This web page chronicles our trip to England, Scotland, and Wales in September of 2008. The purpose of the trip was to visit the various towns and villages where the Davis family and the other branches of the family tree -- like the Browns, the Jefferies, the Owens, and the Rhydderchs -- lived before immigrating to Amercia in the late 1860s and early 1870s. Along the way, we wanted to share our musings on sites we've seen, food we've eaten and, if the luck was just right, ancestors we serendipitously unearthed. We didn't have a very rigid itinerary, just a collection of B&Bs at which we had to make an appearance every few days. Between B&Bs, we were pretty much on our own to entertain ourselves. We wanted to walk Hadrian's Wall, ride the tram to the top of Mt. Snowdon, and prowl the cemeteries of a dozen different tiny villages. We also wanted to ride the "Tube," visit the Brighton seashore, and stroll the beaches where William the Conquerer came ashore in 1066. There's a thousand things to see and smell and taste in the UK and we ran out of time long, long before we got to see most of them. Still, it was a fantastic experience, one that we hope we have captured here.

Cheers!

Well, here we are finally at our first B&B in Scotland. We arrived here without much in the way of trouble or inconvenience and our luggage showed up right along with us. Right now it's raining, just to make us feel welcome, but when we got here the sun was shining -- not like in Nevada, but shining nevertheless. Pictured here is Concetta next to the Mini Cooper we rented. I think it's probably a blast to drive, but so far I've been so nervous driving on the "wrong" side of the road I've scarcely noticed. It's a six-speed gear box, as they call it, which is neat. Driving on the left side feels pretty natural once you do it for awhile. We practiced by "pretending to be lost" while exiting the airport. We just drove in circles for about 30 minutes while I got the hang of it.

Finally, once we figured out the GPS (and fed it the correct address) we found our way to the expressway and off we went.Soon after, we arrived in Portobello, the location of our B&B.The trip almost didn't get off the ground -- literally. The Reno plane was well over an hour late taking off, which allowed me to deduce one thing for certain: Boeing 767s do not operate on LINUX computer operating system. How do I know this? Well, when we wanted to take off from Reno yesterday the plane refused to "boot up" properly. Three times they shut the systems completely down, and three times they powered it up before we were ready to pull away from the gate. From this I deduced that the 767 must run on the Windows operating system which still requires such foolishness. They told us that all the systems just refused to come online. Ah, sure. Those of you in the Technology field will certainly be familiar with that scenario.

Anyway, since I always insist on a two-hour layover between flights we managed to make our connection in Salt Lake City with twenty minutes to spare. But things were indeed tense there for awhile.

A word about babies: Crying -- even screaming -- babies are a fact of life on airliners. It's best to be prepared. We bought Bose "noise-canceling" headphones to isolate us from unavoidable background clutter. They don't actually cancel all noise but still do a darn good job if you crank the volume up on your IPOD or airplane sound system. We had an ornery little critter on two of our four flights who probably drove his nearest neighbors to harbor thoughts of homicide by the end of the ordeal.

But that's not the only problem with airline travel. You may be as close to heaven as you're ever going to get when traveling at 35,000 feet. However, inside the plane things are not so heavenly. In an effort to use fuel as conservatively as possible, flights are more packed than ever before. Every seat is taken and every square inch of overhead bin space is taken as well. Best to make sure you arrange to get on the plane early so you can stow your gear. Otherwise, you may have it under your feet for several hours. I suspect that the way airline pack folks into those aluminum people-movers should probably be monitored by the Geneva Convention for evidence of cruel and unusual punishment.

But hey, there was one thing that wowed me. The seat-back computer displays for games, TV shows, and Movies is absolutely terrific. You can punch up your plane's progress on the globe, watch any one of a dozen movies, listen to CD albums, and compete in a trivia game against your fellow passengers, all without leaving your seat or straining to see. That's way cool!

Anyway, we're here and we just had our first dinner in the UK. Afterward, Concetta said, "What kind of soup do you suppose that was?"

"I can't place the taste," I said, "but it was green and it was hot."

Yesterday when we arrived here in Edinburgh it decided to rain. It didn't rain hard, but hard enough to make you want to find a nice, warm pub where you could park yourself next to a nice pot of tea and watch the umbrellas go by. Today it was beautiful, not a trace of rain, and big, fluffy clouds drifted across the azure skies all day long (see above pix).

The first thing we did was learn the bus system, which turned out to be quite easy. From our B&B we rode to the old part of Edinburgh on a city bus which runs 24 hours a day, seven days a week. From there we bought tickets for the sight-seeing buses that tool around and give you a general, narrated overview of the city. We got off the bus near Edinburgh castle (which we're actually going to visit tomorrow) and toured the Scotch Whiskey Heritage Museum (they had samples - yum!) and the Heritage Weaving Museum. After that, we got back on sight-seeing bus (you can hop on and off as much as you like) and went down to the docks area to visit the Queen's Royal Yacht. (that's us on the fantail above left and a shot of the gangway at left).

We were having such a splendid time that we completely forgot about lunch, which may be a first for me. Actually, the breakfast this morning at the B&B was so wonderful and so filling that I scarcely missed lunch at all. Homemade yogurt and porridge, waffles and fresh fruit, English marmalade. What in heaven's name might you want besides that besides good old American coffee, which they also conjured up. Bless them, one and all!

Once done with our sight-seeing tours, we walked back into the old part of the city and found a nice restaurant where I proceeded to make up for my missed lunch. Naturally, I had shepard's pie, which was darn good, and a nice pot of tea. Concetta had the salmon which was good as well.

After dinner, we managed to find the right city bus and rode it back to our B&B without a single problem. The transit system here is absolutely marvelous, comes every 20 minutes, and runs literally all the time, day and night, 24-7. The buses are clean, the patrons well-behaved, and I saw nary a single spot of graffiti on the whole fleet. Pretty amazing city.Once back in the room I managed to round up the inn keeper and asked him to help me connect to his wireless internet. He had given me the magic password the night before but darned if I could make it work. Fortunately for my blog-crafting needs, a local neighbor with an unprotected network afforded me unlimited access to the outside world (thanks whomever you are) and I was able to do my writing.

This morning we were surprised to find that southern Scotland was enjoying yet another day of (mostly) sunshine when we went down to breakfast. It had been raining off and on since we arrived and we were hoping to have at least a pleasant morning for our visit to the historic Edinburgh Castle. The castle is perched high above the city on a volcanic outcropping that reportedly dates back millions of years. We're told that the first evidence of early man on the mount dates to about 800 B.C. and by the look of the stone work there, it appears that the Scots have been building things atop that rock ever since. If you're into military history, Edinburgh Castle is the place to go. They have several very fine military museums there complete with vintage weapons, uniforms, and colorful artwork -- enough to keep you busy for several hours. We even got to see the room where Mary Queen of Scots gave birth to James VI of Scotland, the future James I, King of England.

Our mission to the castle completed, we made our way back to the Straven Guest House where the Mini sat packed and ready for our trip to Northern England. For this vacation to the UK we bought a Garmin Nuvi 370 which comes complete with maps of Europe. Wow! What a cool piece of gear. Even though our Northumberland B&B didn't have an actual address to enter on the GPS, we just set the B&B's postal zip code into the machine and it literally took us door to door, from Edinburgh, Scotland to Hexham, Northumberland, England. The only mistakes we made were when I didn't follow its commands closely enough, at which point it reacted instantly to my mistake and said, in a somewhat disdainful voice, "Recalculating."

I'm continuing to adapt to driving on the left side of the road, though it's hardly relaxing. There's no such thing as putting one hand on the steering wheel, draping the other arm over the adjacent seat, and cruising. No, it's almost like playing one of those road-racing video games.

The roads are as narrow as your average person's driveway with the roadside hedge sometimes growing right up the pavement's edge. Road signs are either too small to be seen from a moving vehicle, too low to escape being covered by foliage, or missing altogether. As with most countries, drivers here aren't very patient with folks learning to drive, no matter how old they are. They pass on hills. They pass over double lines. They pass on blind curves. Usually they do all three at once if they can manage it. Naturally, in this particular video game, those weren't the only hazards I encountered today. Almost as soon as we got into the car in Edinburgh it started to rain. They only time it altered from that condition is when it rained even harder. And, Since road builders of these driveway-sized roads in rural England seem to prefer the roller coaster-style, uphill/downhill style of construction, the little Mini Cooper spent much time hydroplaning through the low spots. By the time we got here just before dark I was more than glad to park the our faithful Mini and pry my fingers off the steering wheel.

But what do you think? Our very congenial hostess, Margaret met us at the door with a smile, a cup of tea, and a cozy living room graced by a crackling fire to relax and drink it in. The forecast for the weekend calls for more rain. But what the heck, we have the fire, we have our books, and if the tea and scones hold out, we'll be just fine. If you don't see us in a month, just forward our mail.

Certainly, that most famous of boat-builders must have experienced just such rain as we've seen here in Northern England in the last couple of days when he set about constructing a sanctuary from the rising waters. Here, as in biblical times, it just keeps coming down. Resisting the temptation to set the GPS for some place like Greece, Concetta and I put aside our plans to explore the length and breadth of Hadrian's Wall this morning, and instead decided to visit the local museum dedicated to the Roman town of Corbridge. You may remember that the reason we're here in Northumberland is that my great, great, great grandfather lived in Corbridge in the 1820s. Eighteen some odd centuries before Paul Brown helped bring three children into the world in the tiny town, the Romans were busy establishing a frontier garrison between the conquered Bretons and the hated and feared Picts and Scots to the north. Though we were unable to tour the actual archaeological site due to the downpour, the museum was one of the finest I've ever seen. Archaeologists have found just about anything and everything you can imagine, including a wooden box with a soldier's third century armor inside. They've found beautiful pottery, glassware, medical instruments, gaming pieces, carved stone tablets and statues, food prep items, and thousands of equally interesting things. All were expertly displayed and clearly explained. Just wonderful.

After our museum trip in Corbridge, we moved on to the village of Hexham where we visited The Abbey of St. Andrew, first begun in the 8th century. It wasn't quite as grand as the churches and basilicas we saw in Rome in 2006, but the carved stone Gothic arches were truly magnificent and the stained glass windows took your breath away. The open-beamed wooden ceiling towered above so many stories that I found myself wondering just how those 8th century craftsmen worked way up there. Very impressive!

Our respite from the rain was short lived and when we emerged from the abbey we discovered that, if anything, it was raining even harder. We decided it was time for a tea break. Spying a cafe just down the block, we huddled under our umbrellas and made a dash for it. Then for the next hour we enjoyed fruit scones, strawberry jam, and that ever wonderful (and plentiful) English drink while we watched the sea of umbrellas flow by outside.

Casting about for some other "dry" diversion for the balance of the afternoon, we decided to check out the local cinema which happened to be showing a film we hadn't yet seen, "The Duchess." If you haven't seen it, we recommend it. Some fine acting by Keira Knightly, Ralph Finnes, and the rest of the cast.

"Potato Leek," the waitress said, in answer to my query about the day's fare.

When the soup arrived you can probably guess the way the conversation went.

"What kind of soup did they say this was?" Concetta asked, after she'd tasted the first sip.

"Ah, potato leek," I said.

"Doesn't taste like any potato I ever cooked," she said. She made a face.

As you can see, finding tasty (even readily identifiable) food here in England is just about as difficult as most folks advised us it would be. Breakfasts seem to be the easiest meal for English cooks to master, so maybe we could just eat nothing but breakfasts for the next month. The strawberry jam is especially good and I could probably live on jam and bread if I had to.

We're back at the B&B now, sitting in front of a cozy fire, reading and filling out our journals. Everyone else is out attending a wedding and we have the house to ourselves. So, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. I got a little better with the driving today. Still a little trouble with the left-handed shifting. But our trusty GPS, however disdainful it sounds when I make a mistake faithfully guides us to and fro down these tiny country lanes in search of adventure and I expect tomorrow is going to be another exciting day.

