I'm OK, Are UK?

There are benefits to touring the UK in November if you don’t mind cold and wet weather (which for all intents and purposes is almost year round in the UK), the fact that many of the country estates and castles are closed for the winter, and the hours of daylight are limited. However, there are less tourists, prices are reduced for accommodation, and for photographers, there are always shadows to enhance photos as the sun (if it appears) is low in the sky. The beer is good, some pubs have coal fires to warm the bones after a day of touring, and the Bed and Breakfast hosts are as welcoming as ever.

My recent UK tour started this past summer when I asked my brother, who has wanted to go to England if for no other reason to see where the Beatles came from, if he wanted to head across the pond. I told him I would use some of my points to get him there, so he agreed and we started planning. His partner subsequently asked to be included (not to see the Beatles, but to take her Mom to Scotland). So the three (or four) of us (Marie, having been to Britain several times, decided to stay home and work; someone has to pay for my travels!) planned a whirlwind driving tour around the countryside for 10 days with the last 4 days in London. Having already travelled throughout the UK, I developed a route that would include some major sites of interest as well as get us to Liverpool (Beatles) and Scotland (Marlene's Mom's wish), take us to the east and west coasts, and cover most of the history of Britain. It would also include some of the ideosyncracies of "British English", including some strange traffic signs even if we did not see any of these 'serviced' animals.

I met up with Don and Marlene (and her Mom) at the Montreal airport. High winds in our favour got us to Heathrow earlier than scheduled which turned out to be a good thing, as our first queue in Britain became a one hour wait in a very hot airport (probably the heat was an anti-terrorism measure as people were progressively undressing while they waited in line) to pass through passport control. We got through once the immigration officer determined we were all going to leave the country together (little did she know), collected our luggage, and picked up our rental car (hired car in UK-speak). I had purchased European maps for my GPS to help us navigate as my road atlas was getting on 25 years of age. If you take a Garmin GPS to Britain, or rent one in Britain, beware the following: the GPS usually told us to take roads by their local names (rarely sign posted) instead of by highway numbers which were always sign posted. So of course, we immediately headed off in the wrong direction from Heathrow, but soon had this corrected with the use of the atlas (and our brains).

We followed the Motorway almost to our first destination, Salisbury. I noticed over the two weeks of driving with more Motorways than the last time I drove around Britain (20 years ago), British drivers have come to emulate their Italian counterparts. With our little car pushing 70 miles per hour (miles still used for distance in Britain, metric for everything else), we felt like snails as car after car (and even some lorries (trucks)) passed us by at speeds up to 100 mph. We finally arrived at the outskirts of Salisbury and took advantage of a great initiative not offered the last time I visited. Park and Ride locations have been established on the city’s outskirts and for ₤2, we parked the car and all three of us got return bus tickets into the city centre and back. (Other cities offer a similar deal, but none as good or as convenient as Salisbury's). So in a bit of a rain storm, we went to visit Salisbury Cathedral. But first, neededing nourishment , we stopped at the New Inn pub (built in the 14th century) for fish and chips and our first of many UK brews. Now suitably prepared for touring, albeit somewhat groggy from the jetlag, we headed into the largest Cathedral Close in Britain. It surrounds Salisbury Cathedral and provides lots of open space so that Salisbury Cathedral is one of the only ones in England that can be photographed easily. This Gothic Cathedral, built between 1220 and 1258, has the tallest spire in Britain at 123 metres, the best preserved of the four remaining copies of the Magna Carta, Europe's oldest working clock from 1386, and Britain's largest Cathedral Cloisters. So it is well worth visiting and is the major tourist draw in Salisbury. We got a personal tour of the Cathedral from a volunteer who provided us with the rich history of the area as well as the Cathedral and also several anecdotes that would not have been evident on a self guided tour.

As it was now getting close to sunset (4 p.m.), we headed back to the car park and navigated through the outskirts of Salisbury to our first B&B in the small village of Stoford, about 10 km north of the city. We met our host and got settled in, then took a quick walk across the Wylye stream in front of the B&B into Great Wishford, a pre-Norman (1066) hamlet. With the daylight failing, we checked out the old church and thatched roof houses and the price of bread (from 1800 to today) engraved in the church walls. On our way back across the Wylye bridge, we passed a woman walking her dog and pleasantries were exchanged. Later, sitting in the lounge of the B&B, we met her again - she was our hostess. We asked Lorraine and Rick which of the two pubs in the villages we should visit for dinner and they recommended the Swan Inn about 300 metres down the road. Locals know where the best food and beverages can be had, so always ask your B&B hosts.

The next morning dawned clear, sunny and cold, so we decided to backtrack a bit to visit Old Sarum, originally an iron age hill fort (circa 3000 BC), then the Roman town of Sorviodunum, then a Saxon and Norman stronghold with a castle built for King Henry I. Located on the northern outskirts of Salisbury, Old Sarum began its decline in 1219 with the move of the cathedral to Salisbury (New Sarum). After a false start (the GPS took us to a lady's house (she was old, but not that old) at the base of the hill where Old Sarum is located, we arrived only to find out that the site opened from 11 a.m. in the winter. So after taking a photo of the front gate, we headed up the road to Stonehenge.

