I meant to write this trip report much sooner than this, like maybe at least in the year that I took the trip. But recently I saw that I am not the tardiest TTOL’er so I decided to get on with it now.
Be forewarned that there is quite a lot of emphasis on food in this report. So much so that when I got back home, after 12 days away, I went straight to Dr. Bernstein and signed up! Such is the nature of a trip “over ‘ome” to see my relatives.
Early in April 2009 we got word here that one of my aunt’s had passed away. We also heard that the husband of another aunt was quite ill. Rather sad reasons for planning a trip but I decided to go, as no one else from the family here in Canada could go. After I explained to my husband that there would be lots of time spent sitting drinking tea and chatting with older family members, he decided I should go alone. No problem.
Monday: After flying overnight from Toronto I arrived on Monday morning at Heathrow. All of the relatives I expected to see were 75 years of age or older and none of them live near London or were able to meet me at the airport. Also, it seemed, none of them ever went anywhere near London and so had no idea how I could get from there to them in a very small town called Wimbotsham in Norfolk. I had checked out The London Toolkit site online (
www.londontoolkit.com), to figure out how to do this. For those of you who like to travel by train, bus and/or the London underground, this is an amazing site.
Found my way easily though the airport to the express train to Paddington Station. At Paddington, I had to get onto the Underground proper and needed a ticket. Everything is automated, even the ticket purchase. I asked a uniformed London Underground staffer – lots of these folks around, very pleasant and very helpful – what to do. He directed me to a machine, told me to just touch the screen for where I wanted to go. At first, I couldn’t find it but was aware of a line up of harried Londoners who were waiting behind me. So I went back to Underground worker for more help. He explained how the screens and zones worked so off I went to the machine again. This time, I successfully purchased my ticket. Back I went to the helpful Undergrounder – by now, we’re BFF’s - for direction to my platform. I’m heading to King’s Cross Station, to catch a train to Norfolk.
At King’s Cross, I found the train I needed but had time to spare. At this station, they have showers and change rooms for weary travellers. Normally you pay 50P to get into them but a very nice man said he would let me in for free. Gosh, how bad do I look? I decide to put in my contact lenses so I can actually see where I’m going. I looked for food but didn’t like what I saw on offer in the station. I was told there would be food for sale on the train. Wrong. Nothing to eat. Other people pile on, carrying the foodstuffs I’d turned my nose up at. Feeling quite hungry by the time the train left, I existed on a package of cough drops until I reached my stop at Downham Market.
Starving when I arrived, I decided I could not go to the home of my deceased aunt and immediately demand to be fed by her partner. So I stopped in at a small shop at the station, had a can of ginger beer and a sausage roll. Fabulous, or so it seemed.
I took a taxi to Wimbotsham, where I would be staying for the rest of the week. Now, I
had this idea that while I was there I would contribute to food and drink for all who might drop by. I had imagined ordering in pizza or chicken or Chinese food. Wrong. Very, very wrong. Wimbotsham has a population of about 600 people, give or take. It has one church, one school, one shop and one pub. Even the Post Office had pulled up stakes and left just before I got there. Not a pizza place or Chinese buffet in site. I’ll have to rethink this.
In Wimbotsham, at my aunt’s home, I was met by my aunt’s partner, who I shall refer to as Aunty Em, a delightful lady who had lived with my aunt for more than 50 years. They had shared a tiny bungalow with a fabulous garden in Wimbotsham since they had both retired some twenty years earlier. I was immediately given tea and biscuits. Later my uncle, my mother’s only brother, and a cousin of my mother’s arrived. We would all be staying for the week. I was given a bed in the dining room that had been made over as a bedroom. Everyone apologized for the narrowness of the bed - only 24 inches wide. Good thing I’m not a fidgety sleeper.
At around 6:00 p.m. Aunty Em announced it was time for tea. This meal consisted of sliced ham and chicken, potato and carrot salads, lettuce and tomatoes, hard boiled eggs, cheese and a huge plate of bread and butter. This was followed by a raspberry sponge cake which was cut into 4. “Do you want some cream poured over that?” I was asked. Sure, why not? “Oh, and you must have a glass of wine.” From near starvation to being absolutely stuffed in one day.
Tuesday: Early in the morning, the cousin tapped on by bedroom door and brought me a cup of tea. I have not experienced that since I left home to get married more than 30 years ago. I nearly cried. So lovely.
After breakfast, we made plans for the day. Several places were mentioned but all were rejected as there was no where to eat at any of them. Finally we decided to go to Sandringham as, I was assured, we could get a meal there. But first, let’s have coffee before we go.
