved from his Auntie Pat’s house. 

JJ told us about the last days of Pat (Patricia Heath-Caldwell), a second cousin I stayed with while I was in England in 1971. He gave us a CD of photos showing Pat’s house known as “The Pound House” with interiors and household items as they looked when Pat left it to go into care, and gave us the address of Pat’s sister Danny (Diana), who I also met in 1971. 

Sadly another sister Roz (Rosamund) has passed away, but we hope to meet up with at least one of her four children. Prim and I hope to see JJ and wife Sue again at Honeystreet village before we leave. 

               Prim and Joe visit cousin JJ (left) and family (Photo by Lyn)

We watched Kerry’s video this evening, a well performed show recorded at the local hall, featuring crop circles, druids, Cinderella and her Ugly Sisters, a fairy godmother, Elvis impersonator, children dressed as aliens, Indiana George of Indiana Jones fame, and narrator, all linked together with carols and lots of laughs. 

Tuesday 6th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Lyn drove Prim and I to Hungerford today for Tutti Day, a kind of local street celebration held each year on a Tuesday after Easter. Only trouble was, we found out that it will be held next Tuesday. We walked down to the canal, where we mingled with the wild ducks, and then after browsing some disposal shops, we had coffee and cake, for me that meant chocolate slice. From there it was to the antique shops. The first shop seemed endless, room after room stacked, but we had to leave behind all the beautiful Wedgwood and Shelley china. We did buy some small pieces of china, each costing the equivalent of a cup of coffee. Lyn bought three Royal Doulton figurines for about $240, thinks it a bargain.

At Devizes, we had lunch of pastries and coffee. Prim and Lyn went shopping in the disposal stores, while I looked around the narrow curved streets. I converted our camera photos to a CD at Boots store for about $4, great value, and walked around the crumbling old stone church, the vestry full of leaves, hands missing from the tower clock, some 1700s headstones being used as flagstones, all a bit depressing. I cheered up again by leaving there, changing some money into Euros for our trip to Ireland, and then bought groceries and filled Lyn’s car with petrol, which is around twice the Australian price. Back at Lyn’s house, I cooked pizzas for dinner, and phoned second cousin Roz’s daughter Janet, who we will try to visit after Ireland.

Wednesday 7th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

The rain cleared away, so we drove to Stonehenge. For some reason, I had imagined it would be flat country, but it is wide rolling hills. When you realise the effort involved in moving those huge stones, there must have been powerful reasons why that site was chosen. There is a timeless feeling there, with the long slow slopes dotted with burial mounds. A freezing wind was blowing without interruption from the treeless landscape. Lots of tourists strolling along with audio guides plugged into their ears, wandering the designated walkways, making no contact with the stones themselves. I was so pleased to be there, as I had not visited Stonehenge when I was in England in 1971.

                    Prim and Lyn feeling the cold wind at Stonehenge

We drove to Salisbury and ate a pie with coffee in a shopping centre next to a stream. A shop selling crystals had whole wall sections covered in giant crystals for about $5,000 a section. Lyn and I shared the cost of buying Prim crystal ear rings, and I bought a lump of clear Brazilian quartz. We walked through narrow streets to the Cathedral, set in wide grounds. Inside, the huge stained glass windows, monuments and tapestries help to make it one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen. 

Prim and Lyn decided to go back to the car ahead of me, and when I caught up with them I found Lyn sitting in the driver’s seat in tears, with Prim comforting her. I waited in the back seat but Lyn was not recovering, so I offered to drive home, which was finally accepted. I have no idea what the problem was.

Tonight, Lyn took us to play bingo in the local hall with the friendly locals. I won, but had to donate my prize back to them as I can’t carry any more luggage, they understood I think.

                              Lyn and Prim arrive at Salisbury cathedral

Friday 9th April 2010

Dublin, Ireland

I’m sitting on a bed in our small room at Glen Guest House in Dublin. We are in Lower Gardiner Street where there are many other guest houses, it’s also near the city and DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transport) train stations. 

We spent yesterday getting here. Lyn dropped us off at Pewsey train station. We changed trains at Westbury, and quickly caught another train to Bristol. After catching the airport bus, we had a few hours wait for our flight. The check-in was confusing, we had to take our tickets to another counter to get them stamped? 

We had a little picnic of fruit and a sandwich outside in the sun, and while we were back inside having coffee, I heard Prim’s name being called, but couldn’t understand where to go. We went to the check-in counter, and while waiting in the line-up, I suggested we get our tickets out as identification, but Prim couldn’t find hers. The helpful man at check-in phoned someone, and then directed us to the place where we had our tickets stamped. I hoped and prayed the ticket was there, and luckily it was. We were already running late and security was so slow, that I thought we would miss our flight.

In the plane, we sat beside a talkative Irish lady. On arrival in Dublin, we caught a bus to O’Connell Street, and asked around until we found our guesthouse, where I received my first lesson from booking a room on the Internet. It looked spacious on line, but it’s very cramped, however it is quiet and situated at the back.

We strolled down O’Connell Street, crossed over the river Liffey, and right there we found an atmospheric old pub named Fitzgerald’s. We had a good meal of soup and sandwich with a glass of Guinness, like drinking beer through cream, and so much better than the Guinness outside Ireland, it must be the Irish water!

We enjoyed a good sleep in comfortable beds and a great breakfast included in the cost of the room, €50 total. We strolled back over the Liffey to Thrifty car rental and arranged a car for tomorrow. 

The DART station Pearce was just down the street. We left the train at Sandymount, and walked in the direction of the coast. Taking a break in a café drinking coffee, we enjoyed a nice view overlooking a park of formal flower gardens and children playing. 

Asking for directions, we soon arrived at the coast walking down The Strand (Strand Road). This is where our great grandparents Edward Kearney and Anna Cooke first met in the 1870’s. These places often turn out to be different from the places of our imaginations. “The Strand” as was romantically described in Edward’s diary, turned out to be an open and featureless path with the road on one side, and on the other, grey looking sand running a long way to the water, but if it looked like that when our great grandparents met, they probably didn’t notice. 

The Strand at Sandymount, where our Kearney great grandparents met.

A friendly little dog ran up to us as we strolled down along the sand to an old bathing area now broken and covered in graffiti. A sign warned people against getting stranded on sand bars with the incoming tide. At the end of the promenade, we walked the streets asking directions to St John’s church, where Edward and Anna were married.

                    St John’s, where our great grandparents married.

We met a lovely old Irishman who told us we had been incredibly lucky, because the weather had been terrible for six months, and now things were perfect, just in time for our arrival.  

At St John’s church, we wondered if our great grandparents had any idea how far they would eventually be from this place, and in Australia. Prim shed a tear as she imagined them walking out together.

We walked back to the café next to the park and had something to eat, and then caught a train south to the end of the line and waited in it until it took us back to the city, nice views of the sea and coastal towns on the way. Arriving at Connelly station, it was an easy walk back to The Glen Guesthouse for a refreshing cuppa in our room. 

We tried out the internet in the foyer, more the size of a broom cupboard really, and found places to stay at Durrow, where our Palmer ancestors lived. We also looked up a hotel near Dublin’s airport, so we can drop the car off there, and catch the 6.30am flight back to Bristol next Friday. This is our plan, but who can tell? 

We couldn’t make the phone work, so we found someone, and he in turn phoned someone else, who told us that the phone we were trying to use is broken. He also told us we could park our hire car out front of the hotel to load up our bags as long as we leave the emergency light flashing, all so Irish a way around things I thought.

Needing a drink after all that, we walked to the area known as Temple Bar, where the nightspots are. We felt a bit old and out of our environment with all the youngsters jostling about, and so for us it was a retreat to the safety of Fitzgerald’s again for another nice meal with a Guinness. Very tired now, it’s almost 1am.

Saturday 10th April 2010

Durrow, County Laois, Ireland

How nice it is here in Durrow. This morning we walked down to get our hire car, and had the good fortune to speak with a friendly girl at the counter, who kept saying “to be sure, to be sure” After a lot of papers to fill in, she said I could drive anyway, and for the same price, gave us a better car, a Fiat Punto, good girl. 

It was a bit hair-raising getting through Dublin’s long streets, but we made it to the M7 with the help of the included GPS. How I found my way around Ireland in 1971 without GPS I cannot fathom, but I remember that the roads didn’t seem so busy.

Within a few hours, we were in the open town square of Durrow. It was easy to recognise old Ormsby House, where the Palmer family lived in the 1800’s. We walked past the house and over the bridge to where we could see the back of the house. Back over the bridge, we found a side driveway were we could see into the yard at the back. 

We drank a cappuccino across the square and found a bed and breakfast a few doors up from Ormsby House named Durrow House. The two houses look about the same age and style, so we are imagining how it was for the Palmers living in Ormbsy House. 

We are on the top floor where there are six bedrooms. There are five bedrooms on the second floor below us. They are big rooms, our room could easily fit four beds, so I am beginning to understand how the Palmers fitted in their twenty children.

    Part of Durrow town square - Ormsby House 3 story building on right 

We found the church and grounds locked up, so back at our B & B I phoned the local priest and left the message on his answering machine that we would like to attend Sunday service tomorrow and hopefully go looking in the graveyard for any Palmer names. 

We had a nice lunch where we drank coffee earlier, the Copper Kettle, and with the help of our GPS, found some interesting ruins at Timahoe and Aghaboe. 

 Prim loved the ruins of the Abbey at Aghaboe

At our evening meal in Durrow’s Castle Arms Hotel, we met Violet, a nice lady who is doing the flowers for the church service tomorrow.

                    Prim enjoys an Irish coffee at the Castle Arms Hotel

Sunday 11th April 2010 

Blarney, Ireland

Prim and I talked into the night last night, imagining how life would have been for the old Palmer clan living just down the road in a similar house  There was hot water this morning for our showers. We enjoyed a huge breakfast and a very good cuppa out of old Irish china. We checked out of our B & B and strolled around the town, meeting up with a horse that liked Prim so much he was nudging her almost into the river. There were about 50 people at church. A trainee priest gave a talk to the kids about the reasons for coming to church, such as to listen for Father Patrick to make a mistake, when Father Patrick called out “That would be every Sunday”.  A boy about 10 years old was playing the pipe organ. He kindly posed for his picture after the service.

                                The boy organist at Durrow church

After the service, Violet told us that Joe Murphy, owner of the Castle Arms Hotel would like to meet us. We were also introduced to Father Patrick, who opened the gate to the grounds so we could look for any Palmer memorials. Father Patrick introduced us to an elderly gentleman who couldn’t recall the Palmers there, but told us there were Roman Catholic Palmers in the district.

We had just about looked at all the grave stones that weren’t covered in vines, when Father Patrick came up and said “You’re giving it a really thorough look over”. He kindly had with him the old burial register, and had already found the March and December 1885 entries of Sarah and Joseph Palmer, our great great grandparents. 

Across the road at the Castle Arms, we met its semi-retired owner, Joe Murphy. He asked me how old I thought he was. I honestly thought he was in his 70’s so I said 68 to be safe, and he said “reverse those numbers and you’ll be spot on”. Joe spent years in Australia working as a wharfie, but had to return to Ireland for family reasons and never made it back there. He said he loves the memory of it all, and we all got on just fine. He spent a lot of time ordering his female workers to shut the doors to keep out the drafts, indicating each door with his stick.