The last time I visited Stonehenge (in 1984), we could not get near the monument. Today, however, there is a walking path around it which lets you get quite close. English Heritage, a not for profit corporation, maintains Stonehenge and hundreds of other sites around England (Scotland and Wales have similar organizations). Becoming an "overseas member" for a week or two is certainly worth the investment; visiting 3 or more sites with admission fees pays for the membership, then the rest are free. The audio guide was helpful as we strolled around the site. Although to this day, no one knows why the monument was built, the guide provided many theories about why and when it was built. Many relate to the fact that certain of the standing stones line up with the summer and winter solstices and that the spacing of gaps in the stones aligns with the sun's position from month to month. The guide explains that archaeolists are not even sure when the monument was built, with some suggesting it was built around 3000 BCE, while others suggest a date of 2400 BCE. Regardless, it is an engineering marvel (the standing stones alone weigh up to 25 tons each), and the mortise and tenon dressings are a main reason why some of the lintels are still in place today. My favourite part of the audio guide spoke about the myths on how this ancient site came to be. It seems many of them start (or have stopovers) in Ireland, with the Devil buying the stones from an old woman who had them in her garden, with other stories that include Arthur Pendragon (King Arthur's father) and Merlin. In my humble view, and knowing there are other legends about Ireland associated with the imbibing of alcohol, these legends cannot be discounted. In any event, Stonehenge on this particular day, with the golden early winter sunlight lighting up the stones, was spectacular.

Suitably awed, it was on up the road to Bath. We were not sure what we wanted to see in Bath. I had visited the Roman temple complex called Aqua Sulis (Sulis after a Celtic god) at the only natural hot springs in the UK in 1984 but was not overly impressed as it had been converted into a Georgian era spa complex. So we decided not to go into the complex. Bath, however, is a World Heritage City, so we wandered around the downtown while we waited for the Tourist Authority to find a B&B for us in Cirencester, another Roman established town a little further north. This service is invaluable for accommodations bookings or any other tourist activity and offices can be found in almost all towns and cities. Bath Abbey, situated near the Roman Bath, was where Edgar, an ancient King of England was crowned in 973. The Abbey, now a church, was restored during the reign of Elizabeth I as Bath started to get a reputation as a "resort" town. During the Georgian period, much of the city was planned and architecularly designed by John Wood the Elder and his son (wait for it, John Wood the Younger). Probably their greatest architecural achievement was the Royal Crescent, originally a row of 30 houses, built between 1767 and 1774. Like most Bath architecture, the front of the Royal Crescent is uniform, while each of the 30 houses it comprises were built differently so that the back of the Crescent is a hodge-podge of roof heights and depths of the various houses. A similar set of curved buildings, called the Circus, completely encloses a large roundabout which we drove through on our way out of town.

We pulled into Cirencester at the edge of the Cotswolds (a huge resort area of England situated in an ancient mountain range, similar to the Muskokas but without the lakes), around 4 p.m. (it being sunny, we had daylight until 4:30 p.m.). After wandering downtown, a 10 minute walk from our B&B, we stopped in for what had already become routine for us - a visit to a pub and a pint of the local ale. After returning, we asked our B&B host for a dinner suggestion and he suggested a pub located a street over so we trooped there at 5:45 p.m. It was a bit hard to find as the traditional pub sign was dark and there were no interior lights on. Then a light did go on as we read the sign on the door. But not in the pub. We had precisely 8 minutes to wait until the pub opened at 6 p.m. So we did circuits - well at least two and in different directions - around the small block. Three of us, trooping along in a line (narrow sidewalks), talking about drinking (and perhaps even about eating). I'm glad it was dark. Anyway, the pub did open, the proprieter from Ireland welcomed us with open arms, even promising mushy peas as Marlene had never tried this English culinary delicacy. He returned to the table to inform us he had none, to which I thanked him having previously suffered through this peculiar dish. However, a little later a rhythmic pounding emanated from the kitchen; he had "made" mushy peas by beating them with a hammer one presumes. Unfortunately, he did not beat them enough in my opinion. However, the night got better. For my travelling companions and I were asked to participate in the pub's quiz night contest. Each of us anteed up a pound for the privilege to play. We had lots of fun that night and we believe were even leading the game after 10 rounds (of the game, a couple of rounds less of beer). The proprieter (who did help us on a couple of "English eyes only" questions) though said it was a tie and there would be one final final random question which he immediately posed: "Christopher Ecclestone was the only Doctor Who who lasted for only one season. What year did he quit?" Like we knew that one! So we settled for second place and a bottle of wine. (Our walking line was not quite so straight on the way back to the B&B).

Back to getting a tan in the English rain the next day, we drove up through the Cotswolds, a very beautiful area best seen perhaps in the spring as I had done 25 years before. However, despite the rain, we did pull off the main road into "The Slaughters", two small villages along the Slaughter River (think stream in Canada), as I had wanted to see them once before but had missed them. We visited Lower Slaughter in a rainstorm where progressively stronger gusts of wind and rain buffeted us as we wandered around. My umbrella was slaughtered in the village churchyard by a huge gust of wind that broke its ribs and was subsequently buried in the nearby trash bin. We perservered though to at least walk the paths in Lower Slaughter (Upper Slaughter lies about a kilometre upstream) and I am glad we did. Even in the rain, the beauty of this preserved and peaceful village with its honey coloured stone shines through for all to see.