Yesterday was the day that we had planned to explore Hadrian's Wall come hell or high water (we sort of knew which it was to be). So, even though it was still raining (surprised?), we set off after breakfast to do just that. We were a little discouraged when we first fired up the Mini Cooper because the downpour appeared to have abated not an iota. Water coursed down the street in great rivers and filled up the low spots in the roads to a depth of ten inches or more. Everywhere the countryside looking soggy and half-drowned. Still, we motored off toward the main highway hoping that we'd be able to find a wall site with an indoor museum if nothing else. However, we'd only driven perhaps a couple of miles when we broke out into the long missing sunshine. Immediately it got very warm in the car

and I had to stop so we could discard our jackets and I could dig around for my sun glasses. Wonder of wonders, the sun was shining! Tell Noah it was a false alarm. Well, long story short, the sun didn't stay out ALL day as you probably already guessed. Still, it didn't rain too much - just a light drizzle once in a while. We had an absolutely marvelous day learning about the Roman occupation of Britain which lasted from around 47 A.D. to around 400 A.D. We visited a couple of lovely museums containing some truly wonderful finds.

When the Romans wanted to build a new building in a fort enclosure somewhere, they tended to knock the old structure down, bring in dirt and clay and cover the remains to a depth of a foot or so, then start the new building. This demolishing and filling technique insured that all the artifacts connected with the first structure were preserved in an anaerobic atmosphere that virtually insured their survival. They've found everything from 1000 leather shoes and a host of other leather items, to actual letters written by the soldiers on tree bark. Keep in mind that these letters date back to the year 100 A.D. or so. Imagine finding anything 1900 years old, let alone something as fragile as ink on slender shavings of bark!!!! The wall itself is pretty darn impressive. I had wanted to see if for years. Imagine building a stone structure 10 feet wide and up to 36 feet high for 73 MILES across the hilly/rocky/boggy terrain! There were three Roman legions stationed in Britain. Incredibly, it only took them eight years or so to complete the wall. Nowadays it would take engineers that long to do the environmental impact study.

The wall wasn't all they built. Every mile or so they constructed a small fort large enough to house 25 or 30 men. These structures would be approximately 100 feet square (see above photo of the wall and adjacent enclosure) and would most often have guard towers in addition to the crenelated walls. But even this wasn't all the Roman legions accomplished. In addition to the wall they dug deep ditches on the Scottish side of the wall to further discourage potential attackers.

Sadly, once the Romans left near the end of the 4th century, the wall began to deteriorate. Subsequent residents mined the wall for building materials for their houses, barns, and stone fences. After all, why quary your own stone (the pictured lake is an old Roman quary) when the Romans had done such a good job of it already. For that reason the wall in most places, if not gone completely, has been reduced to sections only a few feet high. Still, we found it very, very impressive.

Today Concetta and I had our best day in the UK yet. Not a drop of rain greeted us when we set out today and we even had blue skies and sunshine off and on. Our hostess at the Dene Guest House suggested that we motor over to the vicinity of Newcastle-on-Tyne and visit a sort of open-air museum (Concetta and I love historic things as you probably know) that comes complete with working teens-era trolleys to transport you about the grounds. If you've ever been to Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan, you'll have some idea of what this museum is like. Imagine a sort of Disneyland for history-lovers without all the Disney-like crowds. Located throughout the grounds was a steam railroad operation, a wealthy landowner's hilltop mansion, a working farm, a coal-mining operation, a railroad yard complete with station and engine house, a schoolhouse, workers cottages complete with greenhouses and gardens,

Perhaps the most unusual part of our day was meeting a lovely Norwegian student on Holiday in England who took an interest in Concetta and me and decided to spend her day with us as we strolled around the grounds. Caroline (on right) turned out to have been born the very same year as our son Robert. We liked her right away, especially since she shared our avid interest in history. We toured all the attractions together, even stopping for tea and scones in the tea shop. Later, we dropped her at the bus station in Durham where she expected a ride from her sister that afternoon. Concetta and I certainly wish her the best on her solitary travels (her boyfriend doesn't like airplanes, she says, and won't travel with her). Still, Caroline says she intends to visit Vietnam, Singapore, and Australia this coming year, as well as a few other places that I've forgotten now.

Today was our transit day from the Hadrian's Wall area in Northumberland to the Mt. Snowden area of Northern Wales. I knew there would not much time for wandering down back roads or stopping to see the sights. We just had to put the pedal down and put some miles on the Mini. As you may remember if you've been perusing this blog for any length of time, most of my ancestors from my Dad's side came (as far as I can tell from the census data) from southeastern Wales and southwestern England. The sole exception was Paul Brown who was born in Scotland and lived in the 1820s in Northumberland. Thus, our motivation for flying to Edinburgh and staying for a number of days near Hexham and Corbridge, the latter being the village where Paul lived for a time.

Our explorations in the Corbridge area finished, we now have to head for southern Wales. But I didn't want to marathon drive directly there so, instead, we headed a couple of hundred miles west to northern Wales just to see the sights.In a few days we'll drift southward and stay a few more days in the area where the Davis family lived before they emigrated in 1873.

So, save a lunchtime stop at a wonderful transportation museum in village of Leyland in Lancashire were we found some Great restored trucks, we headed straight here. I have to report that in Leyland we finally managed to find someone who could make a decent potato-leek soup this noon. After the first two attempts, I thought we'd have to give soup up for good. An unfortunate decision in this rainy climate. Naturally, I felt compelled to ask our waitress if she had tasted the soup and what she thought of it before I ordered any.

She replied with rather firm conviction, "Oh, I never eat vegetables."

"Never?" I asked, I'm sure sounding somewhat incredulous.

"No, never," she said. "Not in all my life."

I wondered how she could possibly know if the soup she intended to serve was any good if she wouldn't dream of tasting any, but I decided against asking that. Throwing caution to the wind, I went ahead and ordered the potato-leek anyway. It turned out to be great, as did the somewhat unusual sandwich that came with it, a concoction of brie cheese, bacon, and cranberry sauce on a baguette, and our usual beverage, a steaming mug of tea. Not counting the prizewinning order of fish and chips that Concetta ordered in the tiny burg of Earlston in Northumberland, our lunch in Leyland is perhaps the best we've had yet.

At this point you're probably wondering just how we like the Mini Cooper (see photo on right) now that we've driven it for a week. My overall opinion of the tiny vehicle is positive. I like the way it hugs the road. If you so much as nudge the steering wheel left or right the car turns immediately. I like the way it accelerates. Of course up to now I haven't had the courage to do much accelerating, especially since most of the roads we've been traveling have been about 1.5 car widths wide. On some of those rural Northumberland roads you'd have trouble getting the car and a bicycle side by side. But today, on the expressway, I did a lot of accelerating. I Got it up to 80mph at one point and it wasn't even straining. If you press down on the accelerator, no matter how fast you're going, the car leaps forward.

The visibility is good in the car and I haven't encountered any blind spots. Of course, I have to warn you that half the time I don't know what direction to look in. It's nothing but strange sitting on the right side of the car and even looking in the side mirrors at the proper time takes a lot of thought for me. This causes me to cut some folks off in the roundabouts every once in a while, especially the ones where two lanes of traffic enter the roundabout simultaneously. The car is darn easy to park. You can put it just about anywhere. I love the heater/defroster. It works better than any car I've ever owned. You turn it on and the windshield is clear seconds later.

Now for the negative things. I don't like the seats. In my opinion they're as uncomfortable as the yucky seats in our Fiat van two summers ago in Italy, and those were pretty bad. There's not enough padding and the seat itself is too short. The various release mechanisms and handles are cheap-feeling and sort of "floppy." I should note at this point that Concetta thinks her seat is just fine, but I suspect the shortness of the seat wouldn't trouble her as much. I should also add that the short seats make for tons of leg room which is nice

My other complaint, which in fairness might be related to the fact that I'm learning to shift this 6-speed car with my left hand, is that there isn't enough room between reverse-first-third gears. I'm getting better now, but for most of this week I've been throwing it into reverse when I want 1st gear. Not at all a calming thing when you're trying not to look like a dumb tourist in the first place.

Some day I'd like to drive a left-hand version of the Mini to see if my right hand is smarter than my left hand after owning manual shift cars since 1967. It's possible.

The last thing is pretty inherent in tiny cars. The suspension is pretty stiff and you feel just about every object bigger than a jelly bean in the road. But if you're a fan of sports car-like driving, you most likely expect some of that.

So, if you're thinking about buying one, I'd say go ahead and test drive one. At our last B&B they had a group of 20-something boys staying for several nights. When they arrived they, of course, wanted to know who belonged to the Mini Cooper in the parking area, expecting, I'm sure, to be meeting one of their own generation. When Concetta and I were pointed out as the owners, one of them said, "Oh, I expected someone much younger." They would have loved to test drive it, but I just smiled and kept mum. Youth may have it's rewards, but none were to be seen that day!

This evening, to mark our first fantastic week on the road in the UK, we decided to celebrate and have dinner in a nice restaurant situated on a tree-covered hillside overlooking the village of LLanberis (prounced Clan-bear-is) where we're staying for a few days. We dressed up in our nice clothes, made a reservation, and were cheerfully afforded the white table cloth and twelve-pieces-of-silverware treatment. Concetta had the fish, I had the chicken, and we shared an apple crisp with our espresso. It was undoubtedly the best food we've had since we arrived in the UK. Last night, at a small cafe down the road, I ended up with some sort of spinach and cheese concoction that didn't taste like either one. When I ordered they asked what I'd like with the Spinach-Cheese surprise and I said salad.

Not wanting to disappoint me, they threw on a portion of every salad they could lay their hands on in the kitchen, which sort of made the plate look like several plates full of table leftovers swept onto one dish. Tonight, however, I think we finally found out where the real chefs in Wales are working.

Today we rode the cog railway to the top of Mt. Snowden, the highest peak in the British Isles. Fortunately, though the sun didn't show up for much of the day, we didn't have any rain either. The ride, should you ever make it over here to northern Wales, is absolutely thrilling and breathtaking. In service since 1896, the little narrow gauge trains relentlessly huff and puff their way to the top while affording riders the most magnificent scenery you're likely to see anywhere. Unfortunately, due to work being performed on the upper terminus of the line, they didn't quite haul us to the summit of Mt. Snowden. However, in the end I was rather happy they didn't. The wind was blowing so hard just down from the summit where they halted that it was difficult to remain on your feet without holding onto something stationary. I definitely kept well clear of the edge of the cliff for fear that I'd be swept over.

Later, back on the valley floor and after our usual tea break, we headed off to ride yet another train which ran from approximately the same part of town but this time out around the lake instead of up the mountain. The ride behind the little steam locomotive was neat but rather tame in comparison to our morning adventure.

The most interesting part of our afternoon involved a visit to a wonderful museum dedicated to those Welshmen who made their living in the Slate industry. They have a complete facility here, much like we Nevadans have with Ely's Nevada Northern Railway, that looks as if the workers just clocked out for the day and left their tools on the workbenches. All the machinery still functions, some was even in operation as we passed through. For those of you who don't know anything about slate, at one time it was a highly sought-after building material for roofing before the days of asphalt shingles. The slate operations in Clanberis, Wales, were known world-wide for their superior quality. Beyond that, the artistry that it took to hand split single roofing shingles out of large blocks of slate boggles my mind. Our ancestors were truly talented folks, one and all. In photo at right, look above the crane to see the big "V" in the hillside where they quarried the slate from the mid 1800s.

Today we set off in search of a couple of castles near here and, as usual, it was raining. But we really didn't care since we hoped to be "inside" much of the day. Wonder of wonders, by the time we arrived at Caernarfon, the location of the first castle on our list, the sun had begun to pop out of the cloud banks and stay that way for whole minutes at a time. We could definitely get spoiled if this keeps up.