I told Joe Murphy about our family connection to Ormsby House, and he assured us that the present owner would love to show us through. We reached the busy road where I suggested we take a little walk up to the pedestrian crossing. “No need to do that” he said “If we’re meant to make it we will”. And with that we set off with my one hand holding up the traffic, and my other hand on Joe’s walking stick shoulder, while he hung on to Prim with his spare hand. Safely across, we rang the bell a few times but no answer. I took some photos, but Joe also seemed disappointed we couldn’t see inside. While waiting Joe took the opportunity to point out his and his son’s substantial houses around the square. He is treated with so much respect by the locals, that he may as well be the mayor.

             Joe Murphy and Prim at the front door of Ormsby House

Back at his pub, we were able to say hello and goodbye again to Violet, who was having a meal there with her husband, then headed south in our hire car to the Rock of Cashel. This was alternately a monastery and cathedral on a barren rock above Cashel itself. Abandoned in the 1700’s, it is now a ruin held up partly by scaffolding. We learnt about it all on a guided tour, all a bit boring. 

 A few hours later, after our GPS seemed to go haywire on the new tollway, but guess the software needs updating, we wound our way through the city of Cork, birthplace of our loved maternal grandmother Anna Violet Gerard (nee Kearney), elder daughter of Edward and Anna. We were talking about her life until we arrived at the pretty town of Blarney, and a comfortable room at Muskerry Arms Hotel, situated directly opposite a big green square, alive with children running about, and musicians playing. 

                                  View from our hotel room at Blarney

We strolled down the street to get a welcome coffee, and then walked up the hill to where we could see a church, which turned out to be a protestant Church of Ireland. We talked with a nice young lady there about the fairs they were running in an effort to help the depressed economy going again.

As we ate a good evening meal back in the pub, a band began to set up, and older folks started drifting in. Yes we found ourselves at an old time dance, while the younger people were listening to a blues band in the bar next door. We thought how much our mum would love to have been there, as she was an “old time dance” pianist. Prim and I danced, and felt completely at home with the locals dancing all around us, although we had to give it up when they started doing more complicated dances such as the Pride of Erin, which we had forgotten how to do. We went back to our room and brewed a cuppa. The music seems to have quietened down now and we are very tired after another wonderful day in Ireland.

Monday 12th April 2010

Killarney, Ireland

Prim kissed the blarney stone today, lookout! It actually takes a lot of trust in the guide holding you while you lean back to kiss the stone high above the ground, full marks for Prim for doing it. I had kissed the stone in 1971, so that was my excuse for not doing it this time. We strolled through the expansive grounds of Blarney Castle, the magical Rock Garden Walk giving us the feeling that leprechauns could well be hiding behind every bush and stone. 

We drove south to the coast and the beautiful town of Kinsale, its big harbour dotted with yachts. We tried to drive to the abandoned Charles Fort on what turned out to be a walking trail. It was ridiculous of me to keep going in the hope that things would get better! 

We arrived at a place where the road was blocked off, so we had to inch our way backwards down a steep coastal path in such a way as to avoid the sides of the car being scraped by rocks. Thanks to God and Prim, we made it back in one piece, and found the real road to the fort. It’s in a great strategic position to defend the closest Irish port to Europe. It seems that a big battle began here in 1601 when the combined Irish and Spanish forces were defeated by the English, the end of the Gaelic order. At least I think that is what happened.

Kinsale was the beginning of a beautiful coastal drive, hilly country with views of bays. Having the windows down enhances the sound of the birds, and the smell of farmyards. 

We passed an abandoned friary, and stopped at the Drombeg stone circle, a kind of baby Stonehenge in the spectacular setting of rolling hills down to the coast.

                                                Drombeg stone circle

At Bantry we had a hearty meal in a pub, but didn’t meet friendly people there, and indeed someone pushed their shopping trolley into our car knocking some paint off, so I hope our insurance covers it. We soon forgot all about that back on the road, crossing a high mountain pass complete with tunnels on the way to Kenmare. There were straighter roads to Killarney, arriving at dusk with plenty of places to stay, and have chosen Murphys pub. Downstairs in the bar, we were treated to traditional Irish music played on guitar, flute, mini drums, violin, and harmonious voices, the perfect music to remind us of the mystical Irish scenery that we passed through today.

  The traditional Irish band in the pub at Killarney  

 Tuesday 13th April 2010

Dingle, Ireland

Today we completed the world famous scenic drive called The Ring of Kerry. Not far out of Killarney we stopped just before Muckross House and walked the Blue Pool nature trail through Cloghereen Wood.  It was the warmest day we’ve had yet, walking under tall pine trees and over moss, lichens and a clear running stream, half expecting to encounter a fairy or two, and imagining the natural beauty that originally covered all Ireland.

                       Walking the nature trail at Cloghereen Wood

It seemed like hundreds of cars in the car park of Muckross House, a magnificent pile of sandstone with views of the Killarney lakes and mountains. It was built by a Scottish gentleman in the 1800’s, passed on to an American, and now bequeathed to the nation. We took a guided tour through rooms with original carpets, antique furniture, and chandeliers. I took a photo and was stopped from taking any more, making me feel like the criminal of the group. If I had listened to the instructions better it could have been avoided.

We enjoyed the rest of the day  driving around the sides of hills taking in stunning views of mountains, lakes and sea, stopping many times to take in the view. After we stopped for an ice cream, I seemed to lose all sense of the right direction, because the GPS indicated that we were going in the opposite direction to the way we should have been going, and at one stage indicating we turn off onto a lonely looking track heading up the hills with a sign saying “Ireland’s Highest Pub”.  It was then that I realised that the only explanation was that leprechauns had somehow taken over our GPS, and were having a bit of fun with us. Eventually common sense prevailed and I took no further notice of the GPS, arriving in Dingle just before sunset where we have booked into Murphys Hotel. I am beginning to think Murphys could be a hotel chain here, but then again, how many Murphys would there be in Ireland, many.

Walking down the street for some groceries, a strangely dressed older lady was doing a bit of a jig at the checkout, talking with the checkout girl and the lady in front of her, in Gaelic I guess. The checkout girl handed the older lady a soft serve ice cream, and as she left, the other lady said she would “fix it up”. The people here are so kind to each other. Earlier today we stopped at Cahersiveen and found coffee and cake at a pastry shop. The French sounding lady owner was very friendly, she bakes wonderful cakes, slices and tarts, which we couldn’t resist. Now that I think about all we ate, I have come to the belief that she didn’t charge us as much as she should have, who knows, but in any case, we have met some lovely people today. After a roast dinner here at the pub, with a glass of Guinness and a shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey, we should sleep well tonight.

Wednesday 14th April 2010

Bunratty, Ireland

Last night I had a good sleep and woke up feeling the best I’ve felt for some time. We walked along Dingle’s jetty looking at the boats, and back at the town with rolling hills behind it. Thirty nine years earlier in 1971 I did the same walk with Cherry, how fortunate to see it again, and know that some places don’t change much, even if we do.

After breakfast we called in to the tourist office, where they suggested a visit to a converted monastery nearby. A nice young lady showed us around. We heard the story of the nun who started it all in the 1800’s. Beautiful faces and colours depicted in stained glass, created by an Irishman. A white marble altar shipped in from Italy. Apparently the locals resented the opulence and never went near the place. It is now an educational institution. One of the nuns, the last one, still lives there, but has retired. 

The coast road from Dingle hugs cliffs which have sheer drops straight down to the ocean, islands dotted offshore. Looping back to Dingle, we drove north over Conor Pass, one of the highest mountain passes in Ireland. Crawling along with a car right behind us and a sheer drop on one side of the road, a sheep jumped out from the cliff face on the other side, right in front of the car. Before I could even think about it, the sheep had disappeared over the side, I guess it knew where it was going, I hope so. I was glad to stop a few minutes later at the top of the pass, nearly being knocked off our feet with the blasts of chilly air.

                                   The windswept top of Conor Pass

Down the other side, the road was wide enough for only one car, so I was lucky to reach a passing point when we encountered a car coming towards us. Down at sea level, beaches ran along beside us, with the unusual sight of richly cultivated land right next to the sand. After stopping to look at a ruined cathedral at Ardfert, we lost our way driving through swampy farms. We stopped somewhere for a snow cone before driving beside the river Shannon, through Limerick, and stopping at a big roomed B & B at Bunratty, where we are off now to a medieval feast in the castle.

Thursday 15th April 2010

Dublin

It’s about 10.30pm. I’m sitting in our room at Hotel Belvedere in Dublin feeling a bit done in after the last 24 hours.

Last night we went to the medieval feast at Bunratty Castle, where the staff there, or let’s say cast, dressed in costume handing out drinks of mead and wine, soup and bread with no spoon, racks of meat with no knife and fork and so on. There was a bit of interaction with the crowd, such as the food taster pretending to choke, and another taken to the dungeon. Plenty of nice old songs sung in pleasant harmonies, accompanied by guitar and harp. 

I struck up a conversation with Marcel and his friends next to me at the table. Marcel is South African, but has been living in Ireland for some years. In my extensive travels, I have met many interesting people like Marcel, only to leave them with the knowledge that we will probably never meet again. It’s a bit like life itself, we want to hang on to people and to things, but in the end we leave.

I couldn’t get Prim to say anything much. In fact, she seemed overwhelmed by it all, and it broke my heart to see her so withdrawn, she didn’t want to talk. I suppose I felt it more because I have been at this feast before in 1971 with Cherry, who had such a happy time, and I expected Prim to also feel the same. I didn’t take into account the fact that as we get older, we don’t always like the things we liked when we were younger. We have probably had enough experience here, and it will be good for Prim to get back to the steadiness of Lyn’s house and rest.

I didn’t sleep much, but we had a nice breakfast with our B & B’s friendly owners, who gave us the heads up on possible flight problems caused by dust blown over Ireland from somewhere. We stopped to see the Cliffs of Moher where I had to back the car out from an oncoming bus because I didn’t read the sign saying buses only. After that experience, I thought my troubles would be over by going to the correct car entry. I was waiting behind a car at the entry machine, when that car suddenly backed up and ran into our car even though I was blowing the horn. I couldn’t get away because there was a car behind me. His car pushed in a bracket on the front, but I was almost able to bend it back to normal.

At the cliffs, we looked down on birds sweeping around those sheer cliffs facing the Atlantic Ocean. In freezing blasts of wind, a busload or two of primary schoolboys not seeming to care about the cold or the height!

           Prim gets a close up view at the Cliffs of Moher, Ireland

After a warming cappuccino we drove on past ruined castles and a rocky coastline with the occasional rare sight of a patch of grass sustaining a few cows. Barren rock covered hills with rock fences making divisions, for what purpose you might ask. Before we knew it we had traversed across Ireland on the boring but quick motorway, stopping at Thrifty car rental near the airport to tell them we would like to leave the car there after finding a hotel. 

Next to the airport, the Radisson Hotel had departure screens in the lobby showing “cancelled” on every flight. Our worst fears were realised when the receptionist confirmed it, but said we could have one of the last rooms at what seemed to me an inflated price of around $300. 

Back at Thrifty, the lady there phoned another hotel which was booked out, but she kindly told us were we could find more hotels. Every one we went to was also booked out. We went into the airport and joined a long queue, and were finally told we might get a flight tomorrow evening at about 7pm, but not definite. No flights at all the day after that, but one in the morning of the day after that one. What choice do you have when all are no good! We decided against risking the flight tomorrow night because there are no guarantees, plus we would be arriving late in Bristol where we would then have to find accommodation. The lady behind the counter, under pressure of the line-up, quickly changed the ticket to a flight in three more days. Back again at Thrifty, we let them know we would like to return the car tomorrow in the city office, as it was to the city we would have to go to find somewhere to stay.

