Last Day...

Well, I'm off to spend my last day with family in town and at my grandparent's house. I have lots to tell from last week's travel and from this past weekend, but, alas, there is no time right now, so I will have to get to that later.

The song of the weekend for me has been...

Rule Britannia!

When Britain first at Heav'n's command

Arose from out the azure main;

This was the charter of the land,

And guardian angels sang this strain;

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:

Britons never will be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee,

Shall in their turns to tyrants fall;

While thou shalt flourish great and free,

The dread and envy of them all.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:

Britons never will be slaves.

Still mor majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke;

As the loud blast that tears the skies,

Serves but to root thy native oak.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:

Britons never will be slaves.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame,

All their attempts to bend thee down

Will but arouse thy generous flame;

But work their woe, and thy renown.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:

Britons never will be slaves.

To thee belongs the rural reign;

They cities shall with commerce shine;

All thine shall be the subject main,

And every shore it circles thine.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:

Britons never will be slaves.

The Muses, still with freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coast repair;Blest Isle!

With matchless beauty crowned,

And manly hearts to juide the fair.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:

Britons never will be slaves.

-Thomas Augustine Arne, 1740

To the University...

The past few days have been full of going hither and thither...spending time with people, drinking tea, shopping a bit, drinking tea, etc. etc. etc. On Friday we had the wonderful experience of going to Eucharist at Chester Cathedral. It was located in the smaller chapel to the side of the Cathedral named after Saint Erasmus, because one of the local church school, King's School, was having its upper school's end of term service. The Eucharist service was a magnificent picture of reverence and beauty. The liturgy was rich, and the Lord's presence manifest in every word.

This post will be a short one, because I am actually about to run and catch my train to Cambridge. We are going from Chester to Crew, Crew to Nuneaton, Nuneaton to Cambridge. I will be back on once we have returned from Cambridge in a few days.

Blessings to you all.

Tea & Scones

Here we are again...Since my last post, most of my time has been spent with family, digging through old bookstores, or walking around beautiful, old cities and towns, such as Chester, Wrexham (or Wrecsam in the original Welsh), and Broughton. Although Chester has become more and more modernized, it is wonderful to see this old city retain its ancient charm. To walk the streets with gorgeous architecture, holding modern stores, and to come down the escalator of a sort of mall, only to turn to the left and see an archaeological dig taking place on the city's Roman amphitheatre, is quite spectacular. Talk about the clashing of the old and new!
One of my favourite things to do here is to visit our regular antiquarian bookstores, one of which we visited this week. I bought six books, including beautiful copies of The Talisman, by Sir Walter Scott, Persuasion, by Jan Austen, and Everyman & Medieval Miracle Plays. Most people would ask why I have purchased old editions of books when some of them can be bought brand new, sometimes for cheaper...a simple answer...aesthetic value. However, some exceptions do have to be made as there are some brilliant modern authors. Such as my purchase today which was Art & Beauty in the Middle Ages, by Umberto Eco.

In the spirit of being in Britain, here is a thought that I came across the other day...
Being British is about driving in a German car to an Irish pub for a Belgian beer. Then, travelling home, grabbing an Indian curry or a Turkish kebab on the way, to sit on Swedish furniture and watch American shows on a Japanese TV.

Hear, hear, to the Brits!

And also, in the spirit of being in Wales as well (since I am right on the border, half of the family living in Wales and the other half in England)...Here is some Welsh for you...

lolfa goffi - trans. coffee lounge.