After visiting a place with the name Slaughters, where else could we go but to Stratford-upon-Avon to visit the home town of the Bard? Just as we were arriving, the rain let up and a rainbow lit up the Avon Valley in front of us. For the rest of the morning and afternoon, we had alternating bright sunshine followed by quick, drenching downpours. The wind was now blowing constantly. After parking the car, we walked a couple of blocks to Henley Street, a pedestrian only area where the birthplace of William Shakespeare is located. The house where he was born in 1564 is now a museum and visitor centre. We did not choose to go inside, I had done so years before and was not overly impressed as most of the interior contains nothing to do with Shakespeare. Instead we wandered from here to the River Avon and to Trinity Church, the site of Shakespeare's baptism, marriage, funeral and grave. Stratford-upon-Avon has multiple fine examples of Tudor half-timbered houses, shops and buildings in its downtown area that we passed by on the walk to the River. I think I photographed most of them along the way.

Trinity Church contains Shakespeare's grave which is marked by a curse: GOOD FRIEND FOR JESUS SAKE FORBEARE, TO DIGG THE DUST ENCLOASED HEARE. BLESE BE THE MAN THAT SPARES THES STONES, AND CURST BE HE THAT MOVES MY BONES. At the time when Shakespeare lived, it was customary to move a deceased bones from a grave to the Charnel House to be burned in the Bonefire (now bonfire) of the Vanities. This was done to free up more room in the graveyard or in the church floors and walls where people were interred. Shakespeare obviously did not share this custom. While we were in the church, the organ was being tuned, so Don had fun talking with the tuner at the keyboard while Marlene and I wandered around. I wanted the tuner to play Whiter Shade of Pale on the organ, but no such luck.

After heading back downtown by way of the Avon River, Marlene mentioned that she wanted to try Cream Tea, also known as Devonshire Tea. Several tea rooms were offering Cream Tea, and as it was cold and wet, Don and I agreed to join her. However, having sampled Cream Tea on a previous visit to the UK, I stuck with plain tea, albeit a blend made by the particular tea room that was quite good. With the Cream Tea service comes a scone, clotted cream and strawberry jam. Shortly after eating the scones, clotted cream and jam and while we were driving to our next destination, our B&B, Marlene remarked that she was feeling a bit nauseous. Don and I were sure that it had nothing to do with the 55% fat content of the clotted cream.

A short nap seemed to help Marlene out while Don and I navigated our way up the Motorway past the Industrial Age cities of Birmingham, Newcastle and Stoke-on-Trent. We finally found our B&B, located on a farm near the village of Sandbach, just as it was getting dark. This turned out to be the nicest B&B of our trip. The hosts, concerned for our safety, drove us to and from the local restaurant (about a kilometre away). The rooms were huge, top quality and the breakfast delicious. If it were not for the wind that night that woke me up (it reached 100mph just to the west of us), the quiet and tranquility of the farm made for a very pleasant stay.

The next morning, the wind was still blowing albeit not as hard as the night before. We drove towards Chester and Liverpool, our next destination, and so that Don could say he was in Wales, we made a slight detour to spend 10 minutes in that country. He and Marlene got to see signs in English and Welsh before we once again entered England before heading through the Queensway Tunnel under the Mersey River from Birkenhead to Liverpool. We followed the signs to the Albert Dock where we parked the car so we could visit the Beatles Story. We had decided to visit this museum and exhibition instead of taking a tour to see the houses etc. where the four members of the Beatles grew up. This was a good choice as the exhibition was enormous, informative and enjoyable. I noticed that the people touring it were from all over the world and represented all ages.

While digging in my pocket for change for the parking kiosk at the exhibition, I found the key to my room from the B&B the night before. A few minutes later, Don found his key as well. I had never had this happen before (and for it to happen to Don as well was just weird). In any event, I called Diane, the host from the night before and let her know what had happened. I promised I would put the keys in the mail that day which I did and she got them the day after.

We left Liverpool around 3 p.m. and headed north again, taking the Motorway to get to our B&B in Morecambe, on the Irish Sea, before dark. Morecambe is a resort area that saw its heydey in the mid 20th century. Today, it is a bit tired looking and run down. The owner of the B&B/hotel we stayed in mentioned that most visitors were people looking for a quiet holiday. That should be no problem in this town because it was basically dead. Because it is still a resort town, it is also completely deserted after the summer. Many of the restaurants were closed the evening we were there and we had to walk about 2 kilometres to find a pub that was open and had food. Unfortunately, the pub was as run down as the town. And we had to walk back into a fierce wind that was still blowing strongly. The evening before, as we entered Morecambe in the twilight, Don had noticed a statue along the waterfront that seemed strange so we visited it on our way out of town. It is of Eric Morecambe, a comedian who was from the town and took its name as his own. Marlene and Don (and Eric) waved goodbye to Morecambe as we headed towards Hadrian's Wall.

Hadrian's Wall (which originally stretched for 80 Roman miles (117 kilometres) from the Irish Sea at Carlisle to the North Sea at Wallsend on the River Tyne) was built after Emperor Hadrian visited Britain in 122 AD. Designed to mark the Roman frontier, the wall was built of turf in the west and stone in the middle and east. The centre section is still very well preserved, with a width of eight Roman feet (2.4 metres) and a height of 2.6 metres. Along the wall at each Roman mile, towers were built to be used for signalling. In addition, over a dozen forts were also built along the wall and many of these, such as Chesters and Housesteads, can be visited today. Also nearby Roman supply towns such as Vindolanda and Corbridge have been excavated. The Wall, its ditch to the north, the Vallum earthwork to the south and the many supply forts and towns, is the best preserved and largest Roman monument in Northern Europe and is fascinating to visit. If you are up to it, you can even walk its length. It is easy to get to by car since a road does parallel the wall for almost all of its length. The Wall was maintained until the Romans left Britain in the 400s.