The first city hotel was full, but thankfully over the road at the Belvedere we have a big room for three nights at €59 a night. I drove to a parking station but lost my way walking back. A kind Lithuanian lady showed me the way and poor Prim was glad to see me back safely. We enjoyed a cuppa and went downstairs to eat, but food was finished, so we made our way to O’Connell Street, found McDonalds and enjoyed a couple of chicken wraps. If you want extras like sugar or salt in McDonalds Ireland, you must go to the counter to ask for them, they are not where the desperate can fill their pockets for free.

I have just read our Ryan Air tickets. The lady at the airport has changed our destination from Bristol to Manchester, so will have to sort it out tomorrow. What a day.

Friday 16th April 2010

Dublin

We slept in this morning. After a quick cuppa, we walked a few blocks and drove the car from the parking station around the often one way streets of Dublin, and were able to drive the car over a gutter in a narrow lane near the car rental place. There was nowhere else, and the streets full of traffic. A man appeared, took the car keys, and pointed to the door of Thrifty car rental. We only had to pay for petrol top up, and walked up to the Liffey River where we found an upmarket restaurant inhabited by a few businessmen in suits. 

Undaunted, we boldly ordered scrambled eggs and bacon plus coffee at the counter. We sat down, two teas arrived, no problem, then only one egg and bacon. After a while it was obvious another meal wouldn’t be coming, so I went to the counter and ordered another meal. In Ireland, we don’t always get what we ask for, I think it’s our Australian accent. When you order for two people, it’s necessary to ask for two meals. I have noticed a high degree of politeness by not asking questions in Ireland and England. There is also the possibility that it was the management’s way of letting us know they didn’t want us back, we do look a bit scuffy after our travels. Anyway, the meal was very nice.

We walked past two buskers, one on sax and the other on piano accordion playing “Sway”, it sounded so good. In O’Connell Street we went to the bus info office, and found out where to get the public bus to the airport. We walked to that bus stop carrying coffee from McDonalds, and just missed the bus, so filled in the time finding a public convenience from Prim, a paid one as it turned out.

A nice trip was ahead of us in a double decker bus, after I recovered from the South Asian looking driver shouting at me when I didn’t know the fare, or where to put the money in the slot. He probably thought I am deaf. I am not deaf, but it reminds me of how an angry voice can be destructive for the disabled, especially when that voice is used by those who believe that they themselves are so perfect that they are without any disability at all. 

I guess our bus driver is similar to many who deal with the public, they think they must be aggressive, so that their authority is not questioned. Anyway, it was a bright sunny day, passing the occasional public garden planted with daffodils, hyacinths or tulips flowering in neat rows. 

At the airport we joined the queue again, a bit longer this time. After about one and a half hours waiting in line, we were told there would be a fee to change our flight. It took me a while to get the message across that we only wanted to find out if we were really flying to Manchester as marked on the ticket. 

Luckily, there was another employee there, and between them, they found that we were in fact booked on a flight to Bristol, and that our tickets were marked incorrectly. 

All this drama today could have been avoided if I had checked the tickets immediately after they were changed at the airport yesterday. Sometimes I get into trouble when the person behind the counter has such a proficient air of confidence, that I get the comforting assurance that all has been sorted and concluded. A bit like the pretty shop assistant who engages you in conversation as she short changes you.

Relieved to get the flight business sorted, we withdrew cash from an ATM machine, and then with a new sense of optimism, phoned Lyn to tell her of our new return date. 

We sat down to eat a self-serve salad, and then realised that we had no small change for the bus. Keen to avoid another berating from a bus driver so soon after the last one, we bought coffee to get some change, and sat near a TV screen that was showing Sky News. For the first time, we discovered the real culprit for our flight problems, a volcano in Iceland sending ash all over Ireland, UK, and now Europe, causing all flights to be cancelled. Towards the end of the story, they suggested that flights from Ireland would be cancelled further. So if that is true, we have gone through all that we have experienced today in coming to the airport and checking our flight, for nothing!

Brought back to Dublin city, and with a friendly bus driver this time, we bought newspapers with headlines such as “Paralysed by the Volcano”. There were stories of stranded people everywhere, and how the boats from Ireland were getting booked out. So there goes our only other escape route I thought. We turned on the TV in our room to the news that Ryan Air has cancelled all flights until Monday, three days away!

We took a walk down to McDonalds for an ice cream sundae to cheer ourselves up. Just now, we were in the lobby using the coin operated computer to check our flight, and spoke with a Belgian couple who said they have just returned from the airport with the news that their flight is one week away! They are worried about costs, and are looking for cheaper accommodation. I told them that the situation could change overnight if the wind blows the dust away. They didn’t agree with that. 

How easy it is for people to get stuck in the doors of gloom I thought, but they unwittingly showed me that I am not hitting the panic button myself. Years working in the live to air television production industry where life seems to go from crisis to crisis, has conditioned me. After all, life could be a lot worse than being stuck in interesting old Ireland.

Saturday 17th April, 2010

Dublin

The only nice thing about the breakfast this morning was the window box of flowers. We waited a long time for the receptionist to give us the phone number of ferries to England, strange because people would probably have been asking for it. We kept getting a busy signal, so decided to go to the ferries in person. 

At O’Connell Street, we asked how to get there from some friendly girls in a travel agency, who suggested we go to the bus station. At the station, they suggested we go to the tourist office on the opposite side of the road, an office we had not noticed before. A helpful older lady explained it all, and suggested the fast boat to Holyhead which goes from Dun Laoghaire, conveniently reachable on the DART train.

Leaving the train at Dun Laoghaire harbour, we waited in the ticket queue until we heard the announcement that the next available seats were for Monday night, three nights away. With the queue not progressing, we decided to do nothing right now. It just all seems so pointless when you can’t get anywhere, no matter what you try. Best to let it all go, slow down and wait. 

On the way back to town, and with the feeling that we had time on our hands, we stayed on the train as we passed through the city and to the end of the line at Howth, a picturesque village and harbour with a real holiday feel about it. The place was full of happy people filling the outdoor eateries and parks. We strolled in the sunshine and along the pier dotted with fishing boats.

Eating fish and chips, we sat on a park bench looking at the passing parade, and hearing a lot of foreign sounding languages, but no Aussies though. We could see a fun park full of kids, people sitting on benches or the grass, and kids walking along stone fences, all very therapeutic for stranded travellers I thought.

                             Enjoying the sunshine at Howth, Ireland

Noticing others enjoying snow cones, we went to find one for ourselves, but got caught up in conversation with these slightly boozy young blokes with fishing rods. When I said you have a nice country here, his answer was “its crap”. He told me they had been having a nice time, until the police told them to move on, telling them they were troublemakers. “They’re the troublemakers” he said. Later on in the train, I mentioned this conversation to a friendly older man who told me that the youths had probably never been anywhere else to compare Ireland with, a good answer I thought.

Back at the Belvedere Hotel, the TV news for flights was not good. On the coin operated internet downstairs, I found our flight cancelled, making a kind of final conclusion to the pointless effort we made in getting it secured before. Daringly, I tried booking on the next available flight, which is Monday at 6.35am. We’ll check it tomorrow, and if all is ok, will catch the last bus to the airport the night before, and spend a few hours waiting there. Feeling more like refugees, we beat a path again to McDonalds to use some meal vouchers, and bought ice creams to cheer our way back to our hotel.

Sunday 18th April 2010

Dublin

Today we took action, and are booked on the ferry to Holyhead tomorrow at 8.05am. It’s been a huge last day in Ireland. 

A lot of eating places in Dublin are closed on a Sunday morning, perhaps they are all at church. We walked longer than expected before we found something open, a Starbucks café, and had a nice quality breakfast. 

Sunday breakfast at Starbucks, Dublin

We took a relaxing river cruise up and down the Liffey and under the bridges, 45 minutes in duration. After checking out the tourist office in what used to be a church, we sauntered down fashionable Grafton Street to Bewley’s, a Dublin institution. I was taken there in 1971 by my Irish friend Morgan O’Sullivan, who I am sorry to say I have lost contact with. He and his wife Liz were so kind to me. 

As if to remind me how things move on and change, to me Bewley’s itself has lost its charm. My memory is of old world charm under stained glass windows. The windows are still there, but the interior is full of modern music and crowds of noisy foreigners like us. Unlike me, most tourists would visit Dublin perhaps once in their lifetimes, and are probably satisfied with their experiences, so for Prim I hope it was a nice time. Anyway, we both enjoyed the scones and sponge cake. 

Walking past the buskers in Grafton Street and into a department store, we gazed at the luxury that is Tiffany’s. Not far away we strolled through the grounds of Trinity College, and spent a lot of time reading about The Book of Kells which was on display. We loved the library with its rows of ancient books and displays of Irish memorabilia under glass.

On our way back to our hotel we found the Pro-Cathedral closed. We switched on the TV only to find that Ryan Air has extended the cancellation of all flights until Wednesday. Enough is enough! We went straight down to the internet, and after feeding the meter for some time, were able to book a passage on the ferry tomorrow. It wouldn’t print properly, but I was able to get reception to print it out for us. 

Trying to pay for our room, my credit was denied, same story with the other card. The guy at reception suggested a lesser amount which worked, and I was able to pay the balance in cash. Back on the internet, I tried to find out what was wrong, but Netbank in Australia was closed for maintenance. I had greater success in arranging a taxi to Dublin Port for tomorrow morning at 7am. Back in the room and with fortunate timing, Lyn phoned, so we were able to tell her we would be back hopefully by tomorrow evening.

For our last meal in Ireland, we went back to Fitzgerald’s, stopping off at the now functioning Pro-Cathedral. The service was finishing, in a building that looked more like an imagined Roman Forum, with massive columns inside and out. The pews were beautifully carved, and there were lots of shrines, two huge ones behind the altar, a Virgin Mary beside Jesus, people lighting candles and praying. Outside there were women in strange clothes begging money from the man in front of us, we slipped away behind him.

Fitzgerald’s was almost deserted, probably because it is Sunday night. We ate fish with a Guinness, and to finish the day, a shot of Jameson whisky with Irish coffee. We are nicely relaxed for the evening in our hotel room.

Tuesday 20th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Couldn’t write anything last night, I was too tired. Yesterday in Dublin, we caught a taxi at 6.45am. A friendly driver took us to a line up of hundreds of people waiting to get on the boat “Ulysses” a mighty big ferry.

                                       Waiting in line to board the ferry

By the time be boarded, there were people and bags filling every space around the tables and lounges. We were relieved to find our cabin away from it all, with a porthole far above the water line. I still don’t understand how I managed to book a cabin on that funny little coin operated computer, but that didn’t matter, we were on board. Taking advantage of our beds to have a little rest, we ventured out and joined the breakfast queue. Neither of us got what we asked for, but it was food. 

After about three and a half hours mostly resting on our beds, we arrived at Holyhead, joining the queues through immigration, onto a bus queue, ticket queue and train queue. I was surprised to find the train tickets costing the equivalent of about $400 to get to Pewsey. But worse, I didn’t have enough cash, and knew my credit card was useless. I couldn’t see any ATM machine there. Luckily Prim’s card worked. The queue stretched along one platform, around a corner and right down another platform. Two trains filled before we got on one, but then I discovered that our train was heading for Cardiff, not London. I have discovered that on the vast network of trains here, they are all timed so that there is not much waiting time between changing trains to other lines. They tend to all be on time which helps. However, if you are unfamiliar with the platforms, in the rush to catch the next train you can end up on the wrong train which we did. Five trains later, it was a welcoming sight to see Lyn, who had met all the previous trains, good on her. We were home by 10pm, had a cuppa, and slept right through to this morning.

