9th May: Lancaster to Edinburgh to Forres

I got up early and said goodbye to Edith, Mac and Lindsay. Edith suggested I didn't leave it another 27 years before I visited them again. I was sad to say goodbye and decided I would try to visit every couple of years. I took a taxi to the station to catch the early morning train to Edinburgh. I was very nervous about this journey as there were two options, neither of which I fancied. One was to take buses most of the way, which meant restricted movement and a slower journey, and the other option meant changing trains in Glasgow, which included a run (or fast walk) between Queen Street and Central Station. British Rail loves to dig up the railway lines and has been working on the Glasgow line for a year or two apparently. I suspect they are actually trying to build another wall between Scotland and England and are using the railway excuse as a cover for their subterfuge. Anyway, I studied the map for the Glasgow walk several times, but was not confident I could do it in the 30 minutes allowed for it, as I knew deep down I would get lost. I decided to use the bus instead. Well, a bus disguised as a train – you pay for a train and get a bus, which departs and arrives at the railway station, travels according to the train timetable and basically behaves like a train, but it’s a bus. That’s one part I couldn’t figure out. Trains go really fast in England (the gauge is wider there) and I couldn’t see how the bus could go at the same pace unless it went along the railway line. I wasn’t going to put up with that because of the safety risks, so I had to consider the whole thing very carefully. I decided on the bus, with the proviso that I would change to the train if the bus drove along the railway line. Well it didn’t, and I ended up stuck between a very chatty lady and a loud snorer. I will never complain about Rodney’s snoring again. The lady prattled about all kinds of things to do with her life, her family, and her aspirations, and I politely grunted now and then so as to be courteous while at the same time cleverly discouraging. When we finished the journey, she thanked me for our pleasant talk, which I though a little odd, as I had not said more than half a dozen words. However, I guess they must have been pleasant ones.

The bus ejected me at Edinburgh station, which must have been a great relief to the driver, as he had got lost and had to ask if anyone knew Edinburgh. Fortunately someone did. The station was incredibly busy and I clutched my handbag and cases territorially in case someone tried to take them from me. I sent a text to my friend Betsy to tell her I had arrived, then headed off to ‘Upper Crust’ to buy a baguette. I don’t remember seeing baguettes in England or Scotland before, so I suspect they came in the last French invasion, and not William’s one. They are very good.

Betsy rescued me from the station and drove me to Forres where she and her husband Sven live. Although I knew them both, I had not visited their home before, and was pleased to have the chance to journey through Scotland in pleasant company. We talked all the way about all kinds of things – women have a lot of things to talk about. I don’t think she’s a Gemini but she sure can talk, and so can I. It was great. I love Scotland – it looks a bit like the Mackenzie country in places, so it must be okay. We passed through old haunts from my skiing days: Newtonmore, Kingussie, Pitlochry, and various other rather Scottish sounding villages. The stone buildings are beautiful in those parts, so I took a couple of photos. I was pleased to be back in Scotland, even though I’m not a Scot, and my ancestors aren’t Scots. I’m an English-Irish blend with Huguenot on the Gillett side.

Betsy showed me around the working area when we arrived, including the beautiful house they had restored from what appeared tohave been a few crumbling stones. It's just amazing what a few good masons can do. They were living happily in their caravans and huts, and I must say, I enjoyed the minimalist life-style dictated by cramped living. Sven kindly gave me his cabin to sleep in, which had some wonderful books and musical instruments in it, along with the best internet connection I had had for a few days. I stayed up half the night catching up on my work emails. Anyway, it was still light until around 10.15 and the sunset was very clear and pinkish. I was very pleased with Scotland. The air was good.

8th May: Lancaster Maguires

I was greeted by a cup of tea which delighted me as I am easily won by a decent cup of tea. We mostly hung out at home during the day, talking (surprise surprise) and eating. I found the computer in the hall surprisingly serviceable, and managed to establish an internet connection on it. I sent a text to Neil to ask him to email us, and he wished me luck with what he referred to as their ‘steam computer’. His father was not amused, but I thought it was a fair description. I picked up a bottle of wine to go with our dinner and was pleasantly surprised to see that the local dairy had a good assortment of booze. That’s more than our local dairy has, though I do live in west Auckland, which is a dry area (I’m not walking about the weather). I might mention this to our local dairy owner next time I see him to see what he thinks about getting in a bit of plonk. I was also impressed with their milk containers, which are made of glass. I think they are called bottles. I recall something similar from my youth, but it has sort of faded now – the memory that is, not my youth, which fortunately persists.