If you only have time to visit one area of the wall (it would take a few days to see it all), Housesteads is the area to head for. It is perched high on a ridge and is the largest preserved fort. The day we were there, the wind was still quite strong which added to the ambience. We finished our daylong visit to the wall and its sites at Chesters Fort and museum where the Wall crossed the River Tyne. Just up the road, in the village of Wall, was our next B&B, the aptly named Hadrian Hotel. This was a comfortable pub which got really crowded for dinner as there were three groups in. The proprietor called them the shooting group (hunting pheasants, two of which we ate for dinner), the golfing group and the trekking group. We enjoyed the noise of the revellers and the atmosphere in the pub. And especially the quiet of the countryside once the pub closed at 11 p.m.

The next day was to be a big one for Marlene as we headed north to Scotland. We stopped at the border in the Southern Uplands for photos. The temperature had been falling as we climbed up towards the border and the rain was mixed with snowflakes so we did not stay long at the actual border itself. We jumped back into the car and headed down into the Jed Valley where the town of Jedburgh is located. I wanted Don and Marlene to visit Jedburgh Abbey (I had been there on two previous occasions) because it is a beautiful spot, it is in Scotland, and Marlene had told me that her Mom had always wanted to get to Scotland. Since the last time I had been there with Marie and again with my parents, new excavations had been carried out near the river bank. The lady at the reception told us that Scottish Heritage was thinking of reburying the exposed walls from the excavations as the weather was destroying them. We were the only people at the Abbey at that moment, so between intermittent showers, we went into the Abbey ruins. Marlene quickly headed to the graveyard that I pointed out just outside the north wall. There, beneath a tree, Marlene's Mom finally got her wish of visiting Scotland. I know if I were her, I would enjoy my stay at this beautiful spot. Shortly after Marlene had carried out this last wish of her Mother's and as we were touring the Abbey, we heard bagpipes and drums in the distance, getting louder as they approached the Abbey. It was Sunday, November 13, the first Sunday after November 11th that the end of World War I (and all other conflicts) is remembered in Britain. And right in front of us marched the Jedburgh Scottish band, former and current soldiers and many of the townsfolk who had come to the Cenotaph immediately in front of the Abbey for the ceremony. We joined them and participated in the ceremony. Marlene remarked that the song that the band had been playing as they marched in front of us was the same one that had been played at her Mother's funeral ten years before. I had recorded some of the ceremony on my video camera and for those who want to see and hear it, click on the icon.


After the ceremonies were over, we headed east from Jedburgh in a gentle rain towards the North Sea coast and our final stop for the day, Berwick-upon-Tweed. On the way, we stopped to see Norham castle, now a ruin. Norham had once figured prominently in the Scotish-English border wars as it was the one most attacked by the Scots with sieges lasting up to a year. King James IV of Scotland finally defeated it with large cannon in 1513. The site was closed for the winter (open on weekends only). While we were there, the rain stopped and a rainbow came out to signal what we hoped was better weather ahead. We then headed into Berwick proper. Located just south of the border in England, Berwick changed hands 14 times between the Scots and English. To this day apparently, many people who live in Berwick wish the town was still Scottish. Elizabeth I's largest single expenditure of funds built the walls and forts that circle the old town. After parking the car in front of our B&B, we went for a walk on the walls that took us along the harbour to the Old Bridge (built 1624) near the centre of town. Just beyond it the new highway bridge crosses the River Tweed and behind and above it, the 28 arches of the 660 metre long Royal Borders Railway Bridge dominates them all. The town hall, built in 1754 and situated in the High Street is interesting by virtue of the names of the various mayors and others who have had their names permanently added to the building in stone, the size of their name depending upon how much each of them contributed to the hall's upkeep. Being Sunday, we found out that Berwick pretty much closes down for the night, so we had difficulty finding a place to eat. Two of the three places the B&B host recommended were closed; the third was pretty full. So we wandered around a bit before we found another of the "chain" pubs (J.D. Weatherspoon) that we had visited before in Morecambe. This one was no better. The two dishes that Marlene and I ordered were, in a word, terrible. I strongly suggest that you stay away from J.D. Weatherspoon's if you want to eat. If you just want to drink, the beer prices are cheap.

It was now time to start heading south again. We decided to take the coast road which is called the Castle route. And we did see a few derelict castles along this route. But the best castle we saw, which was unfortunately only open on weekends, was Bamburgh Castle, the home of the Kings of Northumbria since 547 AD. Rebuilt in 1131, with additions made over the centuries. In 1610, James I gave the castle to Claudius Forster and it became privately owned. In 1894, Lord Armstrong purchased the castle from the Forster family. It is still in the hands of the Armstrong family today and is their residence. It has been used in many films over the years because of its spectacular location and its medieval look.