Today we had a little trip to Devizes. Lyn had her hair done, while Prim and I looked around. The priest was just coming out of the Norman era church, and left us the key to drop into the rectory later. We all had lunch in the sun at a combined plant nursery and restaurant. Looking around at the cold weather plants, there weren’t many that we have in Australia. There was a standard rose for £85.

I have spent time on the internet this afternoon planning our trip to London tomorrow. Also had time to myself with a walk along the canal, and did the washing with the help of Lyn and Prim. We sat in the summer house with a glass of wine and the cat, as the sun went down. Prim and Lyn cooked dinner. Lyn had a pre-made mince and bean dish which we ate with vegetables.

Wednesday 21st April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Today, Prim and I caught the train to London, a nice sunny day. We walked to Kensington Gardens, past fountains and flower displays. At Kensington Palace we took a look through the public areas. There have been modifications, weird displays of modern art mixed with old royal bottles to hold tears for dead children, little children’s shoes in cases, fake throne, and behind it all, the original old paintings, fireplaces, huge doors, and painted murals on high ceilings. A friendly guide informed us that Diana never entered these apartments, and in fact it was Queen Victoria who donated this area to the public.

The Albert Memorial impressed me with it’s bigger than expected size, the four corners of it each representing Asia, America, Europe, and Africa. What a symbol of world power, but I guess that’s how they felt back then.

We ate alfresco at the Lido Café, a table in the sun by the water, ducks and swans, people in paddle craft. Plenty of young mums with children were playing around the nearby Diana Memorial Fountain.

               Enjoying lunch alfresco on a beautiful day in Hyde Park.

Getting tired of walking, we caught the underground to Westminster, and surfaced right in front of Big Ben, I had forgotten how majestic it looks and sounds. 

The audio guided tour in nearby Westminster Abbey was helpful in understanding it all, from the grandeur of the Henry V11 chapel to the simple memorial of Charles Darwin, the great glories of the past are not to be missed. We met a friendly lady at the front gate, who invited us to a service there. 

Walking over Westminster Bridge for a better view, we took the underground to St Pauls, but the cathedral was closed. 

We just missed our train to Pewsey, but fortunately caught the last train and were home by 10pm. Lyn made us a sandwich with a cuppa. 

I found the Eurostar site and booked our tickets to Paris on 8th May. I also tried getting a refund on our Ryan Air tickets, because it may be difficult to do by the time we return to Australia, so I am asking them to send the money to Lyn, she has been so good to us, so I hope they send her something. 

It’s now 2am, so must get to bed as we leave first thing tomorrow morning for a trip to Bath. London is so sophisticated and on the go, such a contrast to poor old Dublin.

Thursday 22nd April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Today Lyn drove us to Bath, a wow of a city, mostly in local pale sandstone. There is an old world grand feel about it, sunny parks with brilliant flower gardens. Prim and I took our time strolling through the labyrinth which is the excavated Roman Baths. We ate a tasty lunch upstairs where we could look out over the park to the hills beyond the city.

              Primrose in the city of Bath with primrose flowers in pots

Lyn was showing us where to get the hop on hop off bus when she tripped but nothing broken or hurt. She said she was ok with Prim and I continuing on in the bus, where we travelled up into the hills and could see just how small a city Bath really is. 

It was interesting to see places of the famous such as Jane Austen’s house. Bringing us up to date, our guide told us that Nicolas Cage just sold his house for three and a half million, but he had paid four and a half million pounds, time for me to buy perhaps. Outside Bath there is a long railway tunnel, but when it was first build, the wary passengers would travel over the hill on horseback and re-join the train on the other side. I feel a bit like that myself sometimes.

The Royal Crescent is something that I never thought I would see, wonderful architecture, and near it, people working in public garden areas, which looks so hopeful. Prim and I met a chatty lady in her 80’s inside Bath Abbey, who showed us the memorial to Australia’s first governor, Phillip.

 We all had coffee and I ate cake (the girls didn’t eat for waistline reasons) in a café built as part of a bridge, a spectacular setting. Bath is not such a long trip from Honeystreet village but we were tired by the time we arrived home, a great day.

Friday 23rd April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

It’s been our warmest day so far, we drove to Avebury, a kind of Stonehenge like setting, but a much wider circle of stones surrounded by a deep ditch dug thousands of years ago. A village has grown over part of it. We walked around, there were a few tourists, a few French kids posing on a stone, a lady restraining her dog, coffee and cake, a church with a thousand year old font and beautiful screen in front of the altar.

                           Prim with some ancient stones at Avebury

We stopped near Avebury to get a view of Silbury Hill, a symmetrical looking mound about 40 metres high, sitting in the middle of the canola fields. These yellow fields are now growing fast in the warmer weather, trees coming back to life with their green foliage, white flowering hedges, and gardens showing more colour.

Prim’s headache persisted, she was sneezing and looking distressed, so we returned home so that she could rest. Lyn and I drove to Pewsey where we bought groceries. Lyn, a trained nurse, bought Prim stronger medication, and by the time we got back Prim felt a lot better. 

I forgot to write that on the way to Pewsey, Lyn drove up into the hills behind the white horse monument, for great views over the Wessex fields, views that would have been even better if we had been airborne like the hang gliders above us. To get to their take off place, they needed to pass through a gate, labelled with a permanent metal sign which reads “Knap Hill is not, never has been, nor ever will be a hang gliding or paragliding site”. 

I cooked pizza for dinner, which the girls enjoyed. Prim went to bed early while Lyn and I watched TV. I phoned second cousin Danny (Diana), she sounded well, so we’ll visit her tomorrow.

Saturday 24th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Lyn drove us to Montacute House this morning, it’s even more stylish than I had imagined. The ladies at reception seemed interested when I told them that Montacute House was the residential address that our great grandmother Caroline Gerard nee Kitson entered in her marriage register. 

After I explained that Caroline’s mother died when Caroline was young, the cut and dried explanation from one of the staff was that Caroline’s mother was probably a servant. At this point, we got the message that all had been resolved, and in this way she finished our interview, nothing further to see here. I felt guilty to have wasted her time.

   Montacute House, and the Caroline of my imagination once living there.            

I gave myself time to recover over coffee. After I straightened a tulip that a child had just trampled, we went into the house where we attempted to talk with another disinterested guide, and then while I was looking into a glass case of memorabilia, I found the name Mary Kitson of the 1700’s era in their family tree. She married Rev John Phelips, brother of the heir, Edward Phelips. 

Our great grandmother Caroline Kitson was born in 1819, and so there must be some kind of connection. My guess is that she was taken in there by Mary or Mary’s relative after Caroline’s mother died. Anyway, Caroline would not have put Montacute House in the marriage register unless she did actually live there. 

Of course the guide could be correct in saying that her mother was probably a servant, and nothing wrong with that, but I think that unlikely because Mary Kitson, most likely a relative of Caroline, was married into the family, and naturally this would place Caroline’s mother above the level of being employed as a servant. What matters is that I knew I was walking where Caroline walked long ago, and it doesn’t matter what her status was. She had been there.

I had luckily just taken a photo of the family tree when a lady advised me “no photographs”. She suggested we talk with another lady in the next room who in turn suggested I fill out an inquiry leaflet. 

I loved the room of wooden wall panelling, such a warm feeling. The bay windows were also stylish, the large windows brightening the house. The gallery upstairs which stretched the length of the house was spectacular, beautiful views all round. I imagined the contrast for our great grandmother going from there to a property in the wild colony of NSW with her new husband Dr John Gerard, who had decided to take up farming with his brother, who was already in Australia. The eternal question that each of us would love to know of the major relocations by our ancestors can be summed up in one word - why? 

Caroline and Dr John Gerard went on to have fifteen children , including their last child and eighth son Walter Octavius Gerard, my grandfather. They had all died before I was born, but I find myself wondering why I didn’t ask my parents or their relatives more questions about our family, because it is too late to ask now that they have all gone. I guess that is a common experience others have.

Lyn was not feeling well, and spent the time sitting in the sun. Prim had a great time exploring every allowable inch of the house. We walked around the grounds. The orangery was closed and needed repair to broken glass on the roof. The sound of cars on the nearby busy road brought us back to the 21st century, but how peaceful it would once have been.

At reception they didn’t know what was meant by the enquiry leaflets, but did suggest we look in the Montacute graveyard. We didn’t have time, and drove to Cattistock. The Pound House, once the home of our loved second cousin Pat now deceased, has lost its charm, and no one answered the door. I gave Prim a bit of a description of the rooms as they were, before being “done up”. 

Foundations of a new house were being built at the back where the extensive gardens once were, so sad to see. We should never go back to where we lived with people we knew and loved, even if it was for a short time as in my case. It’s the people who make the place that it is. 

The nearby Fox and Hounds pub was closed until 6pm. We strolled to the church and viewed a memorial to our second cousin Pat Heath-Caldwell and her parents. The organ was playing, I looked nervously to make sure the organist was not Pat, who used to play the organ there. The lady there said she took over the organ duties after Pat became ill, but said nothing personally about her. Repairs have just been completed to the tower.

The wonderful thing about our arrival in the church grounds, was the sight of yellow primrose flowers blooming all over the lawns. It was as if Pat herself was reaching out from the past to welcome our Primrose there. It made me aware of Pat thinking kindly of Prim when she saw the flowers bloom each year, and of course in Australia we had no idea of that primrose connection. 

 In fact we often don’t know about the kind thoughts others send us when we are too far away to know, but I believe kind thoughts are beneficial, even reaching the other side of the world. I also believe that the opposite kind of thoughts end up hurting the person who thinks them.

  Primrose standing among the primrose flowers at Cattistock churchyard.

Leaving Cattistock and about an hour later, we arrived in Somerton, and with difficulty, found second cousin Danny’s house. We had phoned her when we reached Somerton, and there she was, looking out the window for us. She gave us a very warm welcome, giving Primrose a kiss on both cheeks. 

We were invited into a small but comfortable living space, lounge chairs, one with torn covers, some old chunky wooden furniture including a long narrow dining table of rough planks positioned diagonally across the room, so as to allow Danny to get around it. Danny sits on a lone chair on one side, placed so that she can look out through the glass sliding door into her garden. 

She told us that she loves birds, and that she spends a small fortune feeding them. There were in fact lots of birds twittering outside, but I don’t think she hears most of it, as she often asks us what we just said. However, her mind is sharp, and steered the conversation to her favourite topic, spiritualism, or more precisely “Anastasia”, a kind of Russian mystic apparently. This explains her jewellery of crystals I thought. Danny wants us to read books about Anastasia, and she is through with organised religion “I can bless a priest just the same as he can bless me, we are all the same deep down, metaphysically I mean” she said.

Danny has lost her view over the back fence, and has tried without success to get her neighbour to trim his trees. In Australia, we have the right to trim anything on our side of the fence, even though it is planted on the other side.  I don’t know the law here, so I said nothing. There were a little group of sweet peas growing on sticks, and a pot of four baby tomatoes that she germinated by holding them in her mouth for twelve minutes. She grows them in her little hothouse.

We all talked about politics, global warming, and solar power which she thinks has an exciting future. She is pleased to be divorced, and happy that her husband found another woman. She said nothing about her children. I find English people very circumspect as to the private lives of others, good on them. 

Danny used to watch Wimbeldon tennis matches on TV but no TV now at all. She rarely hears the radio, especially with elections soon. She appreciates visits from Jeremy Heath-Caldwell (JJ), her nephew. I guess like many elderly, she doesn’t get many visitors.

                         Prim with second cousin Danny in her backyard.