Additional Tales

Above, amidst my telling of my activities this week I have forgotten to mention one adventure that took place ( I did mention earlier that between my mum and I we would find some form of adventure). Well, on our first trip into Chester the other day, mum and I walked from my aunt and uncle's house about a mile or so down the road to meet the bus. It wasn't until we were both actually on the bus that we realized neither of us had a watch with us...wonderful! Now, unlike America, the British are not as obsessed with being aware of the exact second it is and, quite frankly, there are not a whole lot of clocks actually in stores, etc. There is a giant one in the middle of town, but for those of us who get lost in what they are doing that doesn't do us a whole lot of good. Needless to say, mum and I took a wild gander at some point in the middle fo the day (we thought, but weren't sure) that we needed to get going and catch a bus into Higher Kinnerton, just over the border in Wales, to my grandparent's house. So we make our way to the bus stop, in front of the Marks and Spencers...finally seeing a clock we realize it is 2:20, a lot later than we thought, and after when we told my grandparents we would be at their house. So, quickly searching the bus schedule I suddenly realized that we missed the last bus (at 2:17) for at least 2 hours...not good. So as we stand there considering our predicament, a little Irishman, shorter than my mum, with wirey spectacles that seemed to perch awkwardly on his crooked nose, dressed in his plaid, button up shirt, vest and coat, comes up to us and asks us what we're looking for (seeing as I'm still dumbfoundedly looking at the map, wondering how there can be buses to a place called Mold every 5 minutes, and yet we can't get one to Kinnerton for 2 hours!). I reply simply that we were trying to reach Higher Kinnerton and we needed to be there quickly. In a thicker than molasses Irish drawl, he replied that they had cut down on buses into Kinnerton lately (figures!). Yet, he continued that if we were interested, we could go another way (I was intrigued immediately :) suspicious, yet intrigued). He continued on into a discourse on his past history of homes (which I was finding difficulty in seeing the relevance, but then again, thus are the older generation, and definitely thus are the Irish!). Finally, we got the point out of him that he used to live with his brother in Higher Kinnerton (although he hated it there), and said that if we took one of the myriad of Mold buses, we could go down, though there would be a few detours, and get off at the old Broughton Village. He instructed us to specifically get off at the old Broughton Chapel, located at the fork of Main Road (yes, that is the name of the road-the Brits are souls of clarity aren't they?) then if we just walked a bit down the road to Leicester's Lane, we would soon end up in Kinnerton. Sounded easy enough, and I was keen for a little change. So we boarded the bus with a handshake and final instructions from the little man, wishing us well. We rode for about 20 minutes, twisting and turning along backroads, mum and I making nervous glances at each other...then, finally, we saw the chapel. There the tiny, gray-stoned Methodist chapel sat, at the fork on Main Road. We pushed the little stop button and disembarked. Looking around I turned to mum and said, 'Well, I guess we start walking.' We walked for a bit and then mum suggested we just ring Nanny and Papa to let them know we were on our way. So, we stopped at the red telephone box. Nanny answered the phone and I briefly told where we were...there was a very brief silence then, 'STOP! STOP! Stay right where you are, don't move!' then a dropping of the phone, and a muffled shout saying, 'Stop, honey! You must pick the girls up in Broughton!' So we stopped and stood right where we were. Apparently, my grandfather's apothecary is in the little village and he was just leaving the house, so we walked back a bit and he picked us up on the road. Driving back to the house, chatting and carrying on, mum and I suddenly realised that the drive had been about 4 miles, possibly more.....considering we were carrying 2 bags each of books, plus our other paraphenalia, we could have still been walking 2 hours later! Apart from that, I don't know what my grandfather would have done, driving to the apothecary, driving past his daughter and granddaughter on the road! Needless to say, thank the Lord for the Irish, yet be mindful of the advice you receive, it could be more than you bargained for! 'A little ways down the road' can be interpreted many different ways...
The quote from George Bernard Shaw comes to mind, 'England and America are two countries separated by the same language.'

A Return to the Writing World

Well, here I am again. Yet, this time around I am writing from a different country. I am currently in England and Wales for the next 3 weeks, and I am looking forward to the experiences that will undoubtedly ensue (especially since this trip is just my mum and I, and between, the two of us, we are bound to come across some sort of adventure). So, we plan on doing a little bit of traveling while we are here, but the majority of our time will be spent in mum's hometown of Chester, which I have referenced before on here. Above are two pictures of the city.

So, we arrived this (Friday) morning, and we have already been to a pub and seen Pirates of the Caribbean. I am looking forward to the days ahead of reading, buying books, reading some more, drinking tea, traveling, and probably buying some more books.

A thought...


England has two books: one which she has made and one which has made her--Shakespeare and the Bible.
-v. hugo