From there, we drove to Warkworth Castle, the ancient home of the Percy family (Duke of Northumberland). The Duke now lives in Alnwick Castle (also closed in the winter) so we could not visit his current home. Alnwick Castle may be familiar to some readers as it was used extensively in the first two Harry Potter films to portray the exterior of Hogwarts. Warkworth on the other hand is now a ruin, although the Norman keep is in very good condition, complete with 'secret' passageways. We toured the keep and the grounds before heading on to our destination, a cottage B&B near the village of Yarm (south of Newcastle).

We had booked the cottage via the internet the night before. Built in the 1700s, it was not a true B&B in the sense that no breakfast was included. It was called a self-catering cottage. So we stopped at a small market nearby to buy some groceries for our overnight stay and breakfast. We ate in a pub just to the right of the cottage (50 metre walk) and while there, were again invited to join in a trivia contest. Being tired from the day's touring, we declined which turned out to be a good thing, because unlike the first trivia night, we perhaps answered only 10 percent of the questions in the first two rounds before we left for the night.

We had a big weather change overnight (Britain is like Newfoundland - all four seasons of weather happen each day). We woke up to dense fog. We started off by heading towards Yarm, which is supposed to have an interesting downtown, but after spending some time in a traffic jam (in the countryside no less), we turned around and headed towards our original target, York. On the way, we decided to take a side road and head for the village of Rievaulx and its ruined Abbey, located in North York Moors National Park. The GPS took us down a one lane road for quite some distance, but it was a beautiful drive with the fog, pheasants and white rays of sunlight that flickered periodically through the trees. When we arrived at the Abbey, it was closed with the parking lot barred. However, as there was absolutely no one around, Don and Marlene walked into the site while I stayed with the car which was partially blocking the lane. Rieviaulx used to be one of the the richestest and most important Abbeys in England (12th century) but like all Abbeys, was decomissioned by Henry VIII in the 16th century.

From the Abbey, we continued to the outskirts of York, where we parked the car and walked about a kilometre into the old city. York's history begins with the Romans in 71 AD when a fort, called Eboracum (after the Celtic word for "place of yew trees", was built on the River Ouse. By the second century, a small town had sprung up to support the Roman garrison. A stone wall (still in existence in many places) was built around the town by the third century before the Romans left Britain at the turn of the fourth century. For the next two hundred years, York's history remains unknown. However, it became a Saxon town in 627 (Eoferwic) when a bishop was named to the area and a cathedral was erected. Then York's history changed again when in 866 the Vikings conquered northern and eastern England and the town, now called Yorvik, became the capital of the Vikings' English holdings. The Norman conquest in 1066 brought York again under the influence of English kings. The town prospered through a wool and leather trade, as well as port facilities to import wine and other goods from the Continent. Medieval York survives within the city's Roman walls and the Shambles (narrow streets and lanes) is a good example of this time period. It is a pretty city (when not in the fog) which I have visited three times as Marie's family on her mother's side came from this area and many cousins still live nearby. Many people also visit the city to see York Minster which dates from 1080 AD but within its foundations, contains portions of the old Roman Bascilica (not a church, but a large hall) and Saxon and Viking structures. The present day Minster, which includes portions of the 1080 AD Minster, took 250 years to build and was completed in 1472. It is a beautiful and amazing church, but with the fog on the day we visited, the exterior was difficult to see. The interior, however, was nothing short of spectacular for its size and for the medieval aged stained glass windows. Like the Cathedral at Salisbury, we were escorted through by a volunteer who provided a lot of history. York is a city I would recommend visiting for a few days as there is so much to see and so much history associated with the city.

We left York after walking around the old inner city and scooted to our final destination for the day, a B&B in the town of Thorne. Just before arriving, we emerged from the fog into sunlight. So we stopped at the small village of Howden to visit the Minster located there. Started in 1228, the Minster was not completed until the 15th Century and of course, was shortly thereafter dissolved by Henry VIII. The Minster started to fall apart during the reign of Elizabeth I when the landholders in the area refused to pay upkeep on it. Further damage was done by Parliamentary Troops during the English Civil War. The town of Howden has a few claims to fame; King Edgar in 959 gave Howden Manor to his wife, in 1191 Prince John (of Robin Hood fame) spent Christmas there and in 1275, John of Howden supposedly raised his arms to greet his host at a funeral mass- John's own funeral mass from his coffin, thus creating a pilgrim site. It's too bad John of Howden could not raise his arms today to keep people from damaging the church (St Peter and St Paul) that is attached to the Minster ruins. I noticed that someone had thrown rocks at the church's stained glass windows where one was still lodged in the glass. Nevile Shute, the author lived here as did Barnes Wallis, he of the bouncing bomb (movie The Dambusters) fame.

The next day we kept to the Robin Hood theme, driving further south to Edwinstowe, in the heart of Sherwood Forest and supposedly the place where Robin Hood married Marion. Sherwood Forest Park is nearby. It is a recreation area (walking, cycling) populated with ancient oaks, the most famous of which is the Major Oak. It is a very old oak tree, on the order of 800 years and is well protected and conserved today. It does have a hollowed out trunk where Robin Hood supposedly hid from the Sheriff of Nottingham, however, he would not have done it in this tree unless Robin Hood was the size of a bean pole as the Major Oak (named for Major Hayman Rooke, who wrote a book on Sherwood's oaks in 1790) would have been a mere sapling in Robin Hood's day. 'Maid Marion', dressed in her scarlet red tunic, and a couple of not so Merry Men (very cold the day they visited) posed for tourist pictures in front of the Major Oak as can be seen in the photo.