We had been drinking Danny’s Elderberry wine, but thought it best to go. All of us had a great laugh about something, so we left on a happy note. Danny gave us both a kiss on each cheek, and came out to the car with us where she was assured by Lyn that she had been content to sit in the car reading her book. I had earlier asked Lyn to come in with us, but she had said she didn’t want to intrude.

We drove away, my heart was in my mouth a bit, which is what can happen when you just know that you will never see that person again. Danny didn’t remember me from 1971, no matter, she knew we were family and that’s what counts. She reminded me so much of her sister Pat, she had the same laugh.

We had left Danny some strawberries, but we had nothing to eat all day except for some sweets from my pocket, so we stopped for a meal at a roadside café, and arrived home about an hour later at 8.30pm. We couldn’t fit in the headstone searches in churchyards at Somerton and South Perrott, they will have to slumber quietly on.

Sunday 25th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Lyn had a lunch date at Devizes today. We waited for Lyn’s companions in vain at the car park. Filling in time, we walked to the church but the service was under way with the doors closed, Lyn had the time wrong. We walked to the pub where the lunch was to happen, and waited there with coffee and cake.

After receiving a phone call, Lyn told Prim and I that her friends were waiting for her in another room and she would have to join them. This gave me the clue that we were not to be introduced or invited, so Prim and I went for a walk. I guess I was surprised to feel excluded, but I shouldn’t have assumed that Prim and I would somehow automatically be joining them. Later I wondered if Prim knew we weren’t joining the lunch, but thought I also knew. 

During our wait for Lyn’s lunch to be over, Prim and I walked through a flea market of wonderful curiosities. Old brass lamps with glass tops, but how could they get to Australia unscathed? One of them had a hunting scene etched on the glass, a vanished past. 

On the pathway beside the canal, the backyards of houses on the other side of the water had tiered steps and terraced gardens of flowers or vegetables growing in brilliant sunshine down to the water. There were summer houses and barge landing areas, decks over the water with tables and chairs, just the kind of scene my Dad would love to paint, but the only painting talent I have is imagining how nice it could look. Strolling back to the town, Prim and I enjoyed a light lunch in a coffee shop, most places being closed on Sunday. Back at the Bear Hotel, we waited until Lyn appeared and drove us to the supermarket as she needed cat food. I took the opportunity of buying more groceries for the dinner that I cooked later.

Lyn has come a long way from the struggling wife and mother living in the suburbs of Maitland that she was when I first met her in the 1960’s. She left that life behind to work in Saudi Arabia, living a freer life than the local women live in that country. I don’t think Prim and I have changed that much, but Lyn has improved her status, and is now a sophisticated woman of the world, associating with people of quality, good on her.  

Monday 26th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Today we intended to visit Oxford and the Cotswolds, but we never got past Oxford. It took a couple of hours to get to where we could leave the car and then Park and Ride, which means catching the bus into the city. The tourist office told us where we could find Trinity College, which our dad attended in the 1920’s. The warm and quiet chapel there was lined with beautiful timbers below stained glass windows and decorated ceiling.

We caught the Hop On Hop Off bus zipping regularly around Oxford, and heard the usual running stream of commentary about everything and nothing I can remember now. Prim wanted to see Oxford Castle, Lyn had been there years ago. We ate lunch there, and then Prim and I did their tour, going up the narrow circular stairs to the top of the tower, while hearing about the gruesome events that happened there over the centuries. The view from the top was nothing to write home about, so we reversed back down to the dark and creepy crypt, supposedly inhabited by some sort of ghost who likes to appear in photographs, but not ours yet as it has turned out.

From there we walked to Christ Church College with its spectacular dining hall, where scenes of a Harry Potter movie were filmed. The college cathedral has interesting floor patterns. Oxford is to me a city of beautiful old college buildings, bicycles and buses. 

Tuesday 27th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

A journey back in time today to where our father Reverend Frederick Thomas Montgomery Palmer was born in London on July 1st 1888, yes Primrose and I arrived later in his life. Our parents Fred and Norah really had two families, there were four daughters born in the early years of their marriage, Ianthe, Dara, Freya, and Rosalind. Prim and I were born about a decade after Ros, so we really grew up with four extra mums in training, which was very nice. 

Back to today, Prim and I took the usual fast train from Pewsey to London. On the train, Prim told me how Lyn has been working on her to leave her partner Colin. Prim has to sleep in Lyn’s bed with her, and so it is the perfect opportunity for Lyn to talk to Prim, in last night’s case to about 2am in the morning. Prim said she is getting more tired as this goes on, and she assured me that she has no intention of leaving Colin. In fact she has decided to agree to travel around Australia in a caravan with him. “I just have the feeling that I am meant to do it”, she told me. I told her I agreed, and to stick to her guns. Knowing Prim however, she will say nothing to Lyn, because Prim always wants things to be nice, sort of like living life in a fairy tale, and what’s wrong with that? 

We arrived at Dalston Kingsland after catching a couple of trains and a bus to get around the track work being done for the upcoming Olympic Games. Lunch was salad and tinned corn beef in a packed Turkish restaurant. The streets and footpaths were busy, it was like stepping onto an exotic island, with few white faces to be seen, women in colourful dresses and head cloths, shops with plenty of customers, a busy food market, police both in cars and patrolling the pavements.

Following a street map I had printed earlier, we walked down a few blocks for about fifteen minutes to De Beauvoir Square, the place where our father Fred started his existence in this world. His father, also named Frederick Thomas Palmer and mother Edith Bull lived with Edith’s parents. They had been married in St Peters, also located at De Beauvoir Square. Sort of like their whole world was there, but like so many times in life, things were not going to stay the same. Within a few years, both our father’s dad Fred and our fathers’ baby brother Paul had died, leaving our fathers’ mother Edith destitute with little Fred, our Dad, who learnt about survival at a very young age.

The stylish houses on three sides of De Beauvoir Square look like they were originally part of an old residential estate, they all look the same. On the remaining side sits a long block of ugly looking flats, built much later I would say. But they all face the square itself, which is really a park, with trees, gardens, and playground equipment for the kiddies.

  Part of De Beauvoir Square, London, birthplace of our Dad Fred Palmer

On one corner sits St Peters church which we found locked up, but underneath it was their soup kitchen, with a few derelict looking people sitting around. The lady serving food told me how lucky I was to live in Australia. She apologised for the church being locked up, and invited us to have a cuppa, but I said we had just had one.

Prim was talking to an elderly customer who had asked her to sit at his table. She asked him if he knew where she could buy a Tottenham Hotspur football jumper for her son Luke, as we had been unable to find one, he didn’t know. 

We walked back into the park in the middle of De Beauvoir Square. A few old men were sitting separately on benches under the trees. Prim had walked out through the old black iron railings on the perimeter, and I suddenly had to come to terms with the fact that our visit was over, just like that. Memories of Dad’s life came flooding over me. Here I was, standing where he first came into this world, and from this place he had travelled so far, done so much, and it all seemed so incredibly sad, even as I write this I can’t understand it. I really felt for him at that moment, poor Prim had to wait until I recovered. I guess I felt his aloneness in this world as never before. He was separate from other men, self-made, cultured, yet dangerous emotionally, and no matter how far he fell, no matter what anyone said about him, I always loved him, and at that moment, I felt that perhaps I was the only person who really had loved him, although now hours later, I realise that this is not strictly correct.

We walked back to catch a bus and train to Tower Hill, walking around The Tower and over Tower Bridge, catching the Underground to Paddington and train to Pewsey where Lyn met us. We ate soup for dinner and I phoned cousin JJ about his visit to us next week.

Wednesday 28th April 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Today we drove to some woods nearby at East Kennet, where we walked among the bluebells, one of Lyn’s favourite things to do. It was up a hill, so we had nice views of the countryside while walking up and back. 

                                    Lyn and Prim among the bluebells

After returning home for a cuppa, we drove to where we could start walking through the fields to the white horse on the hill, visible from our house in Honeystreet village. We found a gate, Lyn waited while Prim and I struggled up the short but steep hill. The horse has been topped up with fresh white stone, apparently dropped in by helicopter. The edges of the horse are bordered by wooden planks to stop washaways and discolouration from the soil above it I guess. Prim and I walked further up the hill to check out an earth mound and a few scattered stones, there are traces of ancient Britain everywhere around here.

After lunch, Prim and I walked over to the old church at Alton Priors, a nice walk over a stone path through the fields. It’s built on the site of an old monastery. The church is no longer used, but kept as an historic site. There is a yew tree outside that is supposed to be 1,700 years old. Inside there are many candles, and so it must look atmospheric when all lit up. 

A nearby resident keeps the church open during the day. We heard rattling at the door, and found the man with his keys ready to unwittingly lock us in for the night. 

This evening, we ate rhubarb from our garden. I have been busy on the internet, arranging a hire car from Bath tomorrow and train tickets to Bath. I phoned cousin Janet to arrange a time to call in and see her on our way to Scotland.

Thursday 29th April 2010

Conwy, Wales

Here we are in North Wales in the fascinating medieval looking town of Conwy. Lyn drove us to catch the train this morning, and in about an hour we arrived at Bath Spa station in the drizzling rain. I left Prim with our bags at the station and caught a bus to get the rental car. Only trouble was that I found the bus heading out into the countryside toward Bristol. 

I got out and waited in a tiny bus shelter over the road in the middle of nowhere. I almost missed the bus back into town, the driver saw me and waited while I ran down the road to catch it. 

I took a guess as to where to get off because the passenger on the bus I had asked didn’t seem to understand me. A kind lady in a tiny post office gave me directions. 

A friendly guy at the Alamo rental place, otherwise known as Europcar showed me the ropes. He left me with an Opel brand car, but I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the handbrake switch. I had to get him back to show me, he probably wonders if he will ever see this car again.

I found a parking station near the train station. Prim and I lugged our bags to the car and walked to eat where we ate last time in Bath. Prim withdrew money from an ATM machine, we bought some sweets and headed off, travelling north through the Cotswolds, but it looked a bit dismal in the rain.

 Further north on the M4 motorway, it rained really solidly, it was like driving endlessly getting nowhere, the same three lanes and three rows of cars in front disappearing into the spray thrown out by their tyres.

It was about 6.30pm when we decided to leave the motorway for a break at Newcastle-under-Lyme. We drank some fortifying coffee in a pub and headed back onto the motorway feeling refreshed. Our original destination of Caernarfon seemed too far away by 8.30pm, so we stopped at Conwy instead. 

The first pub we called into had a room for £65, the George and Dragon. It has a narrow winding staircase and thick walls, very old. I can’t wait to see the town in the daylight. The castle walls are lit with spotlights, and it seems as if we are surrounded by the comfort of old fortress walls. 

We ate at a late night place near the pub and enjoyed a Guinness in the pub’s bar. A few blokes were at the bar and a group of older ladies watching the footy on TV. Our room has no heating, but it’s not too cold here. We have been spoilt by Lyn’s centrally heated home.

Friday 30th April 2010

Berwick-upon-Tweed, England

This morning, Prim and I took a stroll around Conwy, it’s a beautiful and interesting place. The tide was out, with hundreds of boats resting on their keels. 

We ate a hearty breakfast after I topped up the Pay and Display for the car. I have found it hard to find a parking spot everywhere we have been, and even then you need a permit or face a fine.

A coastal path led up a hill, through thick woods and the sounds of birds. The locals have put up bird shelters. It was a steep walk at times along the old walls and fortifications, but lovely views.

                                      Walking around Conwy, Wales.

From Conwy we mostly took the congested motorway north to Janet’s home at Guiseley near Leeds in Yorkshire, arriving about 1pm. 