The castle at Caernarfon was built by King Edward the 1st in the early 1200s and his son, the first English Prince of Wales, was born at the castle in 1284. So, we're talking old here. The photo on the left is the Welsh flag with its emblazoned red dragon flying atop the castle gate structure. Most of this castle is taken up with museums devoted to the history of Welshmen in various battles throughout history, including our own war of independence. The displays are wonderfully done and interesting. But when we got bored with military topics, we headed into the town of Caernarfon and did some sightseeing. The town is very colorful and contains a multitude of tea shops and cafes arranged along narrow streets and alleys. We finally chose one called Molly's and bipped in for a sandwich and cup of tea.

She said, "you want what?"

"Pickles," I said. "You know, they make them from cucumbers. I always have them on tuna sandwiches."

She shook her head and looked completely mystified.

"You must have seen them," I said, "they have sweet ones and dill ones. I personally like the dill ones on tuna."

When the waitress still looked blank, I told her not to worry, I'd do without this time. Who would have thought that a pickle would mystify the Brits.

We sought out our second castle of the day because Concetta wanted to visit one that wasn't devoted to military history. I thought that might be a tall order since most castles were constructed for decidedly military reasons. However we found a wonderful example just down the road in the village of Bangor. Though not strictly a castle, it certainly looks like a castle (see photo on right of the "small" end of the building). No, this castle, called Penrhyn, was actually a sort of "retreat" for the wealthy Pennant family who used the huge house mainly in the fall when family members wanted to go hunting. This place was so large, it had 60 bedrooms, hundreds of fireplaces, and it's own train station (see train photo below). It took something over 70 staff members to keep things shipshape. I lost track of just how many floors it had because they had us going up and down constantly on our tour.

I heard one of the guides say
that originally the house sat on over 4,000 acres of beautiful
hills and valleys. I don't know how much of this land is left,
but I can tell you that it took us ten minutes just to drive up the driveway.

Concetta and I were so taken
with the place the staff literally
had to kick us out at five
o'clock. Each room we entered had a National Trust docent to answer your questions and
make you feel at home.
Wonderous place.

After breakfast, we drove south and east into the mountains, Here, in my opinion, we encountered some of the most beautiful mountain roads in the world. And, though many of the winding tracks are quite narrow, I'm becoming more confident driving the left side.

We didn't encounter any problems, even though we spent the latter part of the journey navigating by an old-fashioned map instead of the GPS. (LOL). About lunch time we stopped in the little town of Llandidloes (see photo below) for a bite, and popped into the first café we came across, The Cobblers Tea Room. Though the establishment didn't look like anything special from the outside, the interior was small and cozy and the owner and waitress greeted us warmly. I picked out something small from the menu, the "Chicken and Veg Pie," thinking I would get something about the size of my palm that I could have with tea. Not wanting a full meal, Concetta ordered the scone with cream.

The first thing they did was ask Concetta if she could wait while they made a scone up from scratch just for her. Soon after they arrived with my "little" pie, which actually took two dinner-sized plates to transport from the kitchen.

It turned out that the "Chicken and Veg Pie" was a plate-full of chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy, and a second plate just for the vegetables.

The lunch turned out to be close to the best meal we've had since we arrived on the island, and I still don't even know how to pronounce the name of the town. Our base for the next few days is in the tiny village of Rhymney. I chose it because it lies roughly in the middle of the various towns and villages where many of my Dad's family lived before emigrating to American in the early 1870s. These folks would include the Browns who were originally from Scotland; the Rhydderchs of Monmouthshire, and, of course, the Davis family of Glamorgan and Monmouthshire. They come from towns like Merthyr Tydfil, Blaenavon, Ebbw Vale, and Tredegar, towns whose history is devoted largely to coal mining and iron refining.

Yesterday evening (this entry wasn't typed until September 14th), after navigating to our B&B and depositing our possessions, we set out to drive the surrounding towns just to get a feeling for the area. Because this particular B&B doesn't have WiFi (horrors!), we thought maybe we could find a place for dinner that could afford us the internet. Sadly, though we eventually landed at a hotel bar in Abergevenny that advertised WiFi, we were unable to attach to our blog, though I kept trying until I ran the laptop's battery down.

Pictured on the left is the Blaenavon Iron works where, I'm almost certain, my great, great, great grandfather, Thomas Davis, worked in the 1850s. The census records that Blaenavon is where he was working during that time period and this is the only Iron mill in operation in Blaenavon at that time. Concetta and I had a great time touring the grounds and the miner's cottages this morning and seeing how those desparetly poor families lived.

At the present time we're sitting in Ebbw Vale McDonalds, hunched over a chicken sandwich, updating the blog. You will remember that our present B&B doesn't have wireless, a mistake I won't make again. Originally, I chose this particular house because the hosts said that they could arrange for doing our laundry, a pressing necessity at this stage of the trip.

Then, for the next hour, we learned everything there is to know about coal-mining in the last century and before. Did you know that in Wales, the country that produced the finest coal on earth for decades, you could start working in the mines at age five -- boys or girls? Did you know that a five-year-old child would often be working in complete darkness, on a twelve-hour shift, and have a devilish job keeping the rats away from his/her lunch? Incredible!!! Our guide in the mine, a twenty-five-year veteran of the mine, as were his father and grandfather before him, told us that if you got a working space of four to six feet headroom, you were in clover. If you got three feet of headroom, you were still okay. But sometimes you got as little as seventeen inches and had to work lying on your side with a pick. And, throughout most of the history of coal mining, you only got paid for coal you sent to the surface. You didn't get paid for just showing up.

As an added bonus, you often had to walk as many as four miles to the coal face, something for which you didn't get paid. And, if you got hurt, as hundreds did, your fellow coal miners carried you out of the mine. No paramedics showed up. Not until modern times was there a hospital on the property. Here's the bombshell: women as well as men worked in the mine, often on their hands and knees pulling or pushing loaded cars of coal. Everyone had to work or the family often had not enough to eat.

In the afternoon, once we'd had our usual tea, we visited castles. One was an 11th century ruin of the Norman castle, Castle Coch (see photo at left), which was restored by a wealthy industrialist in the mid 1800s. In fact, at the time, he was considered to be the most wealthy man in the world, mostly due to the industrial revolution that had made him rich. He owned, among other things, the dock area in Wales where all the coal and iron was shipped to other countries. He restored the castle we visited purely to use as a hunting lodge. The entire interior was magnificently gilded in bright colors and decorated with impressive artwork. Supposedly, the owners seldom visited Castle Coch more than once or twice a year.

Our second castle of the day was in the town of Caerphilly and looked the most like a real castle with a moat, draw bridges, and huge towering gates. The same rich man who restored the first castle also started restoration on the second, much larger castle, and restoration has been ongoing every since. It is the largest castle in Wales, the second-largest in Britain (second to Windsor castle) and is one of the largest fortresses in Europe. It was built mainly between 1268 and 1271 and is an early example of a concentric castle, meaning that there is a castle wall within the outer wall.

Today turned out to be an absolutely perfect day. This morning we bid farewell to southeastern Wales and we turned our little Mini Cooper back towards jolly old England. Our plan was to head for the city of Bath in the English midlands to visit the ancient Roman site in that city. Once on the highway, we soon discovered that Bath was much closer than we had thought. In the end, the trip took less than two hours. Piece of cake. But as soon as we reached the city limits we had the misfortune to end up right behind a giant yellow school bus that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to pass. At one point I was nearly rear-ended by another big bus behind us and the driver very quickly let me know just how much he appreciated how much I've learned about English driving so far.

Then a thought hit me. I wonder, "I said to Concetta, "if this darn school bus is headed to the Roman baths. Since we really don't know where the baths are, maybe we should just stay right where we are and follow him."

And that's just what we did. Minutes later the bus lead us right to the area we were seeking. Almost immediately we found a dynamite parking spot that didn't tax my ability to park a right-hand-drive car and we were soon headed off on foot.

The first thing we encountered was a museum of historic fashions (see photo above left). Now Concetta was truly in heaven. Actually, I found it pretty interesting myself. You couldn't help but appreciate some of the workmanship that went into these clothes. Most impressive, they had a pair of gloves that were 400 years old, some of the oldest surviving fashion accessories in the world. We were still at the fashion museum when tea-time arrived, so off we went to the museum cafeteria. Now, one of the culinary items we've been keeping an eye out for because Concetta has seen it on the cooking channel is something called "clotted cream." Well, this tea shop had the very item. So, tea today consisted of scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam along with a lovely pot of English tea. Clotted cream, though I can't tell you what it is precisely, appeared to me to be something halfway between whipped cream and butter. But whatever it is, I sure liked it.

After the tea break we followed the city's very precise and informative directional signs and soon came upon the Roman baths (see photo on right). Although everyone has at some time or another seen a documentary on the Roman city of Bath, me included, I was just blown away by the presentation there. It's nothing short of outstanding. The more I learn about the Romans and see their handiwork over here, the more impressed I am. One fact I remember is that 240,000 gallons of hot water a day flow through the Roman baths, even today. The Romans had hot tubs, steam rooms, cold plunges, and places where they could get rub downs and individual attention. Pretty neat for 1600 years ago.

After we toured the baths, Concetta asked if we could try and find a glass-blowing shop she'd heard about. That sounded interesting to me, off we went. We soon found someone who directed us and we found the shop without much trouble. Concetta loves glass blowing and I must admit that I find it pretty fascinating as well. For the sum of a couple of pounds they let you go back where the glass workers are plying their craft and watch as long as you want. Neat. Here's a shot of the kid doing the work. At one point Concetta asked him how he'd gotten into the business, thinking he'd say something romantic like, oh it was my calling since I was a child.

However, the young artist said, "Well, I was out of work and my girlfriend threw the newspaper listing at me and told me to go get a job. I've been here ever since."

So much for romance.

After the wonderful glass-blowing demo, we decided to try and find the car since it was getting on to four o'clock and I wanted to try and be in Salisbury by five-ish (that's us taking advantage of a streetside mirror to capture our image while we walked). Here the perfect day continued unabated as on a whim I suggested that we take a sort of left turn and see if we'd end up anywhere close to where we started that day. Wonder of wonders, we practically tripped over the car fifteen minutes later. And that wasn't the end of our good luck. Almost right next to the car was something you see here a lot, a "Pay and Park" machine. I was supposed to have put in some money and put a parking slip on the dashboard. Unfortunately, I had totally missed the machine in my haste to park the car and get sight-seeing. Wonder of wonders, no one noticed. There was no parking fine on my window.

Once on the highway, we plugged the postal code for our Salisbury B&B into the our treasured friend, the GPS, and it soon had us out of the city and flying down the road toward the county of Wiltshire. Wiltshire is important in our itinerary because my dad's mother's family comes from the tiny village of Tisbury there. The Burtons were farmers in the early to mid 1800s and, for all I know, may yet be there as only a couple of the family members emigrated to America, my great grandfather being one of them. The remainder of the family stayed right here in England.

While we're in this area we also plan on visiting a person out of my distant past, a friend from the island of Malta whom I met way back in 1974 when I was living aboard a sixty-foot two-masted ketch in the harbor there. We're going to travel south to the seaside city of Poole tomorrow to see her and take in the sights.

Today we visited my long-time friend, Josephine, in her wonderful home in Poole on the southern coast of England. I met Josephine over 34 years ago when I spent some months on the island of Malta, her homeland, while our boat, the MAR, was in port for the winter. Though fate decreed that our paths would cross only briefly all those years ago, she has always held a special spot in my heart. She was 19 then.

Today she's raised four children, three lovely girls and a boy, now serving with the Royal Marines.

Then, this evening, while keeping upa lively conversation with Concetta and me, Josephine managed to whip up a fantastic lasagna that would have won a prize in the best Italian (or Maltese) kitchen. The photo above left is of Josephine's home in Poole, which she is currently remodeling, more or less, by herself. The photo at below right is Jo with the box of candy my shipmate requested I bring her.