In the nearby village of Edwinstowe, I stopped a man to ask directions to an optician (Don wanted to get his sun glasses fixed - why I don't know since the odds of getting further sun on this trip were very low). After giving us directions (to a nearby town), the man proceeded to give us a history lesson on the area. He said he was 85 years old (he looked 60) and talked to us about WWII and the fact that Sherwood Forest was a huge ammunition dump during the war and that several tank battalions trained in the area. He also recommended a restaurant in another nearby town (Rufford) at the Rufford Abbey Country Park.

The Savile restaurant (more a cafeteria style place) lived up to his recommendation as the food was quite good. It was located in the basement kitchen of an old country house, the rest of the house now in ruins. The house itself derived from the 12th century Cistercian Abbey that once existed here. After it was dissolved by our good friend, Henry VIII (how he had time to do tend to orders of state while marrying, divorcing, executing eight wives is beyond me), it became a country house for an Earl and other high mucky-mucks. And so it remained until the 1930s when increasing taxes, and decreasing wealth resulted in it being abandoned by the owner. After several years being derelict, it was acquired by English Heritage. The grounds around the house are quite extensive; unfortunately as we emerged from the restaurant, it started to rain quite hard so our visit was limited. The house did have an Orangery which has been partially restored - it is notable as being one of the earliest English bath houses (indoor swimming pool) dating from the 17th century.

With the rain teeming down, we decided to head towards our next B&B in the town of Castle Donington. We found out the next morning that this town is right beside East Midlands Airport, so it is a great place to stay if you are flying from this airport. Other than that, the town also has a car race track located there (Donington Park Circuit) which is quite popular in the UK. Our host at the B&B got us settled in and once he found out we were Canadian, began to tell us stories about the North Sea oil and Canadian oilmen he had met while working in the industry. I can't repeat some of what he told us (this blog is not x rated), but he had a great sense of humour. He also recommended a fun pub for a pint (very friendly place) and a decent Italian restaurant where we ate that evening.

The next day was our last driving day in the UK. I had suggested that we head straight south and see Windsor Castle (where the Queen lives on weekends when she is in London). So we got on the Motorway and tried to keep up with the race car drivers who had somehow missed a turn on the Donington Park Circuit and were now on the Motorway with us. After getting caught in a bit of traffic on the M-25, the ring road around London, we arrived at Windsor at around 11 a.m. and walked up the hill to the castle entrance. Windsor Castle is the largest and oldest occupied castle in the world as befits the monarchy. Begun by William the Conquerer in 1170, the castle has been added to and altered by various monarchs over the years. There were a few tourists about, but not so many that we were able to tour the grounds and halls that were open at our leisure. We saw where the fire had destroyed part of the castle in 1992 and the amazing restoration that had been carried out as a result. We visited the State Apartments, saw Queen Mary's Doll House (it took 1,500 craftsmen 3 years to build it complete with lights, running water and flushing loos.). And of course visited St George's Chapel where ten former monarchs are buried. It takes at least three hours to visit the castle and to see the exhibits on display. You can even, if you pay a bit extra, visit the Royal kitchen to see where and how food is prepared for Her Majesty.

After visiting the castle, we headed to our last stop before dropping the car. It was a non-descript guest house not far from the airport. That evening, based on the advice of the proprieter, we walked about 2 kilometres into the small village of Colnbrook (a suburb of London) for dinner which turned out to be really good. The next morning, we waited until some of the crazy rush hour traffic had gone before filling the car with petrol and heading the 10 kilometres to the airport to drop it off. We got a lift in the shuttle over to Terminal 5 where we caught the underground (subway) into London and our apartment in the Maida Vale area. We arrived just before noon and as the apartment was not yet ready, left our luggage and headed to the pub on the corner for some lunch and a pint. When we returned, the apartment representative had decided to give us an upgrade to a two bedroom unit which was great because I now would have a bed instead of the sofa bed. We bought some groceries in the shop on the ground floor of the apartment complex and put these away before heading back out for our first touring in London.

We had bought day passes for the Underground (the best way to travel inside London) so this is primarily how we got about. Some of the sites mentioned from here forward in this blog are also outlined in a previous blog, so bear with me if the photos are primarily of Marlene, Don and I (a couple of us are getting to be ancient relics so we qualify as tourist sites).

We popped up from the Tube at Speaker's Corners (Hyde Park/Marble Arch) although there was no one actually speaking today. We walked through Hyde Park for a few hours to take advantage of some rare sunlight. A winter playground (sort of like a country fair) was setting up in the park, replete with carnival rides. We continued past it and walked up the west side of the Serpentine, the artificial lake in the park, until we came to the unique memorial to Princess Diana. Last time I had been in London, the memorial was closed for safety reasons as some people had walked in the water of this unique fountain, had fallen, and some had been hurt. This time it was open, the water was running to symbolize Diana's life and a security guard made sure no one went into the water or climbed unto the memorial.