Janet is a lovely person. I met her previously as a young girl in 1971 when I stayed with her kind parents, second cousin Rosamund and husband John, who is the most gentlemanly man I ever met. 

Janet’s stylish terrace has big rooms and big windows. Over lunch we mostly talked about family. Janet said her husband Tim was full of praise for Prim’s and my mum Norah, with whom they stayed about 14 years ago in Australia, and why wouldn’t he be full of praise I thought. 

I was able to have a short rest on Janet’s lounge room couch. The timing of our visit was excellent, as we were able to take Janet to the nearby airport for her flight to Aberdeen. 

       Cousins (second cousins once removed) Prim and Janet in Guiseley

It was about 3pm when we entered the motorway, but the traffic slowed to a crawl near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. How could we not stop to look around Newcastle, being residents of Newcastle Australia. We enjoyed a cappuccino there at Starbucks. Our GPS seemed to go haywire and send us back south, but we were able to turn around eventually. It was too late and too far to Edinburgh, so we are staying here at Berwick-upon-Tweed, just south of the border. We had a big Chinese meal. I am dead tired.

Saturday 1st May 2010

Inverness, Scotland

Slept in until 8am, had a big breakfast talking with a group of older people who go on coastal walks. Luckily we told the lady owner we were going to look around, so she reminded us that we must vacate by 10am as it is B & B rules! Outside in the park, horses and riders were gathering for some kind of English/Scottish battle memory fun, lots of onlookers.

Glad to leave, I thought it a bit of a depressing place, and we arrived in Edinburgh late morning. I had forgotten what an impressive city Edinburgh is, the solid stone buildings giving the impression that it’s built to last forever. Found a parking station, drank a shocker of a coffee at McDonald’s, but at least it was hot, had to beg for sugar, as seems usual over here.

Walking up the hill to the castle, we joined a long queue to get into it. There’s a lot to see there, it took about two hours. Spectacular views, and another queue to see the Scottish crown. Leaving there, the streets full of tourists, had a quick look in the cathedral which had nice stained glass windows, and then walked through the park below the castle eating soft serve ice cream.

                                      In the city park at Edinburgh

Back on the road heading northwest, barren hills with high peaks dotted in snow, 5centigrade outside the car, stopping to take photos fingers going numb. We drove around Inverness in the dark looking for a place to stay, and went into a drunken pub in a rough area. The man behind the bar laughed when we asked him if he had a room. It felt as if we had gone back in time to the Wild West in there. Escaping, we drove passed many full B & B’s, and eventually found a more gentile place out of the cold and by the river, MacDonald House Guest House. Daringly I ordered haggis in a local restaurant but did not enjoy it as much as the beer that I had with it.

Sunday 2nd May 2010

Carlisle, England

It was a spectacular drive south today passing lakes and mountains. Loch Ness looked wonderfully moody, but no monster visible today. Loch Ben Lomond had a more populated look about it, with more boats and a few hardy kayakers. Prim loved it all, especially the rugged mountains, we stopped many times to take it all in, and take photos.

                             Prim looking for the Loch Ness Monster

Even in the remotest areas we saw riders on bikes, either human or motor driven, and walkers. This is a long weekend, so there are plenty of tourists. For most of our day the car temperature gauge registered 7C, very bracing getting out of the car, a bit of drizzle, but not enough to spoil the views. We stopped at a souvenir place where Prim bought Lyn something from Scotland, we also had a shocker of a coffee there.

At Glascow, we walked down the mall and had a snack at McDonalds, both feeling weary. I felt the place a bit depressing, as I remember feeling in 1971. Back onto the motorway in the pouring rain, I was starting to get that aching all over feeling of tiredness. 

We stopped for coffee and about an hour later we stopped again, I had an ice cream. An hour later, we stopped again so I could get takeaway coffee. We headed off with coffee in one hand, music on full blast, windows down and with our coats on. 

It was a long hour until we could find a place to stay, leaving the motorway at Carlisle just across the border in England. I headed straight onto the bed, and then recovered enough for dinner in the hotel. I now must get back to bed after a hot shower and get more rest. We can’t get the car back to Bath tomorrow that’s for sure.

Monday 3rd May 2010

Bath, England

Last night it seemed impossible to get the car back to Bath in time, but we are back. We stayed last night in Carlisle at the Premier Inn, one of a chain of 590 hotels they have in Britain. It was comfortable and spacious, £59 for the two of us. A nice roast dinner there was £10 each. In the morning we drove into town and withdrew cash from the ATM machine. It’s a public holiday, so was unable to phone the Europcar people to explain we would be late in getting the car back.

Driving all day on the motorways was a gruelling experience, especially with the holiday traffic. We took a break from the motorway at Kendal in the Lake District, a nice town in a beautiful valley, and met some friendly bike riders at a coffee shop in town.

                           Near Kendal in the Lake District of England

After a few more stops along the motorway for a sandwich or coffee, we arrived in Bath at 6pm and checked into the Halcyon Hotel. They had no twin rooms, so Prim and I have two doubles for the price of one at £99, it’s the most expensive place we have so far stayed in, but we are grateful to get a comfortable rest tonight. Rang Lyn to say we’d be arriving in Pewsey at 1.30pm on the train tomorrow. I filled the car with petrol, and left it at Europcar, dropping the keys and explanatory note in a box there, crossing my fingers that all would be well. After catching a bus back to Bath city and meeting up with Prim again, we ate at Sally Lunn’s, the oldest restaurant in Bath, great atmosphere.

Tuesday 4th May 2010

Honeystreet village, England

There was a kind of cook your own breakfast at Bath, but it was good food. We found a repair shop for Prim’s mobile phone, and shared the cost of a thankyou present to give Lyn when we leave, a pair of earrings that Prim liked. Lyn met our train at Pewsey. 

We all walked over to The Barge Inn for lunch, great atmosphere and big servings of food. Some rugged looking people there, looking like they never left the farm. Plenty of crop circles info and photos, including a kind of cosmic painted ceiling. People here including Lyn, believe that cosmic forces are behind it all, and I admit that I cannot work out how the patterns are made so perfectly and overnight. I had a sleep when we returned home from the pub.

Tonight I fixed Lyn’s computer, so she could find and print her boarding pass, she is going to Ireland. We had soup for dinner. I received an email from Matthew who is running my business, one of the computers has broken completely beyond repair in his opinion, I suggested something to try, and booked tickets for a day trip to London for Prim and I tomorrow. 

I must get to bed now, very tired.

Wednesday 5th May 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Before Prim and I caught the train to London today, I booked our tickets for next Saturday’s train to Paddington, and Eurostar leaving from Pancreas station, very exciting to be planning our trip to Paris. Today’s train to London was late by 12 minutes. There was an apologetic announcement from the driver, who said he would make up the time, and he did, it was a fast trip. Trains in the UK are very good, but more expensive than in Australia. 

If I was ever to come here again, I would travel more by train.

Prim particularly wanted to visit Madame Tussauds wax museum. There were a lot of happy people there posing for photos with the wax models of famous people.

            We visit the waxed Royal couple at Madame Tussauds museum

From the museum, we took “the Tube” train to Tower Hill station and clambered through the Tower of London, which houses the beautiful Crown jewels, which Prim loved seeing.

At St Pauls Cathedral, we were invited to sit in stalls near the choir for the evening service, the long reverberation of the sound of the choir and organ is wonderful, the heavenly voices seem to go on forever. It is an awe inspiring building.

We had time to leave the Underground for a quick visit to Trafalgar Square, I was so pleased that Prim saw the Nelson monument that so inspired our Dad. Back at Paddington station we must have missed our train home by a minute, so phoned Lyn who met the last train, and we were home by 10pm.

Thursday 6th May 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Prim, Lyn and I had a nice lunch today at my favourite shop in Devizes, Reeve the Baker. It’s a cake shop facing the street, and at the back there are tables and chairs where you can eat rolls and sandwiches made from their own fresh bread. Their coffee is good too, I would eat here every time if I lived in Devizes.

In Boots chemist shop I had our photos that had been taken on Prim’s son Luke’s digital camera copied onto four CD’s. It was good of Luke to lend us his camera. He was originally going to come with us, but Luke’s sister Lee told us that his father Doug told him it was ridiculous to be having a holiday with his mother and uncle, so Luke decided it best not to join us. 

I went to a few shops looking for the ingredients for tonight’s dinner. Prim bought a cardigan for Lyn’s birthday present, and in the Oxfam shop, a leather money purse. Back home, Lyn wanted Prim and I to watch a DVD about crop circles, but it stopped half way through so we never saw the rest of it. Mid-afternoon I started preparing the baked dinner, Prim helped with peeling the vegetables.

Right on time at 5pm our guests arrived, Jeremy Heath-Caldwell (JJ) and his mother Dora, recently arrived from her homeland, New Zealand. Dora, a lovely lady that I have now met for the first time, has five acres in NZ growing tomatoes at the moment, which she trades with neighbours for their produce. I was pleased with my cooking and it seemed well received. JJ is wonderful at any social occasion, intelligent and a good talker. It was good to hear more about family from the Heath-Caldwell perspective. JJ and Dora don’t drink tea, but luckily I had bought non-alcoholic sparkling Elderberry wine.

After they left, I checked the photos on the four CD’s and they all worked. The only problem was seeing myself at 64 years of age, and realising that life seems to slip by faster as we get older, I had better get on with it as they say. 

Friday 7th May 2010

Honeystreet village, England

Our last full day in England today, it’s also Lyn’s birthday, so Prim and I shouted her lunch at a pub that she had always wanted to visit, “The Waggon and Horses”, near Silbury Hill. We sat near a bay window of small glass panels. The pub was full of people, and by the time we left around 3pm, the place was empty. That is what happens here, if you stop at a pub around 2.30pm, they are likely to tell you that the food is finished. The English seem to be punctual in their heating habits, a comfortable sense of orderliness, and yes we enjoyed our meal.

We drove to Devizes, I bought a better computer mouse to replace the one I had been using at the house as a kind of thankyou present for being able to use the computer. Prim bought me a tea towel with English birds printed on it. Lyn took us to see the locks on the canal, we bought some food at the supermarket, and then drove home through alternate fields of brilliant green oats and yellow canola. We have been here long enough to witness the transformation from a few sprouts of green to this.

I looked up some info on the Paris Metro, and emailed hotel Quai Voltaire to let them know we would be arriving late tomorrow. It received an email from Marcel, who I met at Bunratty Castle. I replied to him and wrote a postcard to my sister Ianthe. I was squeezing a tube of boot polish in the garage when it burst, some of it going on the luxury car, but it came off ok. I then went outside and washed the BMW, the car that Lyn drives. Tonight Janet phoned with the address of her cousin Sophie in Paris. I have emailed Sophie, she is our second cousin Danny’s daughter.

I went for a solitary walk just before dark for my last taste of England, the luxuriant richness, the manicured nature, the feeling of timelessness. How fortunate I have been to experience it.

Saturday 8th May 2010

Paris

I am sitting in an old padded chair in our Paris hotel room, the arm just came adrift but I pushed it back in. Our room is at the back of Hotel Quai Voltaire, the man at reception said our room didn’t have views but the room would be bigger and quieter. This place is so much older than places we stayed in the UK. We look out the window into a well of other windows, but they are beautiful old French windows. We have clean looking carpet and new bathroom so we feel really comfortable.

We have just returned from our first French meal, just down the road at La Frégate, classy décor with a view of the Louvre. I ate duck slices in strawberry sauce, and Prim medallions of seafood, it was all so delicious. We treated ourselves to a glass of red Bordeaux wine and finished with a coffee. The waiter wished us a good time in Paris as we left, and the man at reception in our hotel here is very helpful.