Not many people know that if it wasn't for Josephine, Concetta and I might not have met. After living aboard the yacht MAR for a year, my shipmate, John, and I had decided that we had had enough of life at sea. But it was initially John whom we agreed would leave first and I would wait until the captain hired someone to fill John's spot before I left to come home. John, at this point, had known Josephine only briefly before we set sail on our summer cruise in 1974. But when the cruise was over and John and Josephine were re-united, he changed his mind and told me that he would stay on board longer and I might go ahead and leave. This I did in early August 1974. By August 15th of '74 I had started a new job in Carson City where I was to meet my future wife, Concetta. So, you see, if I had stayed longer on the boat and John had come home first Concetta and I might never have met in that laundromat all those years ago.

Isn't fate a wonderful thing.

I'm sure a lot of you are intrigued by the idea of taking a "driving vacation" in England. Probably you feel just the slightest bit intimidated by the thought of driving on the "wrong" side of the road over here in the UK. But I have to tell you that it hasn't been as scary as I anticipated. The thing to keep in mind is that everyone else is doing it right, which makes it easy much of the time to just do what everyone else is doing. In the beginning I had the most trouble if Concetta and I were traveling a little-used road and we were the only ones in sight. Then, when I finally encountered another driver, usually as we came sweeping around a blind curve, my brain would automatically insist that I needed to get to the RIGHT of the oncoming driver. This, of course, would have been disastrous. So, I had to learn to relax and try to "hush" my brain that kept insisting I was wrong. After a week I had pretty much fallen into the routine. However, it still sometimes unnerves me when I encounter that solitary driver at high speed.

The expressways are a piece of cake normally. That's because there are few surprises and the lanes are wider. The biggest problem you will encounter is the narrow country lanes (see photo on right) and the narrow village streets. Both are often only one car width wide. It takes considerable creativity sometimes to thread your way along these narrow tracks while remembering to keep left. Sometimes you're up on the sidewalk. Sometimes you're in the bushes or literally off the road altogether. Sometimes you (or the opposing driver) have to back up to a driveway or other wide spot so one of you can pass.

Aside from clean underwear, our GPS is just about the best thing we brought with us on this trip. It relieves a lot of stress when you don't have to be juggling a map, a magnifying glass, your reading glasses, and a compass as you navigate down these tiny roads, even if you have a navigator. So far we've only had the GPS send us off on a wild goose chase once and that was tonight as we tried to navigate to a restaurant our B&B host had recommended. This time, the unit "thought" it had taken us to the right place, but no restaurant was visible. So, somehow, and we haven't figured out just how, it decided on a totally different destination for us. Thinking it had corrected its initial erroneous set of instructions, we let it lead us on a fifteen mile road rally that finished up at a tiny cottage down an impossibly narrow road that I suppose only the owner of the cottage ever traveled. It took a couple of re-programmings of the unit to make it come to its senses, but we finally arrived at the appropriate restaurant, considerably more hungry and lower on petrol, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

As you can see by the photo at left, Concetta and I visited Stonehenge this morning, something we both have been anxious to do for years. Though TV always makes Stonehenge look a lot larger in the documentaries, the stones are nevertheless very impressive. When you consider the weight of some of those blocks, its like those stone age craftsmen were moving the equivalent of two or three city buses, piled one on top of the other, around without the benefit of wheels. They don't let you get close to the stones anymore, but even so Concetta and I were quite moved by the experience and very appreciative of the audio tours that the British Heritage folks provide. By the way, if you're planning a trip to England/Scotland/Wales, be sure and purchase the British Heritage Pass. It gets you into over 800 sites for free.

After our morning admiring the awesome talent of my hard-working Celtic ancestors, Concetta and I next moved on to the village of Tisbury which lay just down the road. Tisbury is where my dad's mother's family were living in the early part of the nineteenth century. At that time, the father, great great great grandfather, Joseph Burton was farming about forty acres. Knowing that I probably wouldn't be able to find the actual farm, I still wanted to prowl the streets of the village and maybe visit the cemetery. Turns out, Concetta and I had a great time talking to the locals at the library, in the street, and at the local pub where we had tea, sandwiches, and "spotted dick" for dessert. The town is absolutely charming, like something out of a story book.

Concetta said we ought to buy a cottage and visit more often, but one look at the real estate prices and I think I could get something cheaper in Beverly Hills, or at least San Francisco. Still, not even in Italy did we see such a wealth of traditional "rose-covered cottages" sitting amidst immaculately-manicured gardens and lawns. Everywhere we went we just instantly fell in love with the beautiful thatched roofed, stone cottages and the wonderful greenery that we in Nevada seldom see and would definitely kill for.

oday we bid a reluctant farewell to John, our host at Webster's B&B in Salisbury, Wiltshire, England. Concetta and I thoroughly enjoyed all things about Websters. Even though all our hosts over the past two weeks have been friendly, accommodating, and eager to please, John impressed us with his enthusiasm, willingness to take time to chat, and for the obvious joy he took in running his guest house as expertly as he could. John and Veronica have one of best B&Bs we've encountered so far and I unhesitatingly recommend his home to anyone headed to Salisbury. Unfortunately, leave we must as our next host was expecting us. But before we set our course for "The Old Barn" in Kent, I wanted to drop down to the coast, city of Southampton, and see if I might find a museum dedicated to the Titanic. Thanks to the GPS, it turned out to be rather easy to find (see photo right). Though I subsequently parked the car going the wrong way on a one-way street, for which a kindly "Bobby" left me a polite note, our navigation device guided us to within about 100 feet of the front door. Very cool!

As you know, Southampton was the last port of call for the Titanic before it set sale for America and its rendezvous with history. I'm sure everyone has seen a million documentaries about the ship and you might think, oh, well, why waste the time. But what I was interested in was more information on the human element in the story. Thankfully, I wasn't disappointed. The museum had quite a bit of personal property of passengers and crew passed along by surviving family members as well as many, many personal accounts that often fail to make it to the various documentaries. Though museum rules prevented any photography inside, I can tell you that it was well worth the visit.

Of course, after having spent over a year living aboard a boat myself, things to do with the sea always get my attention. But listening to the various biographies of many of the passengers and crew, both survivors and non-survivors, made our visit extremely interesting. Seeing the photographs of crewmen and reading their last cards and letters home had a huge impact on me, I'll tell you. Museum staff seemed to think that there was still an old lady living in Southampton who was an eight month old baby when the ship went down and is the last known survivor.

After our visit to the Maritime Museum, Concetta and I next headed for the Archaeology Museum (photo 2)where we explored the three periods of early Southampton history. The city had its beginnings as an iron-age settlement, but the first major influx of people came with the Roman invasion around 43 A.D. The Romans turned Southampton into a shipping port and it prospered. After the decline of the Roman empire, the Saxons (probably the Jutes) came next and the settlement expanded as a trading center. Then, in the fourteenth century a wall was built around the city, some of which still survives. In fact, the Archaeology Museum we visit is located in one of the old guard towers from the wall. From that time to now Southampton has been one of the busiest ports and trading centers in the world.

The last thing we did in Southampton was visit the marker erected to commemorate the departure of the Mayflower in 1620 (photo right) for that place we all know and love, North America. One of the wonderful aspects of traveling in the UK is the age of everything you see. When we were in the Maritime Museum, one of the guides told us that their building was 400 years old when the Mayflower set sail just outside their door. The other night in Salisbury, we had dinner in a restaurant that had been a bar serving the workers who built the city's cathedral over 700 years ago. Now that's OLD! Fortunately, the food and ale was great and obviously hadn't been sitting around that long.

I missed out on my tea break today, but we had a very smooth drive from Southampton to our current five-day residence in Kent. Once again, the GPS took us door-to-door without so much as a hiccup. Tomorrow we hope to hop the train to London (I don't want to drive it) and see the sights there. Stay tuned for adventures on the tube, the Eye, and, if Concetta gets her way, the War Museum.

Well, the weather has finally turned fine here now. This morning our B&B hostess delivered us to the local train station and off we went to the magic city of London. I had pre-paid for 3-day train vouchers so we didn't have to figure out how to buy tickets at the station. We just waved our vouchers at the ticket agent and boarded the train. The ride was smooth and comfortable and we enjoyed it very much. I've always been drawn to the idea of taking the train to work every day and riding in comfort while I read my morning newspaper. The closest I ever got to it was when I lived in Chicago. Had I stayed in Chicago when I got out of the Navy, I might indeed have commuted to work via rail. Alas, it was not to be. But this morning I got to see just what it would be like as we rode amidst the many London commuters on their way to work.

Concetta's request for the day's activities included the National Art Gallery (photo right) and the Imperial War Museum. Both sounded okay to me so once we arrived at Charing Cross Station, we wandered out onto the sidewalk looking for clues to the proximity of our quarry and before long had literally stumbled over the National Gallery. It was only a half block from the station. The museum is free, however Concetta and I sprang for the cost of the audio tour to the tune of about fourteen dollars. The audio is really worth it as your eyes would probably give out long before you managed to read the captions under every painting. I say every, but it would take days and days to view every painting AND listen to the background and interpretation on each one. We viewed as many as we could, but didn't get much beyond the 16th and 17th century art. There's a wonderful collection there to see, but it would take many visits to do it justice. Around two o'clock we finally returned the audio gear and headed for the dining room for a spot of tea and a muffin.

Once rested we set out to find the Imperial War Museum (photo left). This destination proved more elusive. Just as I did with the train vouchers, I had purchased the necessary tickets to ride London's red buses months ago and they had been delivered by mail right to the house. It's definitely worth it to get these items in advance and save yourself the headache of trying to figure it out "in country." There was only one problem: no one told us that specific buses stop only at specific bus stops. We thought naively that every bus eventually would come by the stop where we were patiently waiting. Well, after we had stood at the Trafalgar stop nearest the train station for thirty minutes without once seeing our Number 3 or Number 159 bus, we finally got smart and re-read the sign there. Yes, indeed, we had to go around the corner and wait at the correct bus stop before the 3 or 159 would be coming by. Well, once we got the little gray cells working properly it was a piece of cake to catch the bus and ride to the War Museum.

For those of you who are wondering why Concetta might want to visit a war museum of all things, I'll tell you that she's been reading a couple of different series of novels, each of which takes place in the WWI time period. All the descriptions of miserable trench warfare, vintage flivvers hauling endless loads of wounded from the front lines, and cloth-covered Spads and Jennies winging overhead made her want to experience some of these things in person. And let me tell you, experience it we did. The Imperial War Museum has the finest depictions of warfare I've ever seen. The displays of uniforms, equipment, and firearms are second to none. Each display area comes complete with audio and video depictions in addition to masterfully-crafted display cases. I was just enthralled.

One of the most moving exhibits in the museum is the one on the impact of war on children. Here we experienced the stories of thousands of displaced kids, many of whom were sent to other countries by Jewish parents caught up in the maelstrom of Hitler's advance into their respective countries. Most never saw their parents again. But British children also experienced separation from parents as many were sent into the countryside to live with friends, relatives, and even perfect strangers in hopes of saving their lives as the bombing of English cities took place.

We also toured the Holocaust exhibit. While we have not had an opportunity to view the Washington D.C. Holocaust Museum yet, we certainly found the story they told here at the Imperial very, very moving. The museum sought to individualize the stories with pictures and letters and personal items from the murdered people and through audio interviews with survivors as well as news footage shot by the Nazis at the time. It's not a "feel-good" experience, but one everyone should try and acquaint themselves with.

One high point at the museum for Concetta and me was the display devoted to the personal effects of Thomas Edward Lawrence (photo left). You may know him as "Lawrence of Arabia." Concetta and I have been fans ever since we saw the epic movie with Peter O'toole. To be just inches away from his uniform, weapons, and, most spectacularly, his personal motorcycle was just thrilling.