Heading further east, we crossed into the contiguous Kensington Gardens at the Albert Memorial, a huge structure with a gold leaf seated statue of Prince Albert (Queen Victoria's husband who died of typhoid in 1861). It is quite the monument Victoria had built for her husband and there are estimates that in today's currency, to build such a monument would cost ₤10,000,000. Not a bad gesture of remembrance. Directly across the Kensington Road and outside Kensington Gardens is the famous Albert Hall, opened by Queen Victoria in 1871. The Beatles also made Albert Hall famous when they declared that it would take 4,000 holes to fill it.

A little further along the path and now heading north, we passed by Kensington Palace (where Diana lived after her split from Charles). The palace is undergoing a major renovation to the grounds so we were only able to see a portion of it from the road. Then it was across Kensington Gardens to Bayswater Road and into the Tube for the short ride back to Marble Arch/Oxford Street where we took Marlene to Primark, a huge department store so she could shop for an hour. Oxford Street was crawling with shoppers (Christmas shopping having started in ernest), so Don and I did what many other men do - sat on the window sill of the Primark Store and watched people go by.

After Marlene had bought some items, we decided that we wanted to take a ride on a double decker bus. So we waited about 20 minutes for the bus to Picadilly Circus, jumped on and climbed upstairs to our seat. With rush hour traffic in full bloom, the bus slowly edged its way about three blocks when the driver announced that is was going out of service and everyone had to get off. So much for our bus ride. But we were within walking distance of Picadilly (just down Regent Street) and that is where we headed. Picadilly, like Times Square in NYC, has to be seen at night because of the lights. Albeit not as large as Times Square, it does have its share of giant marketing screens, coloured light displays on Ripley's Believe or Not and on the LillyWhite department store. The steps under Eros, the sculpture in the centre of the Circus (a roundabout), is a good place to take photos. From here it was a short walk to the small China Town where we headed for dinner. Amazingly, and without planning it, we ended up in the same restaurant I had eaten in two years before with Marie and Kerri. It must have been because of the name - the Crispy Duck. As it was now getting late and we were getting tired, we jumped back onto the Underground and headed to our apartment to spend the evening relaxing.

The next day was a bit colder and overcast (no surprise there), so we decided to walk to Abbey Road Studios (about 20 minutes from the Apartment) before taking the Tube to the Tower of London. Two years ago, my daughter Kerri had signed the whitewashed wall in front of Abbey Road Studios, but her inscription had long been covered up. Now it was Don's turn to write something on the wall and sign his name. This feat accomplished, we headed for the Tube. Now a word of caution. Maintenance work on the Underground happens on weekends and this weekend, a large number of lines were closed. Including those that go close to the Tower. So we had to exit the Tube at the London Monument to the 1666 Great Fire which destroyed much of London. From here, it was about a 15 minute walk to Tower Hill and into the Tower of London. I wrote about the Tower in a previous blog, so suffice it to say for our visit, not a lot had changed in the two years other than the addition of an outdoor ice rink (barely frozen) for the winter that was located in the moat. Several English and perhaps some tourists were gamely trying to skate around its surface. We stopped just outside the Water Gate for the requisite picture of the Tower Bridge and then headed to the Subway (not Tube) located at the Tower Entrance for lunch.

After spending a few hours at the Tower, we walked and rode back to St Paul's Cathedral where we once again popped up from under the earth to visit this beautiful church designed by Christopher Wren. A wedding had just taken place and photos were being snapped of the wedding party at the same time that a bizarre group of people, dressed as wolves (one had a Phoenix Coyote shirt on), wandered in front of the church. We asked what they were about, but got no answer. The English can be strange sometimes.

After visiting St Paul's, and as it was now getting dark, we wandered down a few streets (past Drury Lane and the Muffin Man) to Covent Garden. After wandering through this market, we all agreed that a beer would be just the ticket for our sore feet, so we went to the nearby Maple Leaf pub (see my earlier blog on London) which all Canadians should visit when in London. There we listened as TV announcers watched football matches on their monitors (we could not see the games) and excitedly and loudly described the action to the pub patrons. Did I mention that the English can be strange sometimes? As the pub was really loud, we finished our pints and went underground again and headed back to the apartment. We ended up having dinner at the pub beside the apartment complex.

Our final full day in London was a Sunday. We headed towards Buckingham Palace and exited the Tube at Green Park. I wanted to show Don and Marlene the Canada Memorial to the armed forces that served during the World Wars. It was commissioned by Conrad Black, but because he has had a few problems of late, is now maintained by the Canadian Government. Interestingly enough, it is the only memorial in Green Park which has to be unique in London where parks, particularly Royal Parks like Green Park, are chock-a-block with statues and memorials. We hurried over to the road to watch a detail of Horse Guards ride past as they headed down The Mall towards the Horse Guards Parade. After they had gone by, we checked out the Canada Gate before walking out to the Queen Victoria Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace. If you climb up the steps of the memorial, you are rewarded with the best views of Buckingham Palace. There were not a lot of tourists out and about yet and since the roads around Buckingham Palace are closed on Sundays, the place seemed almost deserted.

As we wandered over to St James Park on the south side of the Palace, we noticed soldiers a bit further down the road preparing to conduct some kind of service. Don went round to check what was happening and found out that they were about to march over to the Horse Guard's Parade (near Whitehall Street) for a continuation of Remembrance Day ceremonies. So we decided to march over with them, which we did. We spent a bit of time at the main War Memorial on Whitehall Street taking part in the ceremony and chatting with the London Bobby who was providing security in front of us. When he found out we were Canadian, he talked to us at length about his service in the British Army and his training days in Alberta. He also explained that the ceremonies today were for several Armoured (Tank) regiments which for whatever reason got left out of the main Remembrance Day Ceremonies after WWII and now had their own celebrations a week after the main one as a result.