The Maguires (which is who they are) have quite a large garden and a free-standing house, unlike those I was seeing in the south, except my cousin’s house in Churchill, which was just enormous. They were finding the garden all a bit hard to manage and I tried to persuade them to build a fence and block out the bits they didn’t want to see. I tried this on my parents in Timaru too, but they didn’t like the idea either. I noticed they had a sitting out area which reminded me again of the changing weather patterns in England. Still, they probably wear woolly hats when they sit outside, and maybe carry an umbrella. I photographed a photo of George and Edith getting married, but it didn’t turn out very well (the photo, not the marriage, silly).

7th May: Accrington to York to Lancaster

Breakfast was nestled amongst a collection of plastic flowers and scenes depicting English country sports, but the toast was hot, the eggs yellow, and the marmalade suitably sticky. I like the way the English offer marmalade in little jars, and I always want to nick them. I restrained myself and ate it instead. I ordered tea, not having sufficient faith in the landlady’s ability to make coffee. The tea was excellent, so I felt I had made a good choice. Anyway, I could get coffee on the train.

I was glad of the wheels on my suitcases, and tugged them back to the station to take a train to York, to see my good friend Deb. As you can see in the photo, she is very attractive. She said York had a nice little kirk which we could explore it together. When I got off the train I was surprised to find her standing next to me on the platform. I don’t know how she does things like that, but then she has always been quite clever. She bought coffee, I gave her a tee shirt with musical hamsters on it, and she gave me a jar of home-made ‘dam sloe gin jam’. At her request, I also gave her a kilogram of Atomic Coffee beans, there being no decent coffee in England. I don't know how the English get by, honestly, although now I think about it, my brother always drinks tea (he thinks he's English). We headed off into town, dragging the cases behind us, exploring the beautiful narrow streets of York and York Minster (not the streets therein) , before settling in a church yard for a catch up. I suspect the church custodian had taken a fancy to Deb, as he followed us around, and asked us to move from our position under a tree so he could attend to a bird house in its foliage. Of course we weren’t fooled by this – it was clear that he wanted us to move for other possibly nefarious reasons. In due course it all became clear however, when he asked us about Australia, as he had cousins or something here – I forget the details. I always lose interest when people think I am from Australian. Some people just have no class.

York Minster is a bit of a high Gothic sort of kirk – some bits were built in 1220 which is actually before my family arrived in New Zealand, and well before my boss said I could go to the UK, so as you can see, it’s quite old. There are lots of important people buried there and we admired their tombs while perched on a heater and discussed the kinds of things that need to be discussed between friends who have been estranged. The toilets were very good as well, so it was worth the visit.

Deb bought me a wonderful lunch and we sat in the street watching passers-by and talking more. We took photos of each other to prove we had been there, and went to a pub for a gin and beer, and took photos of ourselves in the mirror to show we take an interest in our appearance. She saw me orf in good time to catch my train to Lancashire, and I felt sad to leave her. Deb has been a good friend for many years and I miss her, as do many of my folkie friends. Herumph (raises eyebrows so as not to appear sad).

I like the British trains. They run on time and the seats are comfortable. Also, someone trundles along the aisle with tea and coffee and stuff just like in an English office or hospital. I usually amused myself by writing postcards or transferring the photos on my mobile phone to my PDA, for later downloading on to my laptop. Once I got out my laptop and plugged it in on the train, just to get my money’s worth from the plug. Travel made me dirty and sweaty so I tried to clean up before my outlaws collected me but it’s hard to get clean in a British Rail toilet. At least I didn’t flush in the station.

I was met in Lancaster by Neil’s father, (i.e. Annie’s and Rosie’s grandfather) and his son, my brother-outlaw. I recognised them immediately and it was wonderful to see them after such a long absence, and we hugged enthusiastically. They drove me back to their house at Brookhouse near Lancaster, and we drank tea and talked. As you have probably noticed, this is turning out to be a talking tour of Britain, which is not a bad thing I guess, and more or less everything you would expect of a Gemini. I had not seen them since Annie and Rosie were quite small, and as they are now well over 20, I guess I have not seen them for around 20 years. They looked pretty good to me, and if I looked a lot older, they were too polite to say so. Once when my mother collected me from Christchurch airport after a long stay away, she said ‘oh – I suppose we look older too!’ Neil’s parents are definitely more diplomatic.