Going back to this morning, we had a quiet time at Lyn’s place getting organised to catch the 1.22pm train from Pewsey. At the station, Lyn became emotional at our departure. It had been good of her to have us stay with her, but I don’t think she realised how attached to us and particularly to Prim she became, until the time of leaving, but isn’t that often the case. Prim and I appreciate all she did for us. She will not be entirely alone as she is so devoted to the cat she is minding for the owners of the house. 

        Lyn is devoted to the cat, and the feeling seems to be mutual

The London Underground was partly closed, we struggled with our bags on two trains until we reached Kings Cross St.Pancras. At one stage we were poised at the top of a very long and steep escalator, too afraid to step on with our bags, when a stranger in the vast crowd grabbed a suitcase in each hand and stepped onto the top of the escalator. This had the effect of getting us to join him with the rest of our stuff on the steep ride down.

We scanned our tickets, went through security, customs and immigration, and just had time to grab a take away coffee before finding our seats on Eurostar, what a relief to sit down. 

Just two hours and twenty minutes later we stepped onto Guard Du Nord, Paris, it had been the fastest train trip I ever experienced, a thrill. A man asked us if we wanted a taxi, he picked up a bag and had us following him down the road. I tipped him €5 and the taxi brought us through the old streets of Paris to our hotel no problem, it’s great to be here on the next chapter of our journey.

Sunday 9th May 2010

Paris

Our first full day in Paris, I had forgotten what a marvellous city this is, a wow factor. We spent most of the day touring the city in the L’Open Tour green bus, a hop on hop off arrangement. Headphones to explain the sites, and just when you take in some grand building or vista, another equally fabulous sight is just around the corner. Wide boulevards and walkways, trees and gardens, all looking very civilised, until you hear commentary on the brutal past of wars and the guillotine, which shaped the city. On the top of the bus, we were insulated from the traffic, almost non-existent at 9am, but by the afternoon, clogging the intersections with horns blowing and buses bulldozing their way through.

Initially, we decided to stay on the bus for a full tour of the city, which we had completed by lunchtime. We ate near our hotel in a downmarket looking café, where the coffees were anything but downmarket at €6 each, crickey! The hamburger mince was cooked medium by Aussie standards even though we asked for well done. The same thing happened with last night’s meal, so I guess the French like food that way. Back at our hotel we asked for the location of the tourist office, not far to walk. Once there, they told us where we could find McDonalds near the Louvre, so we treated ourselves to ice cream sundaes. In Paris this means fruit and nuts on top. In fact the usual menu is completely different, and looks to be greater in variety and healthy qualities. 

I had withdrawn €80 earlier, but reality struck, and withdrew another €200 a few hours later. Back on the bus, we got off at the Arc De Triomphe, over 200 steps to the top, revealing our condition or lack of it. From the top, all roads seem to lead through Paris to that monument. Bus to Notre-Dame Cathedral packed with people, a service in progress, people thronging in side aisles lighting candles, the enormous rose window with late afternoon light shining through it, and the organ almost lifting the roof off with its power at the end of the service.

Outside, we gazed at a powerful statue of Charlemagne on horseback restrained by two fearsome men with weapons, another reminder of war. We walked along the Seine below the level of the street, feeling more peaceful. At McDonalds, our meal cost less than the coffees we drank in the downmarket café earlier. Trendy young people sitting around with their laptops made me realise how important it is to have access to the internet when you travel, I really feel cut off without it. We strolled back to our hotel through the grounds of the Louvre, a few people spinning around on some sort of one wheel bikes.

Today we had stopped at the Eiffel Tower but the lift was not operating, so we’ll try another day because I really want to go to the top. In 1971, I was only able to reach the middle lookout, but even that seemed very high up. Back at our hotel there was a message that Sophie had phoned, I phoned her back and made arrangements to visit her tomorrow at 5pm for tea.

Monday 10th May 2010

Paris

An amazing day today, we spent most of the day at the Louvre museum, saw the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, thousands of paintings and treasures of antiquity from ancient Greece and Rome, and still haven’t seen it all. There is so much to see, and in some rooms we kept walking while looking left and right without stopping. 

We took a break at nearby Starbucks for lunch of coffee and a snack, and returned to our hotel about 4.15pm with weary feet and head full of the glories of the past. Just had time to recharge the camera battery, have a wash, and walk to Sophie’s house, which is an apartment in an amazing location right in the heart of Paris, just across the Seine from Notre-Dame Cathedral.

Following instructions from Sophie, I pressed a button on a doorway facing the street which opened to reveal a narrow driveway under the building. We pressed another numbered button which was answered over an intercom system by one of Sophie’s daughters, who must have pressed another button from their apartment which opened the door to the stairwell. Up a wide flight of steps to I think it was a 3rd floor spacious apartment decorated with period furniture. Sophie, who I had last seen in 1971 when she was a little girl, introduced us to husband Thierry working in his home office, and to their daughters doing homework. We had tea and biscuits. A beautiful blond young woman au pair from Norway was there. Thierry joined us, and both he and Sophie invited us to come back for dinner. We left, agreeing to come back around 7.30 to 8pm.

     Sophie and Thierry with their daughters and Prim at their apartment

Prim and I walked back to our hotel. It was beginning to rain, so we took our umbrellas and were back with Sophie at 8pm. We sat in the dining room holding glasses of red wine. Thierry had just returned from a business trip to Austria, and sliced up some ham he had brought from there, offering it with his knife. We moved to the kitchen where Thierry opened a bottle of burgundy, he only drinks the best French wines, Sophie had told us earlier, and she was correct, the wine was the best I ever tasted. We ate stuffed tomatoes from their farm. Thierry used a pepper grinder with peppercorns he picked up on a hunting trip to Central Africa, incredible flavour. He gave me some to bring back to Australia.

After being in England and having discreet conversations, it was at first confronting to me to be asked direct and personal questions about my life, perhaps this is the French way. Prim talked about her marriages and children, I talked about my Bali experiences. Thierry has a good sense of humour, always seeing the funny side in his quick brain. They talked about the charismatic church Sophie was involved in when they first met, and how upset Sophie would get when Thierry criticised it. Anyway, Thierry got her out of it, and now they are both dead against spiritualism, mysticism, gurus and the like. Those people are all in it for the money is their opinion. Thierry and Sophie themselves must have no problem with money, I had asked Sophie earlier if Thierry had owned their apartment when they married, and Sophie said, “He owns the whole building”. Apparently, it has been in the family for generations. It was a wonderfully warm and memorable evening with quality people. What a privilege to meet them and dine with them in true French style.

It was raining when we left them, Paris looked more wonderful than ever, with its cafés lit with neon lights, people hurrying down shiny wet streets under their umbrellas. We walked back a different way, found another Starbucks and drank crema café frappuccinos just before they closed. We also found a little shop with a fridge of drinks, so we bought bottles of water, a rare thing to find a grocery store or even just an ordinary shop in downtown Paris.

Tuesday 11th May 2010

Paris

Rain and cold wind today. At the Metro, we caught a train to Versailles Palace, about 40 minutes away. Following the crowd up the cobbled streets, we lined up for tickets, but had to go outside again with our umbrellas to line up for entrance to the palace. 

Security check, then a line up to get the audio guides, and another line up to get a photo of the chapel. For the next couple of hours, and in the company of many people and tour guides, we jostled our way through corridors of roped off rooms, complete with magnificent paintings, furniture and fittings. Of course it’s not the original, all that was looted or destroyed during the French Revolution. A small escape door beside Marie Antoinette’s bed told it all to me. It was used by her, but she didn’t escape for long, what terrible days they were. 

Tall draped windows give a chance to visually escape the crowd and the splendour. Prim and I lost each other, and it took me a long time going from room to room trying to get through the crowds with an increasing sense of panic, but I found her thankfully. The Hall of Mirrors would be worth going to Versailles to see, without seeing anything else. 

By early afternoon, we went into the café and straight out again, too many people. Glad to be outside, we strolled through the manicured formal gardens of wide avenues lined with white marble statues and water features that seem to go on forever. I imagined ladies of the day in their wide dresses drifting around holding umbrellas, as we were holding today. 

We eventually found the Trianon building, smaller than the palace but lavish inside. It’s a lovely open pavilion of columns and red marble, giving the effect of seeing through the middle of the building to the gardens on the other side.

                   A wet day in the gardens at the Palace of Versailles

A short walk led us to Marie Antoinette’s estate, more of a private home for herself. Another short walk to an area called the Queen’s Hamlet where Marie could live the fantasy life of an ordinary peasant, which she seemed to want to do for some reason. Quaint simple country houses with lakes and productive gardens, paths between trees and shrubs that were beginning to flower.

Umbrellas up, we found food at a McDonalds, and then a train to take us back to our hotel by 7pm, a 10 hour trip.

Wednesday 12th May 2010

Paris

Day 4 in Paris, and a very big day. This morning after our usual breakfast which includes freshly squeezed orange juice, the only hotel I have ever stayed in that does this, we walked in the direction of Montmartre, mainly to go to the chocolate shop mentioned in Prim’s book “Gourmet Shops Of Paris”, a glossy photographic book given to Prim by her son Luke before we left Australia. 

We went into Lafayette department store, 5 floors of women’s fashion from what I could tell. I was worried that Prim might find too many things she liked, but it turned out that what she really needed was the women’s conveniences. 

I would love to buy myself a leather jacket to replace the one I bought in UK in 1971, which disappeared from my luggage on the way to Australia. But that is only expensive sentiment, and I can live without it.

                                Prim let loose in the chocolate shop

Luckily I had a street map. We just walked past the temptation of a quality cake shop, and there was our goal “L’Etoile D’or” (Star of Gold) Chocolaterie. A lovely young lady speaking English helped us fulfil our wicked chocolate desires. Prim spent a lot of money, so I hope her purchases make it back, and are appreciated by her children. We bought some for ourselves to ration out, and I am enjoying some of it while I write these sweetened words.

We walked up the narrow streets to the Sacré-Coeur basilica. Wonderful views over Paris up there, with lots of people, street artists, and beggars. No photography allowed in the church. Over the altar there is an image of Jesus, along with lots of shining gold statues illuminated by a great number of candles burning everywhere. But money doesn’t grow on trees, and so half way down the side of the basilica, you enter their shop which seems to do a pretty good trade in religious tokens. I bought a St Christopher pendant for my Roman Catholic friend Nicole, it will protect her from sudden death while travelling, handy to have.

We rode the cable train down the hill just for fun, and bought crêpes with strawberry jam running out until we worked out how to stop it, by eating them. Further down, we found the cake shop we resisted before, and bought a small pizza plus a hazelnut cream slice, both of which we enjoyed in our hotel room after catching the Metro back.

Out we went again towards the Eiffel Tower. We walked over one of Paris’s wonderful bridges and onto a river cruise vessel. The top of the boat was open with plenty of people up there, but by the end of the trip most passengers had gone below to escape the increasing cold. I had wanted Prim to see Paris from the river, because I had taken a similar boat ride in 1971, and it was a great experience I always remembered.

Once again we set off for the Eiffel Tower, diverting through the shrubbery of a museum, and the leafy surrounds under the tower, looking for the conveniences. We found them under the tower but they were closed for cleaning for about another hour, but luckily we found one by walking through the nearby park. 

We joined the queue to go up the tower, plenty of police and army with machine guns there, nobody was going to be mad enough to try and blow the tower up today that’s for sure.

 Great views from Level 2, where we had a warming cappuccino before the lift opened to take us to the “Summit”. It was a breathtakingly scary ride up, because you can see how high up you are through the windows of the lift. 