We wished the Bobby well before continuing down Whitehall to the Houses of Parliament (where they make the famous HP Sauce). The official name for this complex of buildings where the House of Lords and the House of Commons have been meeting since the 12th Century (you think they would have finished the meeting by now, but it is government we are talking about) is the Palace of Westminster. Kings of England had built a couple of palaces in this location and the Old Palace was the official Royal residence until King Henry VIII moved out to the Palace of Whitehall in 1530. We wandered past the Palace of Westminster into Victoria Tower Gardens for a different perspective of this huge Gothic structure which was rebuilt in the mid 1800s after a devestating fire had destroyed much of the structure that had stood here since 1512. The Clock Tower, located at the east end of the structure of course contains Big Ben which is to London what the Eiffel Tower is to Paris. For the best view of the Houses of Parliament, including the Clock Tower, wander out onto Westminster Bridge (or take a boat ride on the Thames).

We crossed the road and headed to Westminster Abbey where an amazing display of small wooden crosses, depicting the thousands of armed forces killed during various wars, covered the grounds. Apparently this display is put there every year around Remembrance Day. Grids of crosses are laid out along all of the paths and a reference map and numbered sections provide direction for people seeking out a particular name, unit or other grouping.

At about this time we were getting hungry and of course thirsty, so we asked a security guard in front of the Abbey if he could recommend a place to eat (and get a beer). He did and we did. The pub was popular and went from empty to full within 5 minutes of 12 p.m. (the official time on Sunday when alcohol can be served might have had something to do with this). I had a lamb curry and Don and Marlene had a sampler of various meat pies. We all pronounced the food delicious. This was to be our last pub meal and pint in a pub (notice I said last pint in a pub)on this trip.

Suitably fortified, we headed back to Westminster Abbey where we searched out the section of wooden crosses dedicated to Canada. Don and Marlene found the name of Don's son's best friend who was killed in Afghanistan a couple of years ago so this made the display particularly poignant. Canada should take a lead from Britain and do the same thing, perhaps on the lawn of our Parliament, in the weeks leading up to and after Remembrance Day. We walked back up Whitehall Street where many of the UK's government buildings are located (including the lane called Downing Street - completely blocked off today because of the Remembrance Day closures) to Trafalgar Square. After visiting the public conveniences in the square, we checked out Canada House and Nelson's Monument. There must have been a cull of pidgeons in London recently, because the square is usually full of them and this time there were very few to be seen. Or perhaps it was the fact that the main fountain in the square was spraying water onto to the pavement (from the wind) that kept the birds away.

Now it was back into the Tube for a quick trip to Picadilly Circus for a look at this famous location in the daylight before seeking out Carnaby Street which is about a 5 minute walk from Picadilly. Although it is nothing like it was in the Swinging Sixties (Twiggy has moved on), it is still worth a quick visit and since it is so close to Picadilly, should not be missed by all old hippies. Then as Marlene was getting in a shopping mood again, we headed back to the Tube at Picadilly and Knightsbridge Underground Station which is where Harrod's, the UK's largest department store with over 1,000,000 square feet of selling space, is located.

Harrod's was a zoo, filled with Christmas shoppers and tourists. We wandered through the famous basement food halls (Marlene picked up some tea) and then headed up the Egyptian themed escalator to the higher floors to check out what the rich people were buying for Christmas. On the way out of the store, Don and Marlene stopped to look at the "statue" the previous owner, Mohamed Al-Fayed, erected to his son and Princess Diana who were a couple when they were killed in Paris. I missed it somehow, but to be honest, don't mind that I did.

Then one last shopping excursion was called for; this time for Don who wanted to visit the Beatles Store. It is kind of poetic that this would be our last place in Britain to visit since going to see stuff about the Beatles was one of the reasons for this trip in the first place. Don remembered that it was located on Baker Street but was not completely sure of the address. So we emerged from the Tube at the corner of Baker and Marleybone and asked directions. The store is located close to a famous address on Baker Street, 221B which is as everyone knows the home of Sherlock Holmes. Notwithstanding that he is a fictional character and this address did not exist when Sir Arthur wrote the stories, today it is a museum and I guess if you are a Holmes follower, it may be worth visiting. After picking up a couple of things at the Beatles Store, we stopped into a pub to plan dinner. I was adamant that we were not going to eat pub food for our last dinner in London, so after we quaffed our thirst, and on the recommendation of a pub patron, we walked down Marleybone Road to Marleybone High Street where we found several restaurants, most of which were Italian. We ended up at one and had a great meal with a good bottle of wine. Then it was time to head back to the apartment for our last sleep in the UK.

The next day we had breakfast in the apartment, packed our luggage and began the hour long trip on the Underground out to Heathrow. We hit up the duty free stores, ate a late bacon and egg breakfast complete with a last pint of ale (not in a pub) and boarded our flight home. I said goodbye to Don and Marlene in Montreal at the customs area and hurried off to get my connection to Ottawa as our flight from London was a bit late. And thus ended my latest foray to the UK. Thanks to Don and Marlene for some of the photographs in this blog and for the fun filled two weeks.