This morning dawned bright and sunny as it has been doing for several days now. Hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago we were thinking of trading the Mini Cooper in for a motorboat.

Once again we headed off for London on the morning train. This time, since it was Saturday, we knew there would be parking at the train station so we drove the car. We took a wrong turn at first, but soon recognized our error and made it to the station in time to catch the 9:45 heading north. As you know, we booked a B&B in the village of Tunbridge Wells for its proximity to the rail line since I was not planning to drive in London. The train ride has been a real pleasure.

The trains are modern and smooth-running, and constantly inform you by voice and by LED just where you are and where you will be stopping next. Once in London, we knew just what to do and where to go this time. Yesterday, we chose to ride one of the red double-decker buses to our destination at the Imperial War Museum.Today, we wanted to immerse ourselves in the experience of "tube-riding" (see photo above). Since I spent much time on the tube back in 1973, the technique soon came back to me. Down lots and lots of escalators -- don't forget to stand on the right so escalator-climbers can jog by -- and check out the multi-colored maps that tell you just what line to ride to get where you're going. We haven't tried changing trains yet, but if I remember right, it's pretty darn easy.

We had the necessary cards to ride. They're the same ones you use to ride the red buses. Works great to get them in advance, just like the train passes. Then you just run them through the automatic reader and off you go. Down in the bowels of the subway system, it was pretty interesting to see tourists from all parts of the planet huddled around, staring at the maps, and deciding on their destinations. The system is so easy, I don't think anyone had a problem.

Our intended destination for the day was the British Museum (photo left). I'm sure you've begun to see a trend by now. Concetta and I like all that old stuff. But this time we were going for the really super old stuff. Contained in the British Museum is an immense amount of archaeological finds from everywhere on the globe that go back thousands and thousands of year ago. Specifically, we were interested in the collections centered on the Greek culture in southern Italy where Concetta's ancestors made their home.

I'm sure you've begun to see a trend by now. Concetta and I like all that old stuff. But this time we were going for the really super old stuff. Contained in the British Museum is an immense amount of archaeological finds from everywhere on the globe that go back thousands and thousands of years ago. Specifically, we were interested in the collections centered on the Greek culture in southern Italy where Concetta's ancestors made their home. Most people don't know that the Greeks had a very strong presence in southern Italy and Sicily several thousand years ago, which probably insures that Concetta has some Greek ancestors if you go back far enough. Interesting that the very first words I ever said to her in that laudromat over 32 years ago were, "Are you Greek?" I scare myself sometimes.

Visiting these museums in Britain takes a lot of stamina, we have found. They just have millions of items on display. If you actually stopped to read the description of each display item, your visit would be measured in years not hours. Some of the most beautiful pottery, metal-smithing, sculpturing, and foundry work you'll ever see in your life can be found at the British Museum. My favorite things were the mosaics and the sculpture (photo left). I just can't imagine one human having sufficient time and talent to craft such beauty. The stone carving is just totally beyond my ability to understand how a mere human could turn out such beauty.

Considering that the mosaics are built using one tiny piece of stone at a time (the pieces are called "tesserae" after the Greek word for "four") it's hard to imagine just how long some of these intricate designs might take, not even counting how long it would take to make the tiny pieces of stone in the first place.

You've probably seen lots and lots of sculpture in your life, but most are pretty heavily damaged after thousands of years of abuse and neglect. But many of the sculptures at the British Museum are in close to pristine condition. Absolutely amazing. I couldn't stop photographing them. Every once in a while I'd look around to see if the guards were taking an interest in me, thinking maybe I was casing the joint for a later late-night visit. But no one seemed to notice me.

You want to know the very best thing about the British Museum? It's this: as you walk through those hallowed halls filled with the cultural achievements of countless vanished cultures, you hear voices. Lots of voices. I suspect that almost as many modern cultures are present in that building each day as are on display. I heard French voices, Italian voices, German Voices, Japanese Voices, Chinese voices -- and a lot of voices I couldn't identify. They all were there, side by side, enjoying the collections in harmony. What we all wish people would do more often.

Sadly, we didn't stay long enough to do the Museum justice. But by 2:00 o'clock it was tea time and we had to stop. Then, after a nice lunch in the museum cafeteria, we did a bit of souvenir shopping. Finally, we headed for the tube station. For a while we thought of maybe trying to fit one more activity in before normal closing time, but in the end we caught the early train back to Tunbridge Wells and sought out an ale house for a spot of dinner. I had the "Cottage Pie" again as it often turns out to be pretty good. Concetta had the fish, but without the "chips" this time. And then it was home for an early evening and work on the blog. Wonder of wonders, I'm actually going to have this blog finished tonight before midnight. Tomorrow, hopefully, it's the Sherlock Holmes museum and the "London Eye." Can't wait. The time here has flown by and I suspect, just as we've discovered everywhere in the UK, a mere month over here is like taking one lick of an ice cream cone. It's just not going to satisfy us in the end. Guess we'll just have to come back, rent a rose-covered cottage down a country lane, and settle in for -- well, however long it takes.

Naturally, we couldn't leave London without seeking out 221B Baker Street and paying a visit to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Once again, we drove down to the Paddock Wood station and caught the morning train to London. This time we happened to catch the train destined for Victoria Station instead of Charing Cross Road and so ended up in a slightly different part of the city. Nevermind, we just pulled out our trusty map for the underground and set off for Baker Street anyway.

We didn't get far. Almost immediately a Chinese man approached us with a forlorn look on his face and asked us to help him figure out how to buy a ticket for someplace in Kent. At least, that's what we finally figured out that he wanted. He spoke virtually no English except he word "tiki," which we assumed meant ticket.

The poor guy had such a "deer in the headlights" look on his face that we couldn't help but feel sorry for him. So, for the next twenty or thirty minutes we tried valiantly to figure out where he wanted to go (all he could do was show me the town name that somehow he produced on his cell phone screen) and how much a ticket might cost for that place, assuming it existed. While legions of impatient passengers waited behind us in line, Concetta and I worked at deciphering the ticket machine, which, since we had purchased our tickets by mail, we had never needed to use. Thankfully, I finally figured the machine out and navigated my way through the menus while Concetta kept an eye on the guy's luggage for him. But when the time came for him to insert his credit card to pay for the ticket I discovered that he had no such credit card. I tried to communicate to him that I would take the twenty-pound note that he was clutching in his hand and pay for it with my credit card, but I failed to get that message across. At that point we had to let the other waiting passengers get at the machine so I cancelled the transaction and we went our separate ways. We sure hope he eventually got where he was going, though I can't see how he would. Too bad he didn't study a few words of English before he embarked on his adventure. I'm going to take that to heart should I ever decide to head for China.

So, our morning crisis over, we once again headed for the underground. All we had to do was ride the yellow or green line east to Westminster Station, then transfer to the gray line which would take us all the way to Baker Street. And that's just what we did. Though the crush of passengers seemed to be just as heavy as we'd seen during the work-week, we managed to wend our way up and down the myriad of stairs, passageways, and escalators and get on the right train each time. Before we knew it, we were at Baker Street. We had hoped that our GPS would guide us from the Tube station to 221B, but the little machine only seemed to find a Baker Street in Scotland. So, we had to ask someone on the street which way to walk. Our quarry turned out to be just a block or so away, so we were soon standing out front.

We had a really great time at the Holmes museum. Even though it's basically a tourist trap, I loved the way they decorated the rooms to look like Mrs. Hudson's house in the films. They even had a guy playing Watson upstairs (see above photo) and we had a really nice chat with him on the qualities of the various actors who have played both Watson and Holmes.

Naturally, after snapping a few photos I had to buy myself a "deerstalker" hat, just like Holmes wore in many of his movies. The hat might have been made in Finland, but I love it anyway.

After the Holmes museum we headed over to the nearby Regency Park to sit for a moment and collect our thoughts. But, as it turned out, the park was so beautiful that we decided to just walk a bit and enjoy the beautiful gardens. Everywhere, there were people strolling through the gardens or lounging on the lawns. We even saw a Japanese wedding party taking advantage of the Japanese garden area.

After our rose garden stroll, we left the park and stopped at a nearby bistro for a cup a tea, a shared sandwich, and our first ice cream of the trip. After all, they had pistachio. Who could resist?

Since today was my day for picking our destinations, we now headed back to the tube station to catch a train for the London river-walk area at Westminster. Earlier that morning, while we were still at the Victoria Train Station, I had purchased two tickets for the London Eye, the huge Ferris wheel that dominates the skyline near the Themes. I felt that we just couldn't come to London and not ride the Eye. As you can see, ride it we did. I just loved the experience. I found it so interesting that they load and unload the wheel without ever really stopping it. The wheel only pauses if they need to allow a handicapped person to enter or exit. I thought we might have to spend a lot of time in line, like at Disneyland, but in reality we virtually walked right on. Connie's not so comfortable with heights, but the ride is so stable that she really wasn't bothered at all, at least not until I asked her to go stand near the edge so I could take her picture.

After the Eye experience we decided that we had had enough of the hustle and bustle of the city for one day, so off we went to find the train station and enjoy a nice, leisurely ride back to Paddock Wood where our faithful Mini awaited us. After that, we spent some time trying to find a pub still serving food on a Sunday (they often quit at 4:00 p.m.). We visited three or four before we found one, but had a nice dinner and tried a new brand of ale called "Spitfire." Don't worry, we only had half a pint.

So, here we are, our day-tripping to London finished. Tomorrow we plan to visit some local sights here in Tunbridge Wells, Paddock Wood, and other nearby communities. I'd like to do more gardens if we can find one or two, and Connie has in mind a church that supposedly has some very nice stained glass windows. Tuesday is our travel day and well be heading for Lincolnshire.

Today, our three days of train trips to London finished, we decided to have a day of rest. But while most people would take a good book and sit in the garden to rest, we decided to go visit gardens instead. Two were recommended to us and our B&B hostess, Vicky, put sticky notes on a map to show us just where to go. Ultimately, we would only have time for one, but before we headed out on our gardening quest, we went in search of a quite different form of art -- that of stained glass.

According to Vicky, quite near here was a church in the village of Tudeley which has been built on the foundations of an ancient Saxon church. And, if you know your history, that goes back before the Invasion of William the Conqueror in 1066 A.D. After all, Robin Hood was a Saxon, wasn't he. I'm not just sure how long the present church has been sitting there on those Saxon foundations, but I found reference to the late medieval times. However old it is, that's not what I want to talk about. What I want to talk about are the windows which were crafted by the noted artist, Marc Chagall. Chagall was commissioned to do the windows to commemorate the untimely death of the twenty-one year old daughter of a wealthy local landowner. The windows were all pretty magnificent, but photo one is my favorite. The most astounding fact is that Marc Chagall was in his late 80s when he took on the job and completed the last four windows when he was ninety!!!

From Tudeley we headed for the gardens of Sissinghurst. The grounds are referred to as Sissinghurst Castle, not because it had ever been a castle, but because at one point during the 1700s some French prisoners being kept there gave it that name. The few buildings that have survived are but a tiny remnant of what started out in the 1400s as a walled estate complete with moat. In the 1500s the then owner let the older estate fall down, and he built a completely new estate just to the north. Subsequent owners knocked down most of the buildings contained in the second estate with only about a 1/10th of the original structures surviving. By the third decade of the 20th century, a wealthy and talented couple, Nigel Nicolson and Vita Sackville-West, noted authors of over 40 books apiece, purchased the "Castle" and began to restore what was left of the structures and grounds.

We had a simply marvelous time in the Castle gardens. As most English-style gardens are typically constructed, there are loads and loads of different "rooms" within the garden. Sissinghurst has ten rooms, including an all-white garden, an herb garden, and a cottage garden. Intertwining all these rooms are these wonderful brick and stone paths. For each room you often come around a corner and there, laid out before you, is yet another room. Often your specific room has a focal point, a statue, an urn full of daises, or water feature. Consequently, you can wander and wander and wander and never get tired of the view.