At the top I felt as if I should walk carefully, so as not to overbalance the tower. At first it’s an enclosed area with narrow windows, but we went up some stairs and the only thing keeping you from eternity is a metal cage with the wind whistling through it, a fabulous experience. 

There was a man sitting behind an open window selling glasses of champagne, no takers, but probably there are at night. I imagined the lights of Paris stretching out forever, and how magical it must be.

Leaving the tower, we couldn’t find the Metro station, my foot was paining, but I somehow limped to the next station where it was great to sit down in the warm train for 2 stops before a short walk to our hotel. After a little rest, we headed for nearby McDonalds for the usual upmarket version of their fast foods. The kids in the next cubical were having a rowdy but happy time. Paris seems to be a great place even for kids. Everywhere are towering old apartment buildings, but I wonder where they shop for food, as Paris is all restaurants and cafés. 

Paris must also be the siren capital of the world, sirens are always going off in the streets, competing with the constant honking of car horns. Now I realise why the reception man initially recommended our quieter room at the back. I am not complaining, in fact all the noise reminds me that Paris is definitely alive.

Thursday 13th May 2010

Paris

Our last full day in Paris. We looked through the Egyptian section of the Louvre for about 3 hours, and then escaped for cappuccinos at Starbucks. There is so much to see in the Louvre, that it becomes overwhelming if you don’t get out for a break from it. 

Back at the Louvre to see a special exhibition of religious relics from Russia, old bibles with engraved gold covers and clasps, icons up to 2 metres square of old wood painted in brilliant colours, some with gold leaf and precious stones. 

Back at our hotel we laid on our beds, my feet were hurting. After about an hour I swallowed some Panadol tables, then off we went again to see Sainte-Chapelle, and its world famous stained glass windows. There was a long queue, so we went across the road to eat where we could see the progress of the queue. The food there was ordinary, I guess we had to have one poor meal in Paris. Joining the lessening queue, we were finally inside where I triggered the alarm during the security check which turned out to be just some coins in my pocket. 

Up the stairs and into the upper chapel is like stepping into another world, gloriously high walls of stained glass separated by thin stone supports. Some renovations were going on there. On our walk back to the hotel, we browsed the street stalls by the river. Glad to eventually put our feet up for the day.

Saturday 15th May 2010

Singapore

We have been on our way to Singapore, so I didn’t write a diary entry yesterday. Going back to our last night in Paris, we treated ourselves to a high class meal again at La Frégate, near our hotel. I had to work on Prim to try Frogs’ legs for the first time, but she gave it a go, good on her. She enjoyed it, mopping up the sauce with crusty French bread. 

Next, Prim had scallops in asparagus cream sauce, while I had steak and mushrooms with miniature baked potatoes in herbs. A couple of glasses of Bordeaux, and to finish, Prim had the red fruit tart, and I had rum tart flambé with lots of blue flames when the waiter lit it, spectacular!

The following morning (yesterday), we walked a short distance to Musée d’Orsay (Orsay museum), and entered the queue for opening time 9.30am. It was wonderful to see original impressionist paintings by artists such as Van Gogh, Gaugin, Monet and Manet. 

Our dad loved impressionist work, and painted nice copies of the masters himself. He had beautifully illustrated books of great historical artworks, and so I was already acquainted with some of these beautiful paintings. However, to see originals is a dream come true. My favourite was “Portrait of the artist” by Van Gogh, you can see the torment in his face, and it’s realistic enough to look alive. The museum itself is a work of art, created from an 1800’s redundant railway station.

Back at the hotel, I decided for some stupid reason that I needed toothpaste, but the supermarket was further away than I remembered, so had to power walk it back, poor Prim must have been in a panic. 

The slow old elevator was so small and our bags so large that we had to make two trips, but we made it in time for the shuttle bus to the airport, which was full, but they squeezed us in, and we were there in a cramped hour. Somehow Prim ended up on the other side of the bus but I knew she was there, so that’s the main thing.

The only question from security was to ask if I had any cheese in my bag. We had a few hours to fill, so we had cappuccinos and strolled through duty free without buying anything. At the back of the A380-800, and with not many other passengers, we enjoyed the flight to Dubai, and watched two movies. 

Dubai airport was packed, and we had to walk a long way to find our Singapore flight. I changed some small money so we could get coffees to keep us going, both starting to get really tired.

The flight to Singapore was on a Boeing 777-300, a bit rougher than the airbus and full of people, but I did get some sleep. Our driver was waiting to take us to the Peninsular Excelsior Hotel, in the noticeable heat after the cold of Paris. 

It’s a nice 40 minute drive from the airport into town through avenues of trees and clipped bougainvillea. We have a very comfortable room on the 14th floor, with a great view over the city and park.

6pm. We just had showers and a rest, so we will head out and see what we can see.

                                  View from our hotel in Singapore

9.30pm. Walked past the white colonial style church and government buildings to Collyer Quay, but then tried to find the harbourside jetty area, which I had found so interesting in previous trips here. However the whole area is like a huge construction zone, everything has been taken away, and a new part of the city is being created, but I have been through this before, when I discovered in my second visit here long ago now, a lot of the charming old Chinese parts replaced with high rise. 

Back to our evening walk, Prim and I could see lots of workers spilling out onto the pavements, and that’s just the ones finished for the day, the work is continuing with the night shift workers, sparks flying from darkened areas. 

Unable to find the harbour, we doubled back past the new casino, but we didn’t go in, I was bare footed because Prim’s shoes were giving her blisters, so I gave her my sandals, which she accepted, probably because it was mostly too dark for others to see. On our way we found an Indian roadside stall, and we were glad to refresh ourselves with lime ginger drinks and peanut crackers. Lots of oil flares were burning at some kind of festival in a park by the river, many people strolling around and a contemporary music band playing in one corner.

Back in our room we made a cuppa and enjoyed the luxury of some of our Parisian chocolate. I will be so glad to get to bed.

Sunday 16th May 2010

Singapore

I couldn’t sleep so well last night, it must be the jet lag. At 3am I got up to make a cuppa, and Prim joined me. I went back to sleep, and somehow became aware the phone was ringing. It was the tour operator wondering why we weren’t at the pre-arranged meeting place at 8am. Rushing to the foyer, I apologised and rearranged the tour for 1.30pm.

After enjoying the hotel breakfast with every kind of food it was possible to imagine for breakfast, and armed with a map from the tour operator, Prim and I headed for the Orchard Road shopping district, where all the big stores are on a wide boulevard. Ice drinks at Starbucks took a while for our overheated bodies to get down. We both bought a shirt each, and caught the MRT (Mass Rapid Transport) underground train back to our hotel, where we grabbed a snack and some bottled water for our tour.

It was a nice tour, which included the Botanic Gardens with their fabulous orchid collection, and a final stop in Little India. Walking down a street there, we came across a restaurant I used to frequent on past trips to Singapore, Komala Vilas, great to see it still going, it’s a vegetarian Indian food restaurant. We were dropped off at our hotel, changed clothes, and walked to a nearby restaurant for coffee.

Walking between raindrops, we took the MRT train to Little India station. Komala Vilas looked full, but we found a place to sit with a young Indian couple who had a friendly talk with us. I enjoyed a nostalgic meal of masala dosa, the meal and drink was cheaper than the coffee we had earlier, reminding me why Komala Vilas was so popular with low budget travellers like myself years ago.

We were stepping back onto the train when the automatic doors almost closed on us. A female officer told us to move further down the platform to where it was less crowded. We stepped out into a shopping complex, where Prim bought a stylish coat. After encouragement from Prim, I bought a fake leather jacket after seeing the real thing at 10 times the price.

Monday 17th May 2010

Singapore airport

We squeezed in a monorail trip to Sentosa Island before leaving Singapore today. I found the improvements there interesting, but for Prim it was too hot, so we came back to our hotel and rested. 

I have decided that Prim is not so interested in things Asian. Our Mum who died last year, was also not attracted by Asian culture. I can’t imagine that our Dad, who died 35 years ago, would have been much interested, he was always so attached to his English birthplace, the “Mother Country” as he called it. When Prim and I were toddlers, Dad’s name for Prim was Ping, and so I became Pong, Ping Pong, but only in front of Mum. Perhaps this has helped us to not take ourselves too seriously.

Our Singapore Peninsular Excelsior Hotel has two towers, and two lobbies. One lobby is the main reception area, and the other lobby is for baggage reception and departure. I decided we should wait in the baggage lobby, because I read the hotel instruction to remain with our bags, and I didn’t think it logical to leave the bags unattended on one lobby and wait in the other. We were nice and early, but the appointed time for our pre-paid driver to pick us up came and went - very unlike Singapore’s usual punctuality I thought, but I always had doubts about where we were. I told Prim to wait while I walked over to the other lobby, where I eventually found our distressed driver. I told him that Prim and our bags were in the other lobby, which increased his anger with me. By the time we were on our way to the airport in the back of his taxi, he decided he would continue giving us a lecture while he had a captive audience. 

I knew Prim would say nothing, as she never has to my knowledge raised her voice or argued with anyone. Prim’s easy going nature has led her to being bossed around by some of those who are closest to her. They think that they own her, including myself sometimes. What is not understood is that Prim has the right to live her own life in the way she chooses, not what others think is best for her. Prim herself never has a bad word to say about anyone, unlike me.

After we remained silent for the rest of the trip, I waited until the three of us took the bags from the boot of the taxi. I stepped up close to  him and quietly said “Australians do not like to be spoken to as you have done today, you are one of the last Singaporeans many guests see and you have a responsibility to make sure guests leave feeling good but we do not feel good and we will never come back here”. I quickly walked back to Prim and the bags before he could say or do anything, and I looked back to see him driving off without saying a word. 

All this happened because I didn’t check with anyone there at the hotel as to where to wait for the taxi, believing that I had worked it out myself. Niceness is nice but that gets you nowhere, it is when you unintentionally let people down, that they can reveal another aspect of their nature, the forgiveness test is won or lost. Our taxi driver did us a favour by making us very happy to be getting away from him, and returning to our homes safely after a wonderful trip. 

Footnote to Joe Palmer 2010 Diary 

Since writing this diary, I have discovered something that needs correction. In the diary, I stated that my great grandmother Caroline Gerard (nee Kitson), had written Montacute House as her address on her marriage certificate. I have since found a copy of that marriage certificate, and Caroline’s address is actually entered as Somerton, apologies for my error. However, other family documents state that Caroline lived for a time a Montacute House following the death of her mother.

Francis (Frank) Gerard, a son of Dr John and Caroline Gerard, visited England in 1878/9, writing in his diary (which unfortunately I have never seen), that he visited Montacute House at that time, and quoted from a grave stone in the church yard at South Perrott “Samuel Kitson of Yeovil married Susannah Bellamy daughter of Edward and Elizabeth of Cheddington. Susannah died 9/3/1832 aged 46”. 

Caroline’s marriage certificate is dated 5/8/1839, when Caroline was 20 years old. This means that Caroline was 13 years old when her mother (Susannah) died.
Prior to Caroline’s marriage, she was attending a ladies college at Crewkerne. Dr John had his practice opposite the school. They were married at the Parish Church in Somerton.

On their marriage certificate, Caroline’s husband John Gerard is listed as aged 32, profession “Surgeon”.

Almost immediately after their marriage, they sailed for Australia. They had 15 children, 8 boys and 7 girls. My grandfather was the 8th son and youngest child, Walter Octavius Gerard.

The large sandstone house they eventually built in Sydney, is now part of Hunters Hill Public School.

Joe Palmer 2022