Sandringham was gorgeous. We toured the grounds which were covered in bluebells and daffodils. Then we toured inside the house. The Queen not there but we were told she could arrive unannounced and often did. If that happened we would all have to clear out of her living quarters and damn quickly, too.
We had lunch in a restaurant on the grounds there. I had a quiche and salad, while everyone else had steak and kidney pie. I made a mental note to eat the “local” food and give up any ideas of watching my weight. After lunch, we drove back to Downham Market to finalize funeral flowers. Aunty Em had wanted lily of the valley in the casket spray but was waiting for it to come into bloom in her own garden. Her blooms were not quite perfect yet and so, we all trooped next door and picked great bunches of it from the neighbour who told us to take a much as we needed. We took it with us to the local flower shop. Then: “How about tea?" I was asked. You mean a cup of tea? Yes and maybe a bite to eat. We stopped at a small tea shop, where I ordered tea and gave in to the suggestion that I try one their shortbread cookies which was the size of a dinner plate. Right, I’m done eating for the day. Back in Wimbotsham, we sat out in the garden for a bit before being called in for tea. A cup of tea, right? Nooo – we still have ham and chicken and salad and cheese and bread and butter and wine, plenty of wine. Oh, and a neighbour up the road dropped off a cake for us, her specialty – an orange sponge cake. Thankfully, it was quite obvious that it was a mite too big to be cut into 4 so we only ate half of it. I rolled across the hall and into my narrow bed.
Wednesday: This was the day of the funeral which was very nice, as funeral’s go, and well attended by friends, neighbours and all the ladies who had been caring for my aunt during her illness.
The funeral was followed by a get-together at the (one and only) pub. Instructions had been given to put on a good spread. My uncle was very concerned that there might not be enough food. For whom? I thought, looking at the buffet - the entire British army? Chicken legs and pork pies and spring rolls and shrimp and breaded scallops and cheese and veggies with dip and devilled eggs and salads and after that I stopped looking. And did I want a real drink? If I did, there was no shortage of offers to go and get it from the bar for me. Later, cakes and tarts and biscuits and fruit were brought out and tea and coffee and no thanks, I don’t need a ride back to the house. I think I’ll walk. I did, with a number of others who also thought that a walk would do them good.
Back at the house, around 6:00 p.m. I was asked if I wanted tea. I was getting wise to this by now. A cup of tea, yes? Not on your life! We’ve still got ham and now some pork pies and salad and devilled eggs and a huge plate of bread and butter and oh, yes, half a cake from yesterday. “Do you want wine with that?”
Thursday: This would have been my late aunt’s birthday and the plan, prior to her passing, was to go out for lunch at a pub in a town called Colkirk. There would be no change in plans, we were still going. But let’s just have coffee before we leave.
Lunch was at the Crown in Colkirk, a Greene King pub, advertising home-cooked food. Before lunch we all had a drink in the bar, a toast to my aunt in which, very respectfully I thought, everyone in the pub took part, even the barman.
Now determined to eat only traditional English, I order the fish and chips. Heavenly. Thin crispy batter, really fresh fish and big fat chips. I followed this with treacle tart with custard sauce. I vow to eat nothing more for the rest of the day.
We drove home via Blakeney, a pretty town on the marshes close to the North Sea, where all the houses are faced with rocks the size of potatoes. Quite attractive. There we browsed through shops, including one that sold very inexpensive but unique leather goods. I found a small leather back pack for my husband. We had ice cream which I foolishly thought might replace tea on the way home. Nope. Once again, we stopped for tea and a bite to eat – but I passed on the bite to eat this time.
And back in Wimbotsham, as the clock struck six, out came the bread and butter and cheese and hard-boiled eggs and ham and you get the picture. “How about a glass of wine, Love?”
Side note: It struck me that the English are very fond of their dogs and take them everywhere. Even at Sandringham, there is a place where folks can eat outside, with dogs at their feet and large grassy leash-free area so they run around. Very civilized. I found the same thing at Blakeney. There, folks were sitting in a sort of car park by the river, eating fish and chips and ice cream with dogs all over the place.
Friday: Today, it was decided, we would go and have lunch at another pub, this one in a place called Foldgate. I had the steak and mushroom pie but passed on dessert, feeling very pleased at having regained my willpower. Later we toured the West Acre nursery (garden centre) and stopped in the delightful village of Castle Acre. There, after touring the church, we had tea. Some of us had toasted tea cakes with tea. I knocked off a piece of chocolate sponge cake as big as a traffic pylon.
