Wedding at Hitcham, Runneymeade and Poulton Park

Paula and Steve

Shopping in Slough

On Saturday morning we went into Slough, which is a town of some size and had a large shopping mall. While it's not one of those picture postcard places it looks like it would be a pretty nice place to live. It's certainly been around long enough.The first recorded instance of the area was in 1196. The name at that time was written Slo. In 1336 was also recorded as Sloo. There doesn't seem to have been much of a push to preserve any historical buildings like you see in other communities. Slough seems to be pretty firmly grounded in the present.

 The reason for our visit here was that Jenny had informed me that I needed a hat! It has been at least 30 years since I've had to wear a hat and I want you all to know I looked bloody stupid in it. Jenny said that if I didn't include the fact that I moaned all day about it she was going to go into my computer, steal your e-mail addresses and tell you all herself. I told her when we bought it that she better become fond of it because I wasn't taking the stupid thing home.

All Saint's Church, Hitcham

 The wedding of Bob's cousin was held in a wonderful small 12th century church in Hitcham. I picked up a brochure by the door and it said that the first recorded Rector of St. Mary's Church was John the Clerk who came to the parish in 1167, when Henry II, great-grandson of William the Conqueror was King of England. I was so impressed with the church that I have only a vague recolection of the ceremony. In the Nave of the church were six long ropes hanging down from the bell tower. Each one was pulled by a bell ringer person so the wedding was announced to a regular cacophony of bells. (I have always liked that word and am very pleased to have such an appropriate place to be able to use it.

 There were inscriptions and memorials all along the walls of the church but one in particular caught our eye. Apparently in years past, if you were prominent enough you got to be buried inside the church instead of out in the churchyard with everyone else. The inscription reads:

Underneath Lie the remains of George Crookshank, Esq. Formerly a merchant of Amstead(?) who by uncommon abilities and indefatigable application acquired ample fortune with the strictest integrity and honor; employed in constant acts of charity generosity most agreeable to his nature. No men ever possessed a greater share of natural talents, and none (in busy life as his was) ever improved them with more acquired endowments which were aided by such a perspicuity of judgement and of reasoning on all subjects, as convinced and delighted all who conversed with him. Superior to every interested consideration all the actions of his life discovered the most enlarged and benevolent mind in fine, the greatness of his capacity was equaled only by the goodness of his disposition Finetta his wife (one of the daughters of Henry Pye late of Farringdon house in the county of Berks esquire, by Anne sister of Allen Lord Bathhurst) who possessed his most tender affection returned the same particularly by a faithful and constant attention to him during a tedious illness, which alas! being ineffectual to preserve him longer in life, she hath erected this monument of her affection for him in death. he dyed September 10th 1765 aged 50 years. 

The very spot?
Where the Magna Carta was signed

 On Sunday, the day following the wedding we got up early and drove out to Runneymeade, the site of the signing of the Magna Carta. Runneymeade is now just a meadow where hay is grown. The actual place where it was signed (how do they know where is actual spot was, I ask myself?) is about a quarter of a mile from road, up the hill, through the wet grass. We settled for tea in the nearby tea room and purchased a copy of the document. The interesting thing that happened while we were walking along the road to get a camera shot of the monument, was a glimpse of the Queen as she sped by in her ugly black limo.

 This being Father's Day Bob's Father was guest of honor at lunch. We then went to what I thought was a marvelous old country inn called the Fox and Pheasant. While I was sitting there being impressed with the inn, Jennifer informed me that it was fake, having been built only a couple of years ago. Spoilsport!

After lunch we hit the road again and Fareham, right outside Portsmouth to visit with Granddaughter Joanne and family. She has two darling children so I got to play G-Grandma and enjoyed it thoroughly. We had originally intended to spend Monday on the Isle of Wight but altered our plans and went to Paulton Park which was a much more pleasant day out for the children. Paulton Park is sort of a Zoo/Kiddie Theme Park/Botanical Garden kind of place. The kids had a blast, Jade, my five year old G-Granddaughter managed to con the assorted parents, grandparents and even the great grand parent into riding the log flume with her for a cumulative total of 12 times. Here she is on the right dressed in her Granddad's jacket, hat and sunglasses trying to warm up.

Road Trip from Helensburgh, Scotland to Maidenhead, England

We left Helensburgh around 10 a.m. and headed south on the M74/A74 and then joined the M6 below Birmingham. I found the journey very interesting because I think the British countryside is so beautiful. The most notable thing was the price of gasoline. MY GOODNESS!!! We stopped at the services near Gretna and gasoline was selling for 75p, 79p and 81p per liter. With help from Bob I did a little math and figured out the price per U.S. gallon in U.S. dollars. Bob's cell phone doubles as a calculator so we used it to do the conversion. We put 33.5 liters of gas in the car @75p per liter and paid a total of 24.87 pounds. Bob was the clever one who knew that there are 4.5 liters in an imperial gallon and 3.56 liters in a US gallon. Using the 3.56 liter figure @75p and using $1.66 as the exchange rate, we came up with a whopping $4.40 per gallon. I'll tell you this figure had me gasping for breath for a mile or two. Now if anyone wants to do the math for themselves and comes out with a different answer, remember we did the math while zipping down the motor way punching numbers into a cell phone.