One of the things that impressed me most were the fig trees. Some of you might know that I recently brought home from California a fig tree that I hope I can keep alive in the sunroom. But at Sissinghurst, where Vicky tells us it can get to 2 or 3 degrees below zero, they are not only growing figs, but the plants appear to be thriving. Now I have renewed hope of growing mine outside. They appear to be giving them an edge by growing them against a house or garden wall. If you want to visit an English garden that is easy to find, easy to afford (if you have the Brit Heritage pass), and easy to recognize that it will live long in your memory, this is the one. Bring your camera and you won't be disappointed. Just outside of the garden they have an absolutely marvelous little cafe where you will be rewarded with some truly fine food, often made with ingredients picked right on the property. Concetta and just adored the place and would definitely recommend it to lovers of gardens and lovers of history alike.

We stopped one other place on our way to Sissinghurst. Many of you know that I just love antique vehicles. So, when we passed a restoration shop on the way to Sissinghurst we, of course, pulled right over and wandered in to check it out. Thankfully, the chap with the grease rag in his pocket cheerfully welcomed us inside and gave us a rundown on each vehicle on display. The one pictured here is a Bentley and the mechanic declined my request to divulge the price. However, I suspect it's one of those cases where if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it.

Well, that's our day in a nutshell. If anything, I loved today better than all the others, especially since I've been wanting to visit a garden ever since we landed on British soil. So, I finally had my wish, and all is right with world now.

Well, we were really sad to leave Vickie and Peter's Old Barn Guest House this morning. Here we stayed the longest, five days, as I wanted sufficient time to ride the train into London for three days. The train ride takes an hour each way, which naturally cuts into your sightseeing time. That left us with an additional day to visit local sights before we had to head north. But after five days Vickie had become an old friend, and Peter and I had had time for some lively discussions about politics and other stimulating topics.

It was somehow appropriate that the skies were gray and dull this morning with a hint of rain as we hugged and shook hands and reluctantly headed for the car. I am really, really going to miss Vickie's home-made yoghurt each morning as well as the delightful home-made bread. In appreciation of all her kindness, we left a small present for her in our room that we hope she likes.

This morning we went ahead and ran without the GPS as I was pretty sure I knew about where I wanted to go. Our initial goal for the morning was the city of Cambridge. Although I didn't have any particular place I wanted to see in Cambridge, I figured that it would be fun to just stroll through the streets. The expressways in the UK here are pretty darn easy to navigate. The signs are very clear, and if you make a mistake you just go to the nearest roundabout and swing back the opposite direction.

Connie is not really a fan of the roundabouts, but I think they're fun. Many times you don't even have to slow down much as you thread your way amongst the oncoming traffic. Occasionally, I get beeped at for changing lanes in the roundabout, though often the lanes are not really marked. But I'm getting pretty good at charging right through without a second thought.

It turned out that our dead-reckon navigating was just fine as somewhere just after lunch time we landed right in the middle of old Cambridge. A few minutes later, we had found a parking garage, parked the car, and headed out on foot to stretch our legs and see what there was to see. Cambridge being a college town there were lots and lots of three distinct things: college kids; businesses that catered to college kids; and - what's my favorite? - right on! Book stores. Naturally, we took full advantage of the latter. Unfortunately, we don't have any photos of Cambridge since it was raining most of the time we were there and I din't want to get the camera wet.

Concetta had just last night been reading about Vita Sackville West and Harold Nicholson, the owners of the Sissinghurst Castle and gardens. Well, since the two had written some 80 books between them, we thought it would be a cinch to find at least one of the couple's books in Cambridge. Well, it was not to be, but we did find some bargains which should insure that the balance of our evenings in England will be filled with great reading.

After strolling the old town, buying yet another Scottish "snapbrim" hat (I lost the last one in Tisbury), and picking up some presents, we started scouting for a place to have our afternoon tea. We've grown a little weary of pubs so we were happy to find a wonderful café with a French flare that served up some very fine food in addition to our usual tea. Then, as the afternoon was flying by, we headed for the car and our drive to Thurlby in Lincolnshire.

Naturally, before we had reached our destination we had already run into a historic site that we just had to see: an archaeological site called Flag Fen. At Flag Fen they have discovered some pretty incredible bronze age, iron age, and Roman artifacts. We got to see how my British ancestors were living 3,000 years ago, as well as stroll a piece of Roman road. In addition, they have reconstructed some of dwellings that these early Brits inhabited, which were

pretty cozy inside since the day had gotten progressively colder. (See the "I'm cold" expression on Connie's face above left). But the thing that impressed me the most was the wooden cart wheel they found on the site. At 1,300 B.C., it is the oldest wooden wheel ever found in England (see photos of ancient wheel and reconstruction of what it would have looked like when new, photos above).

After our brush with antiquity, we headed back for the car and the last couple of dozen miles on the highway before we reached Thurlby. Thurlby is a very rural village on the edge of flat-as-a-table-top farming country. But by the looks of the brochure there is lots to see around here, including touring the magnificent house where they filmed many movies, according to our hostess, that require those Elizabethan estates as a backdrop.

Our new B&B is very nice and we're the only guests at the moment. Wendy's router is sorely in need of a signal booster, as I can't get on line from the room, but must go to the landing. The router is only about twenty feet away so it must be very weak.

Today we awoke to sunny skies in Thurlby -- well, more or less. Our new B&B, the home of Wendy Chouffot, is a small operation in that it only has two guest rooms available, which is nice. Right now Concetta and I are the only guests present, which is really nice.

I originally chose Wendy's B&B because she had agreed in advance to tackle our laundry at this point in the trip. Now that we're here, we're certainly glad we chose this one. Not only did Wendy cheerfully take on the laundry job, but she has been just as accommodating and friendly as any host we've had the pleasure of meeting. Plus, the house is immaculate and very cleverly decorated.

This morning we had breakfast in the sunroom (above photo). You can just see Concetta enjoying her coffee in the serenity of this delightful morning room. Right outside the sunroom, we could hear water trickling in the pond. The whole yard is just a mass of flowers.

Our breakfast was just the way we like it, simple and nutritious. I especially loved the yoghurt. And though English folks generally struggle with furnishing drinkable coffee, Wendy's coffee was just great. We found ourselves not wanting to break the spell so we lingered over breakfast longer than usual.

One of the most interesting places to visit in this area, according to Wendy, is the Burghley House in the village of Stamford about a dozen miles away. Since I didn't really have any specific activities lined up in advance, we took Wendy's advice and set out for Stamford right after breakfast.

Wow! I expected to see a stately house full of dusty old furniture, but was I off the mark. Burghley House was built by William Cecil, the first Lord of Burghley in 1555! This Cecil chap was no ordinary rich guy. He was Lord High Treasurer and Chief Minister to Queen Elizabeth the 1st. Good ol' Cecil was also the guy who was responsible, to a large degree, in Mary Queen of Scots losing her Queenly head. The guides said that Queen Elizabeth was a tad miffed at him when she later regretted executing her cousin and banished him from court for a time. However, he was so important to her that he was soon back.

This house is no ordinary dwelling. Both Queen Elizabeth and Queen Victoria were sometime guests there and had specific bedrooms named for them. They wouldn't allow photographs to be taken, but the artwork inside is nothing short of incredible.

Almost all the vaulted ceilings are painted in the Sistine Chapel style with scenes from Greek mythology and what can only be described as a lot of naked folks having a very good time. One room alone took two painters a year to complete, and that was a fairly small room. In one room, the painters had not only frescoed the ceiling, but all the walls as well. What an undertaking! Also on the walls are over 600 paintings, some of which are the size of an average living room rug. They were definitely getting my attention at this point, especially when we came to the snooker table that was twice as large as any table I ever seen before. And, this gigantic table had been crafted in 1859 from oak taken from a sunken, and subsequently raised, British Warship that had lain on the bottom for fifty years.

When we arrived at the chapel, which probably seated close to 50 people, a man was giving demonstrations on a couple of 18th century musical instruments, an pump organ (that had to be pumped by an assistant) and a piano. Both sounded lovely. The most astounding thing was when he confided to us that the music he was playing on the piano was a piece written by Mozart when the young composer was EIGHT years old. And that particular song was only one of forty that Mozart wrote that year!

The house was just so fascinating and elaborately furnished that I was just totally enthralled throughout the whole tour. I sure wish they would have allowed photographs, at least so you could see the frolicking naked people on the ceilings.

Because I love old houses and truly a historic preservationist at heart, one of the most exciting aspects of the house, for me, is the fact that from 1555 to 1981 the house was in the same family. Can you imagine that? Over four hundred years of family history in one house. That, I'm sure, is where a few dozen of the portraits that hang everywhere are from. Every family member for four centuries has had a oil done of them. Because the UK exacts such heavy death duties, in 1981 the heirs were forced, more or less, to turn the property into a trust and make it available to the public. The last actual owners live in -- any guesses? -- Oregon, USA. Other family members live in Canada. But one granddaughter lives at Burghley in special apartments that have been arranged for through the trust. I suppose the family couldn't bear to give up all contact with this awesome piece of real estate.

By tea time, Concetta and I had decided to have our big meal of the day in Burghley House's dining hall. The dinning hall overlooks the rose garden and fountain (see photo 6) and provided an unbeatable setting for our dinner. Concetta finally got to partake of the lamb, something she's been talking about since we were in Wales where all the sheep make their home. I, on the other hand, had the venison and dumpling pie with a football-sized bowl of veggies on the side. It was truly terrific. To reward ourselves for all the walking we've been doing, for dessert we shared a portion of "sticky toffee pudding," which, if you've never had any, is like saying you've never made love. That dessert is FANTASTIC! The only reason I didn't lick the plate is Concetta would have jabbed me with a fork.

Anyway, that's our adventures for today. By the time we left Burghley House it had started to drizzle a bit so we came on back to the B&B for showers, blogging, and a bit of reading before bed. Tomorrow, well, I don't know where we'll be tomorrow, but stay tuned, it's bound to be something interesting.

Today's adventure ended up having a theme, though we didn't exactly plan it that way. It just evolved by accident. The day began with our trying to track down a window company of all things. Ever since we arrived at our Thurlby B&B, I've been really impressed with the windows here. To say they are light years better than then ones in our house in Nevada is decidedly an understatement. They're heavy-duty aluminum and extremely sturdy, much more than anything I've ever seen in the US. So, I asked our hostess if she knew where the distributor was and, incredibly, she was able to furnish us with an address and, most importantly, a postal code. The little GPS machine just loves postal codes. Long story short, we drove and drove and drove and finally found the place and the chap there gave me a business card so I could pull up the factory on the internet and see if they sell in North America.

But that had nothing to do with the day's theme. No, the theme came about because after the window place we found ourselves in a part of England that for which we really didn't have brochures. So, we just asked the window guy where he would recommend we visit. Soon we were back on the road, headed toward the window guy's suggested destination. But once there, we found a museum which, except for a small room near the front entrance, was not really open for business. However, a very nice employee at this museum recommended yet another destination, so off we went to follow her suggestion.

But that also had nothing to do with the theme. No, the theme came about because we happened to pick up a brochure at the aforementioned museum that described a museum in the nearby town of Peterborough that was having a special display on "Crime and Punishment" throughout history. Now that sounded interesting, we thought; something totally different than we had been seeing. So off we went in search of the town of Peterborough, often through a maze of expressway on-ramps and off-ramps and an absolute myriad of roundabouts. But finally we found said town and even managed to find a suitable parking garage for the Mini, though I believe I sort of drove up the down ramps in getting to the next level. Still, we made it.

The most interesting thing about the crime exhibit was the little piece they did on Agatha Christie. The exhibit, of course, had all the torture devices and weird weaponry you'd ever want to see, all which came complete with the horrified screams and moanings of victims resounding in the background as you strolled. But it was Agatha that drew my attention. Imagine being the most published author ever! Imagine having your play run continuously for over 50 years! My god, I haven't even been able to sell my first book yet. I better get busy!