Back in Wimbotsham, six o’clock comes around and we’re still working on that ham and bread and butter and cheese and salad and oh, look, one of the neighbours has dropped off a pie for us. “Just cut it into four, will you, Love?” And “Do you want ice cream with that? No? I’ve got double cream here if you prefer that. And do have a glass of wine.” Someone mentions that we’re out of wine but there are several bottles of sherry that we can work on and do, for the rest of the evening. That narrow bed is getting narrower and narrower every night.
Saturday: Today we are leaving Wimbotsham and will travel to Walsall, which is in the Midlands, not far from Birmingham. We leave just after coffee in the morning and stop in a delightful place called Oundle for lunch. Oundle is one of those places in England in which the locals are fighting tooth and nail to retain their heritage and small town atmosphere. We wander around a bit, checking out lovely shops, then stop at the main hotel for lunch. I order bangers and mash for lunch but notice that now I’m the only one of the three of us ordering English food. The others are ordering mushroom lasagne and truffle omelettes. Now I’m getting fat and confused.
After a fairly long drive on what seems to be the wrong side of the motorway, we arrive in Walsall at my uncle’s house. He’s been away for the better part of the week and is concerned about what we will have for tea. Not to worry, friendly neighbours have brought over a few things for us to eat. Thankfully, the bed here is a bit wider than the previous one.
Sunday: We take a drive to the town of Lichfield and have lunch in a small restaurant near the church. We also had coffee in the morning and a stop for tea and toasted tea cakes on the way back and, yes, we stopped at the Mark’s and Spencer’s Food Shoppe and picked up pork pies and salads for tea and custard for dessert. We did, however, hike up the Barr Beacon, which, I assured myself, worked of a zillion calories. Or maybe not.
Monday: We are travelling down to Ringwood, to visit the uncle who is ill. This is the only day on which we had rain during the entire trip. It is unfortunate, as we are driving down through the Cotswolds, some of the most beautiful scenery in England. We are also stopping for morning coffee and then for lunch. Lunch is taken at Polly’s Tea shop in Marlborough. Again, this is a beautiful old English town in which the locals are working very hard to maintain the old architecture and history. I am working hard to cut back on my eating and opt for just fish and chips. No dessert there, but Miss Polly has a wonderful selection of desserts to take away, so we pick some up to take with us to Ringwood.
Arrived at the home of the uncle, we find him in a very bad way with the visiting nurse there and the social worker just arriving. We leave to go and check into a Travelodge near the motorway, the closest place to this aunt and uncle. We promise to come back later. Not wanting to put anyone to the trouble of having to entertain us, my uncle and I eat at the Little Chef at the Travelodge. However, when we went back to visit the ailing uncle, the aunt tells us she has made “tea” for us. Lord, please let it be just a cup of tea. No, toast and marmite and chicken and potato salad and green salad and bread and butter and “Ooh, what a Godsend! You brought cakes for dessert. Do you want a drink?”
Tuesday: After checking in with the aunt and uncle, we head into Wimborne. There, for lunch, I actually managed to just have a sandwich. We tour Wimborne Minster, a beautiful old church, and explore the small streets of the town. We have been asked to bring some items back and are looking for grocery store. We ask a lady, who is laden with shopping bags from Somerfield’s, where we might find that store. I will go alone while my uncle, who is looking a bit tired, goes back to the car. The lady points behind her and tells us it is about 100 yards that way. Well, technically that was correct, it was only a short distance but it was on the other side of a small river. In trying to get to the store, I found a car park that I thought belonged to the store, walked through it and found myself on the bank of the river. It was too deep to wade through. I walked back and snuck into someone’s garden, thinking they might have handy bridge to enable them to get their own groceries. No such luck. I saw a small boat tied up a short way upstream and contemplated stealing it for a few minutes but finally found a bridge.
Back in Ringwood, we tell the aunt that we would not stay for “tea” as she had enough to do. Not a problem, she said, as all the neighbours now knew that she had company and had brought in all kinds of food. We really couldn’t say “No”. Her husband was finally asleep, with the help of medication from the visiting nurse and clearly my aunt wanted company. We stayed quite late, while she went through boxes of old photographs of her and her husband. She told us a lovely story about how he had been away in the army during the war. He had been in the Far East and came home to marry her when the war ended. In the army, he had been given chits to buy cigarettes. Instead of buying cigarettes he exchanged the chits for cash which he saved until the end of the war. Then he spent the money to buy yards and yards of white silk, which he bought home to her, to have made into her wedding gown. She showed us her wedding picture and I cried. Couldn’t help it. They had been married for more than 60 years and had never spent even one night away from each other. He passed away early the next morning.
I flew home the next day. Despite the sad events, it was a very good trip with some fine memories and a lot of extra pounds, not of the Sterling variety.
