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.'