The rest of the Peterborough Museum was just as interesting. The displays ran the gamut from archaeology to Victorian streetscapes, from geology to paintings by local artists, from Roman items to sea creatures from 150 million years ago . But here again, the theme resurfaced. We started reading about Mary Queen of Scots and how her last days were spent at Fotheringhay Castle located just a short distance away.

"How short?" I asked a museum staff member.

"Well," she said, "It's just down the road near Oundly."

Now Oundly is exactly the town where we'd just been while hunting up the window company. Still, now that the theme of the day had asserted itself, I wasn't about to argue.

"Okay," I said to Concetta. "We need to go back." And that's just what we did. More on-ramps and off-ramps and two dozen roundabouts and we were rolling into the tiny village (40 households) of Fotheringhay. Wow, what a great little village. All the stone cottages are neat as a pin and you have nothing but beautiful vistas beyond. I immediately got out the camera and started shooting. An old English canal runs right by the village and I had fun shooting the canal boats. Later, when we went in search of the castle site where Queen Mary lost her head, we met a really nice canal boat owner who paused from his work and talked to us for half an hour.

But at first, when we just weren't certain where to look for the castle, a very nice lady out walking her grandson in a pram offered to not just tell us where the castle used to stand, but actually take us there. By the end of the walk we were having a fine old chat and I thought she'd ask to adopt us or something. Just kidding there. But everywhere we go in the UK, the residents always seem to love going out of their way to help us.

When we finally found the castle site, all that was left was a high mound of earth where the original castle "keep" stood, and one lone rock clump that is the only piece of building material left over after they tore the castle down and hauled the stones off to do a church or something in good ol' Oundly (photo right). Concetta said she stood at the very top of that castle keep mound and tried to visualize what Mary might have seen from her cell window on that morning before they came for her. I don't wonder but that the rivers and farms and forests look much the same as they did all those years ago.

Here's a parting view of Fotheringhay and its cathedral (photo left) as we say our goodbyes and head for the turnpike.

To round out the evening, and to stick to the theme as close as possible, we decided to eat at the Sherlock Holmes-themed restaurant near the B&B in Thurlby called the "Baskervilles," reminiscent of the infamous hound. I had the Bangers and Mash and Concetta had the Fish and Chips.

So, there you are, another day in the life. I just hope I haven't had so much ale that I go to sleep seeing Mary Queen of Scotts -- whose axeman took three strokes to cut through her neck even after she'd paid him to make his aim true -- hovering over the bed in the dark. It's said that he grabbed her hair to display her head to the witnesses and her head separated from her wig bounced off the paving stones. Yuck!

That's when I took a wrong turn and ended up on a limited-access expressway headed the exact opposite of the way I intended. Mile after mile I could find no way to reverse direction. Finally, when a roadside sign announced that we were headed toward the city of York, I said to Concetta, "Okay, we can deal with this. There's a road that goes directly from York to Hartlepool, our ultimate destination."

"That sounds okay," Concetta said. "We still have plenty of time."

"Yes," I said, "and I think there's a Viking archaeological dig going on in York. We can stop and see it and still make Hartlepool before dinner time." Archaeology is Concetta's favorite subject for those of you who don't know.

"That will be wonderful," she said.

A short time later we actually reached the outskirts of York and one of the UK's ubiquitous roadside brown signs announced not only the Viking site, but the world's largest railroad museum, as well as an antique airplane museum.

"Wow," I said. "Did you see that sign? There's tons of stuff here to do."

"Let's have tea first," she said. "Then we can decide which to do first."

Though we were still a little under 60 miles from Hartlepool, we thought there'd be a couple of hours to fool around with. A few minutes later we found a restaurant and parked the car. Once our tea was ordered, I told Concetta that I better call our B&B and give them a hint of when to expect us. The hostess, Jill, answered on the third ring.

"Hi," I said. "This is Tom Davis. We're staying with you tonight and I just thought I ring and let you know we're in York and should see you by late afternoon."

"What emails," I said. "I have my computer with me. You haven't sent me any emails. I confirmed with you before I left the US. I shouldn't need to re-confirm."

"But I've let the room," she said. "I've been emailing you for some time and you haven't answered back."

I realized, of course, that she must have forgotten that I gave her both my home and work email and she must have been emailing my work address. Of course, that was no excuse for her since she had not only both emails but my cell phone number as well. She could have called if nothing else. I decided to get tough. "I'm afraid that's not my problem," I told her. I made these arrangements in March and confirmed with you in August. You'll just have to move these latecomers into some other room."

"But I can't," she said, sounding distraught. "The person is handicapped."

Oh fine, I thought, put that guilt trip on me now. There was more to the conversation, but it involved me getting a trifle hot under the collar.

Finally, Jill said, "Well, you'll just have to come here and we'll work something out."

So, as you might guess, up in smoke went the fun things we planned in York. We couldn't hang around if we were going to have to scrounge up a different place to stay once we got there and, as I anticipated, not be able to come to some mutually agreeable solution to our (their) problem. Needless to say, the hour-long ride to Hartlepool was a bit tense. All the while we were scouting for roadside signs for B&Bs and/or hotels we might return to if needed.

Well, to make a long story short(ish), once we arrived, though we intended to go nose to nose with the innkeepers if necessary, the couple turned out to be simply charming and had worked out a deal where we could stay in a nearby (and more expensive) B&B for the night while storing our stuff at their place in the interim. They gave us a suitcase to pack what we needed for the night, let us put our car in their private parking lot, and told us we could eat breakfast at either B&B as we chose, come back and use the internet that night if we desired, and generally make ourselves at home. What could we say? We liked them immediately and we felt relieved that everyone would live to fight another day.

And there was one more bonus. Jill pointed out a restaurant where we might get good food just down the waterfront (this is a beachside B&B) from their place. Concetta and I ordered the seafood pie, which turned out to be one of the best meals we've had in the UK since we arrived. Wow! Not only that, but this place had "John Smith" ale, which we had discovered in Scotland and was, in our opinion, much better than any of the English ales we had encountered the whole rest of the trip. So, our favorite food, our favorite ale (cold, too!), and a darn nice setting right on the waterfront. Sometimes life just has a way of rewarding you when you have the good sense to make lemonade out of your lemons.

P.S. Just in case I had to do battle with these folks, I got out my Roman battle gear and put it on. As you can see above, thank goodness I didn't need it.

Today we decided to try and track down the Davis family home, or where it had been in 1861. That is, in fact, why we came to the Middlesbrough area in the first place. Naturally, I had visions of being able to walk right up to the door and look in the window. After all, considering the age of everything in the UK, 147 years is not THAT long ago. And even if the house was a little run down, I thought, I still wanted to savor the craftsmanship of the wonderful brick and stonework, marvel at he intricacies of the wrought iron fencing that surely would still front the sidewalk, and run my fingers over the ancient woodwork of the front door seeking to form a bond with my family long gone.

With those thoughts in mind, we set off after breakfast to find #7 Station Street, Middlesbrough. We're staying in Hartlepool (above photo), of course, which is the closest I could find a suitable B&B back in March, so we had about a thirty-minute drive to reach our sought-after address. I had been smart this morning and looked up the actual postal code for #7 Station Street, so we didn't think a thing about it as the little GPS machine took us up and down and around the industrial section of the city. Finally, we turned onto Station Street and I strained my eyes ahead to try and see the sturdy old residences of all those long-ago iron workers. But only modern buildings met my gaze. Then, as we passed a dilapidated steel warehouse displaying the sign, "Car Washing and Detailing from 3 pounds," the GPS suddenly announced, "now arriving at (postal code) TS11SR on left."

Naturally I jerked to a stop and looked with dismay at the garish steel warehouse only a dozen feet from my driver-side window.

Oh, no, I thought. This can't be. I scanned the building for an actual address, but found none.

"Okay," I said to Concetta, "I have to go inside and find out what the address is here just to be sure. I got out, took a couple of pictures of the structure, then went in search of an employee of the business who might provide me with the desired information."

"Naw, this is number 29, I think," the car wash jockey said. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I turned to leave, but then turned back. "How soon could you do a wash," I asked.

"Now," the jockey said. "Just pull it in."

Our Mini Cooper had suffered much in the last three weeks. For the first ten days of our trip, we had nothing but rain, mud puddles, and flooded highways to contend with. The poor little car looked like it had competed in a south American road rally and lost. "I'll be right back," I told him.

Back at the car, I told Concetta we were going to set off on foot to locate number 7 as I was leaving the car for a bath.

And that's what we did -- for about three minutes. That's how long it took to get to the end of the block, which turned out to be occupied by a couple of other warehouses. They were a bit more upscale than the car wash, but warehouses nonetheless. I stopped a delivery chap about to carry a package into the endmost warehouse which happened to be an auto parts store. "You don't happen to know the address here, do you?" I asked.

"Number one, I believe," he said. He looked at the package he was holding. "Yes, that's it. Number one."

I turned and looked back at the row of warehouses. "But," I said, "I was expecting to see houses here."

"Oh, there were houses here some time back. They've been gone a while, though."

"Did the iron workers live here?" I asked him.

"Yes, that's it. Iron workers. This was all iron workers in here."

So, there you have it. The houses are gone. And there must have been a bunch of them if you figure that between the car wash at #29 and the auto parts store at #1 there couldn't have been more than two hundred lineal feet of frontage, those houses must have been small and crammed in together like so many proverbial sardines in a can.

Thus thwarted, it was on to the next adventure. I have furnished the photo of the warehouses just in case you're longing to see what I saw (warehouse photo with red doors above) but they're a far cry from the Victorian row houses I hoped for.

When we reached the blacksmithing operation we were astounded to see how very, very realistic the old blacksmith shop looked. There were just thousands of smithing tools hanging from every rafter, piled on every workbench, and standing in every corner. Across the shop, a cheery fire glowed in the hearth. Underfoot, a dirt floor (see photo above).

Then, while we watched, a worker grabbed a red-hot piece of iron out of the forge and put it on the stand where the power hammer commenced to deal it one blow after another, only pausing when the smithy took his foot off the pedal. A power hammer is set up to deliver blows to the iron automatically so the smithy doesn't have to do it by hand. In the early days of blacksmithing, power hammers were operated by water power and later by steam. I didn't ask what his more modern hammer was using for power, but it was probably electric or something. Once the pounding ceased, both smithys came over and explained the process to us and told us a little about their lives and about how they came to be blacksmiths. It was just fascinating. I found it especially interesting because one of my Welsh ancestors, great great grandfather, Thomas Rhydderch, was a master blacksmith in Wales in the 1840s or so.

The other demonstration that captured our imagination was the wood shop where they turned out hand-made rocking horses (see surrounding photos).

Now THIS required some real talent. As you can see by the intermediate horse construction and the finished product, these craftsmen are serious artists. While I spent a good half hour talking to Robert (photo left), the wood shop mentor and instructor, about horse construction woods and techniques, Concetta and an even more informative talk with the student holding the unfinished horse. This woman is only one of three women making horses. They got started because the woman's niece was originally making a rocking horse for her grandmother who had told the niece that she had always wanted one and had never been able to have one. Touched by the grandmother's talk of the longed-for horse, the niece began taking classes from this same Robert, the wood shop teacher, and actually began constructing a horse for the grandmother. Unfortunately, the grandmother didn't live to see the horse completed. But ever since these three women, the two sisters and the niece, have been perfecting their rocking horse skills.

And here's the really interesting part: all three women intend to use their rocking horses, once completed, as time capsules. Into these horses they intend to put copies of the family genealogy, and other family records, photographs, and stories for some future descendant to discover. Now that's a story!