I have been up and down the A74/M6 so many times that I ought to have every mile of it memorized. I always enjoy the drive, and I always see something new. One of these days I am going to spend some time in the borders area of Scotland. As you near the border of England, you pass the sign for the exit to Lockerbie, the site of the Pan Am bombing. I always get a lump in my throat as we pass. The start of the Cheviot Hills are off to the left, and The Pennine Way, a lovely hiking trail is also over in that direction somewhere.

Anyone familiar with regency romance novels knows all about Gretna Green. It was the Las Vegas of it's time. Gretna Green is one of the world's most famous wedding venues, conjuring up stories of romance, scandals, and illicit trysts. For 250 years, couples have traveled to Gretna Green, where they can get married with no waiting period under Scotland's lenient marriage laws. Traditionally, in Scotland, a man and woman over the age of sixteen could be married by declaring themselves husband and wife in front of witnesses. In England, such marriages were prohibited by an Act of Parliament passed in 1745. As a result eloping couples began to flee to Scotland for their marriages. Gretna Green remains a popular place to get married today. More than 4,000 couples marry in Gretna Green annually - about 13 percent of all weddings performed in Scotland. I looked it up on the internet.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Driving down the motorway at the speed Jenny drives is not the most exciting way to see England, unless like me you think that traveling at 90 miles an hours is exciting. Our pace was considerably slowed when we reached Manchester at rush hour. What a traffic nightmare that city is at 4 p.m. in the afternoon. But as soon as we got around the city it was back to 90 miles an hour. I had to look very quickly at the passing scenery or miss it entirely.

Once we left the M6 at High Wycomb and got onto the secondary roads this trip became much more enjoyable. This is such a pretty part of England. One of the first villages we went through was Marlow, which has a reputation as being the prettiest village of the many that are scattered along the banks of the Thames River. We crossed a lovely old suspension bridge, where they were preparing for a Regatta the next day. If I had to choose the lovliest villiage of all the ones we zipped through in that area I guess I would have to pick Marlow. When I checked out Marlow on the internet I discovered that it was the village where the Shelley's lived when they returned to England from the continent in 1817, and that most of Frankenstein was written there. I did purchase a post card which I have scanned to show a little of how lovely the village is.

After 10 very long hours we arrived at our destination. We got lost trying to find Dorney where Bob's father lives and where were supposed to stop first. I rather enjoy being lost as I get to see unexpected place. Over the next 36 hours we went so many places that all the little villages melted into one another, so that after a while my head was spinning. We passed through Eton, where the famous Eton Public School for boys is located. You could see Windsor Castle across the bridge from Eton but we avoided Windsor because of the royal wedding of Prince Edward..

The B&B I stayed in was in Maidenhead. The hotel is typical of the B&B's you's stay in if, like I was, you were traveling on the cheap.  It was, clean and not quite convenient. There was no shower, only a bath. I was instructed by the manager that you could only run the hot or the cold water, not both at the same time. I think it had something to do with water pressure. On the other hand, the bed was comfortable and the breakfast served in the morning was delicious. The first morning I shared the dining room with a group of very interesting ladies who "worked the tote at Ascot." They were the people who worked in the betting windows. Royal Ascot was going on right down the road.

West Highland Line, Helensburgh and Back Again

Helensburgh to Glenfinnin, June 15, 1999

Upper Helensburgh Train Station

My journey began at the Upper Helensburgh train stop. Helensburgh has a proper train station know as Helensburgh Central which is located down in the middle of the town. Helensburgh Upper is really just a train stop located about 10 blocks up the hill. It's a lovely little train stop situated between two embankments that are covered on both sides by wild Rhodendrum bushes. The bushes are in full bloom at this time of year so my brief wait for the train was very pleasant. The day was warm and sunny and two rooks carrying on a noisy conversation in a nearby tree provided the entertainment.  Sadly this station is no longer in use and I was too enamored with my surroundings to take a picture of it at the time.  I bagged this photo off wikipedia to show how it looked at the time of this journal entry.

Rannoch Moor from back of train

The trip from Helensburgh to Malig takes four ½ hours. I have taken this trip in the past and was totally unimpressed with Malig. It's a very small fishing port and it smells distinctly "fishy." Unless you live there, as far as I can tell the only reason for going there is that it is the end of the line of what the National Geographic Society has designated one of the Great Train Trips of the World, and it is a connection point for a ferry that runs between Malig and Skye. So, having no great desire to be stuck for a couple of hours in a fishy smelling town I decided to detrain (is that a word?) at Glen Finnan, four stops before Malig. Glen Finnan was the landing place of the Bonny Prince in 1745 for his ill-fated campaign to regain the throne for the Stuarts. According to the brochure, there is a Monument, a Visitors Center, a restaurant, and a Train Museum. More about this later.