After the museum experience, we wandered down to the sea in search of the "Smuggler's Museum" which sounded interesting in the guidebook. However, once there, we discovered that the museum was "closed for the foreseeable future." No doubt the proprietors of the museum had been putting too much of their smuggling expertise into actual practice. But to reward ourselves for finding the location on the beach in Saltburn (photo right), we went into the pub next door and had a bite to eat and a flaggon of ale, as it were. Yes, I'm really getting to like that John Smith ale. I'm just going to track that brew down when I get back home.

After our lunch break, thinking me might be able to cram just one more activity into our day, we next headed for the harbor back in Hartlepool where I had earlier seen a stately three-masted sailing vessel gracing the quay (photo left). Once there, they told us we'd be better off coming back tomorrow as we only had an hour to partake of the nautical diversions available on and around the sailing vessel and it actually took more like three hours. That sounded good to us. We spent a few minutes in the Hartlepool museum located nearby and then came back for a cup of tea, a biscuit, and tales of the Hartlepool area courtesy of our host, Steven. All in all, a very interesting and rewarding day.

I know you've heard us say it before, but today was just about the best day we've had in the United Kingdom. This morning, after a wonderful breakfast at the Rothbury Guest House in seaside Hartlepool, we set our course for the "Hartlepool Marine Experience" just minutes away down the quay. Oh, man, what a great place! We were there all day and I didn't want to leave.

The Marine Experience is in a setting much like what we experienced in Beamish up in Northumberland in the first few days of our vacation. Like Beamish, the Marine Experience has constructed a complete village setting with shops of all descriptions, strolling musicians, and opportunities to talk to docents in period costume. But the best thing we found here was the H.M.S. Trincomalee, a 30-gun frigate built in 1817 of Indian teak and Europe's oldest warship afloat (photo right).

I was just absolutely awestruck with the quality of restoration on the Trincolmalee. Plus, the restorers have provided the highest quality nautical interpretive interior mockups that I have ever seen, bar none. Everything from canons to crew hammocks complete with crew were done to perfection. As you can see from the following photos, the captain was in his cabin, the table was set for the officers, and, though not pictured, the cook was roasting meat on the spit for dinner.

Concetta and I made use of the audio units that tell you all about the ship at the touch of a button. We wandered from stem to stern and back again on all three decks and every conceivable detail was explained in easily understandable language.

We learned that a "little nipper" was the name given to the ship's boy who kept the frayed ends of the halyards and lines trimmed.

We learned that even today we refer to the toilet as the "head" because these deep-water sailors used a space next to the figure head at the head end of the boat as their latrine.

And we learned that the purser was actually referred to as the "Pusser," which explains why the grog served to British sailors up until fairly recently was called, "Pusser's Rum."

The first thing we did when we arrived was attend a presentation given on the "press gangs." The British Navy was never able to attract enough volunteers to fill its many ships of the line, so they had to get creative. Gangs of British sailors would go out into the community whenever they were in port and "press" chaps into coming along with them for a life at sea. Often, they'd single out lone travelers coming home from a night of drinking who weren't quite as quick on their feet as they might have been. These chaps would get a blackjack on the back of the head and would wake the next day to find themselves out at sea. Many never saw their homes and families again.

Our next adventure involved a walk-through, narrated tour through the various decks of a fighting ship (a mockup in the main museum building) which came complete with appropriately-dressed manikins, sound effects, and mood lighting. We learned all about life - and death - on board one of His Majesty's warships as a French frigate closed for battle with our warship.

After all this Hollywood canon fire and hand-to-hand fighting, we decided it was time for tea. We had already learned that a discussion of tea in Britain and a full-fledged afternoon tea was being given in the next building so off we went to participate. As it turned out, we were the only ones to do so, which meant the young lady doing the talk and demonstration had us all to herself. She was charming and told us everything we ever wanted to know about tea and how it became the national drink in the UK. At one time, she told us, British were actually coffee drinkers and only started drinking tea in the 1600s when Portugese traders brought some to the island. Because it was so expensive, the rich people thought it had to be something they should have and viola, when the rich folks did it, everyone wanted to do it.

Part of the reason tea was so expensive is because the British government put a tariff of 190% on the product. This meant, of course, that the poor people just began to smuggle it. The more it was smuggled, the more was available for everyone to drink. Soon, tea was everywhere and had become the post popular drink in Britain.

After the tea drinking, we headed out onto the wharf area to visit the various shops. They had a chandler's shop, a naval gunsmith's, a swordsmith, a printer (I liked that one), a naval tailor, a ship's architect, an instrument maker's shop, and the Admiral's house. Each one of these shops or homes was intricately decorated and "staffed" with appropriately-dressed manikins to give you an exact representation of how things would have looked in the late 1700s, early 1800s. I was just blown away by the attention to detail.

As our last activity of the day, we stayed to watch the 68th Durham Light Infantry Display Team, a red-coat re-inactment group, dazzle us with their close-order drill and weapons handling.

This group is the premier Georgian-period drill team and performs abroad as much as they do at home. I was so enthralled with their uniforms and expertise with their replica "Brown Bess" muskets, that I kept getting too close to the column as they wheeled, kneeled and fired their weapons. Oh, well, at least they weren't using live ammunition - I least I don't think they were.

Tomorrow we're off to Scotland for our last two days adventure before our flight home. Our final days of vacation are growing woefully short, but there's still more fun to come. Stay tuned.

Tonight we're doing something special to commemorate our 31st anniversary: we're spending the night - two, actually - in the "Sinclair Room" of the 15th century Scottish castle, the Borthwick. We just checked in and were shown our room just 74 steps up a stone spiral staircase, or about eighty feet above ground level.

Naturally, I decided right away NOT to carry the luggage up, but chose instead the ever necessary toothbrush and a pair of socks. Right now we're sitting in the great hall with its barrel-vaulted ceiling soaring two stories overhead, a roaring fire just a few feet away in a stone fireplace big enough to roast a whole cow, and the lilting strains of classical music emanating from some unseen chamber behind us. Another couple here celebrating their 25th anniversary is keeping us company.

Interestingly enough, though we reserved the Sinclair room back in March, this couple are of the Sinclair family themselves and tried to get the room when they registered only to find it taken. In case you're wondering, I offered to trade rooms but the husband declined. Their room, he said, is, after all, a couple of dozen spiral steps closer to the ground floor than ours. LOL.

Outside the warmth of our cozy castle, it's raining again. Big surprise there. I don't know if it's been raining in Scotland continuously since we left, but I wouldn't be surprised. It's a wonder the country doesn't look like the Florida everglades. Still, the drive out from Hartlepool today was absolutely spectacular. So much greenery. So many picturesque stone cottages, barns, and boundary fences, that I found it difficult to keep my eyes on the road. Scotland (and, to be fair, much of northern Wales) is definitely the most beautiful place on planet earth we've ever seen

Since we spent much of the day on the road, we didn't take many photos. However, we did stop in Durham to visit the 11th century cathedral there (photo right), something which our Hartlepool hosts had enthusiastically recommended. Our hosts, Gillian and Stephen also asked us to stop, while we were in Durham, and check out their old house.

Thanks to the magic of GPS, that should have been easy enough. However, when the GPS said, now arriving at (postal code) XXXXXX, we were motoring by the back fence of a housing tract.

When we finally gave up (we had been looking for a house number that was actually a highway route number we found out later) we were just about to put in the coordinate for the Durham cathedral when a woman approached the car window and motioned for us to roll it down. The following is typical of the friendly folks we found at every town and village throughout the UK:

"Can I help you find something," the woman said.

"Oh, well, we were just looking for a house here," Concetta said.

"Do you know the number?" she asked

I pointed to the notebook page that contained the highway number that we thought was a house number. "One-seven-seven," I said.

She looked perplexed. "Whose house is it?"

"Well," I said, really starting to feel a little silly, "it was the folks whose guest house we stayed in down in Hartlepool."

"Yes," Concetta said, "and they just asked us to come by and see their old house."

"Was his name Stephen," she asked. "Gillian and Stephen?"

"That's them," Concetta and I chorused together."

"Well, I know them very well," the woman said. "My name's Lorraine. We're friends. They lived just around the corner there."

And that's how the Davis' luck usually runs. Right out of the blue pops up a messenger from my guardian angel to make sure I don't make too many mistakes. After our chat, Lorraine showed us just where Stephen and Gillian's house was and we dutifully took a picture to email them.

We gave Lorraine a cheerful "toot" on the horn as we sailed past her a few moments later on our way to Durham. Another friend made by strangers in a strange land.

On the road today between Hartlepool and Edinburgh I finally got to do something I've been wanting to do for the entire trip: take a picture of the hay rolls. Unlike the usual rectangular baled hay that you see in the fields in America, what you see most often here in the United Kingdom is hay rolls. From a distance they look much like playthings carelessly tossed aside by some colossal child, or maybe pieces of ancient, honey-colored Greek columns scattered in the wake of the invading barbarians.

So far, I've just never come upon them when I think they look particularly photogenic - until today. Today I managed to capture a field with the sun and shadows just right. The effect was positively stunning. What do you think?

They turn out to be Americans, natives of the mid-west but now retired residents of Hawaii. These two people were actually married here at the castle many years ago and have been coming back here every year for the past twenty years, not necessarily on their anniversary, but just to keep the connection alive. A lively discussion soon ensues about World War II, the economy, and all the places the three couples been that might warrant consideration by the others. Pretty interesting. You can tell these new arrivals have been here a lot because they got the ground floor suite next to the great room and don't have any spiral stairs to navigate with their luggage. I'm jealous.

The first couple, Gordon and Joana, hale from Oxford. He's in sales, I think, and she's in counseling. Both are very interesting folks. The wife, Joana (pronouced like the guy who got swallowed by the whale) is a huge fan of archaeology, so you can probably guess what Concetta and she talked about. As it turns out, Joana was born in the same town of Corbridge, Northumberland, where Concetta and I visited early in our trip. My ancestor, Paul Brown, lived there for a time and fathered several children there. Joana is so enthusiastic about archaeology, that she actually has volunteered at the Vindolanda site that Concetta and I explored during our stay in Hexham. What an Incredible set of coincidences! If I didn't know better, I'd say they were probably CIA operatives sent to gain our confidence and lure us into spying for them. So, if you don't hear from us in a timely fashion, it's because we've gone off to Istanbul to smuggle out a microchip or something.

The internet here is password protected but the night manager hasn't a clue what the password is. So, I can only post this in the morning when the day manager arrives. For those of you who read the blog with your morning coffee, I hope I get it to you in time.

If we had this to do over, we'd probably be just a bit more careful about lining up B&Bs, however, on the whole, they were great. Some, like the Dene Guest House in Hexham were very fine. Others, like the Rhymney House were a little more rustic. Don't get me wrong, everyone at every place we stayed couldn't do enough for us. The innkeepers always went way out of their way to make sure our every desire was met if possible. Two guest houses, the Rhymney House in southeastern Wales and The Pingles north of London even consented to do our laundry, which was crucial. To them I say, thanks so very much.

In the end we certainly saw all the castles, museums, and Roman forts that a person would ever want to see in one lifetime. We literally haunted the bronze and iron age archaeological sites, stately manor homes, and any garden we could find.

So, we're winding down our trip beneath the golden arches. Tomorrow about mid-day we should be winging our way over the north Atlantic towards JFK airport in New York. We have new reading books, a great set of headphones, and, with any luck, we won't be seated next to the screaming baby.

England, Scotland, and Wales have been a grand adventure, even counting the rain, which for some reason has just stopped outside our window and the sun is out. They will probably declare a holiday here in Edinburgh.

We saw so many things that it will inevitably be melded together over time. I think the blog goes a long way from letting that happen. Overall, we wouldn't have missed a single one. It was a grand experience that we can't wait to repeat in a different part of the world, maybe Italy and Greece next time.

We'll try and get online at the airport if possible. But if not, this will be our last blog entry for now. To all those who have faithfully followed our various exploits, especially to those who wrote such kind comments via email, we say thanks for coming along on our grand adventure.

Ciao Tutti!!!