The train arrived and off we started. The first stop was Garelochhead, at the head of Loch Long. A group of 10 year old school children heading out on a field trip got on our coach. At first it looked like there were at least 100 of them but after counting heads there turned out to be only 23. They were very good actually, the only stir they caused was when a few minutes after they got on, all three of the accompanying teachers suddenly leapt up out of their seats and started saying "no, no, it's not time for that yet." It seems that just about every one of them had gotten their packed lunches out and were starting to chow down. It was 9:30 a.m.! The only other excitement they caused was a burping contest between most of the boys and a couple of the girls. The teachers put an end to that as well.

There was a group of young people on our coach who were going Monro Bagging. According to my informant, one of the young lady Monro Baggers, there are 280 mountains in Scotland that are between 3,000 and 5,000 feet high. These are known collectively as The Monro's. Climbing them is called Bagging. Monro Bagging is a very "in" thing for sports minded young people and discussing how many Monro's you have bagged, which ones, and in what kind of weather is a subject of many discussions in local pubs. The picture on the right is my Grandson Matthew on Ben Nevis that I took in 1995, but we were not Monro Bagging. We had cheated and taken the ski lift to the summit, but he is representative of what the kids on the train were dressed like with the exception of his shoes. The shoes he wore on that trip had to be seen to be believed.

photo bagged from Wikipedia

The scenery on this trip is absolutely breathtaking. The picture on the left is the Glenn Finnin Viaduct which is featured in the Harry Potter films. If I remember correctly, they fly over it in the car chasing the train in The Chamber of Secrets. I did not have my handy digital camera at the time I made these trips so the quality of my pictures is going to be pretty hit and miss. They are a collection of the ones I took with my cheap Wal Mart camera and pictures that I had taken years before on previous trips.
The next stop on the line was Arrochar at which point the track began to follow along Loch Lomand, one of the prettiest loch's in Scotland. After leaving Loch Lomand, the next stop was Ardlui. At that point the train started to seriously climb. You could plainly hear the engines going into a strain. Up too now masses of purple Rhodendrum grew wild along the tracks. After we started to leave sea level and start up into the highlands the Rhodendrum gradually thinned out and was replaced by Gorse, which is also in full bloom (bright yellow) this time of year. After Ardlui I began to see a lot of snow splotched "Monros."

I'm not going to go into detail over every stop on the way but it's truly a lovely trip. All of the small stations are so picturesque. The station at Rannoch Moor is the setting for the train station at Hogwarts in the Harry Potter films. Besides being spotlessly maintained, they all have hanging plants from the eves of the building, tubs of flowers on the station platform and flower beds wherever one can be fitted in. Sadly the trains themselves are not so well maintained, but then I imagine they get a lot of wear and tear. At that point the train started across Rannoch Moor. Rannoch Moor reminds me of something left over from the Ice Age. It's so desolate looking that it's beautiful in it's own way.
After we left Ft. William the train ran along the banks of Loch Eil. You could see ski lifts here and there on the sides of the mountains and there was an interesting looking Outward Bound Camp in Corpach. Lots of Kyacks (?) stacked around.

On the left is a picture of the Station at Glen Finnan. I just love these small Highland train stations. Glen Finnan was not exactly what I expected but I'm glad I went there anyway. It only took about two minutes to realize that this place was not your average tourist destination. Everywhere I went they acted so surprised to see me. The "Train Museum" was an effort by the local town council to preserve some of the railway history and was small, musty and charming. There was no admission charge, donation accepted. I'm afraid I was charmed into leaving a much larger donation than I normally would have done had this been some "professional" undertaking.

Excellent Food!

It was 12:30 p.m.. when I arrived so I though I would have lunch before I tackled the Monument and Visitors Center, which according to the Scot Rail Brochure was only a 10 minute walk from the station. The restaurant was a converted dining car, very clean, smelled heavenly, and was empty. The lady who was cook, waitress, cashier and probably dishwasher and janitor as well acted pleased, but very surprised to see me. I ordered the soup. One can NEVER go wrong ordering soup in the Scottish Highlands. The lady apologized and said that the soup wasn't done yet. (12:30 p.m.?) But informed me that the scones were fresh, so I ordered a scone. This was a melt-in-your-mouth scone, the size of a saucer, served with real butter, homemade apricot jam and a pot of delicious tea. Unfortunately they were "just out" of napkins. I licked my fingers, happily paid the lady the two pounds she asked and set off down the hill for the ten minute walk to the visitor’s center. They LIED folks. It was at least a mile down there, and a steep mile down at that.

The Monument and Visitors Center was very interesting and well worth the long walk down the hill. I did not climb the monument, as I gave up climbing monuments about 10 years ago. The entire time I couldn’t stop thinking about that mile, straight up, to the train station. I made it however, huffing and puffing all the way. By the time I got back to the restaurant the soup was done and well worth the wait. It turned out to be Creme of Carrot and Onion, served with home made bread. Yum.

The journey back was a replay of the trip up. I sat on the other side of the coach this time so that I could get a different perspective. The school kids got back on at Corpach but they were all tired and a little more subdued than they were in the morning. I'll bet those teachers were totally whacked when they got home. I certainly was.