After some research I think musicians are chosen by their instrument and there are some people out there that concur with me (or I with them). An instrument has a personality - some are harder to learn, some squeak when played by a beginnier, others reward the player for their perseverance. If you are keen to learn quickly then trumpets and cornets are great, but if you are one of those diligent ones that take the time to practice and perfect the sax could be the answer. Some people just don't have the patience for frustrating weeks of squawking (or perhaps those who cohabit with the musician do not) while others have that much admired quality 'patience'. Apparently the squawking, squeaking, squealing and scratching can be quite demotivating to learners and listeners. So matching the personality of the player with the personality of the instrument sounds really important to me. With those musings we can now go to see a band and think now you are a guitarist because you have great perseverance to go through the pain of developing hardened fingers, and you are a saxophonist because you like to practice and perfect and don't mind the awful sounds of a 'mistake'. We could just go on for ever.
On the Friday we drove up to just north of Birmingham and then Saturday morning the rest of the way to Lancaster. We weren't quite sure what we would strike, traffic wise and weather wise, as there has been some disastrous flooding in the Lake District just north of Lancaster - we were planning a day trip to what all people who live here say 'is lovely' but we didn't as the '1 in a 1000 year flood' had just happened and more rain fell in the 24 hours than ever before playing havoc with the roads, bridges, houses and shops. It is sad because some of the towns like Cockermouth had suffered from floods a few years ago and there had been lots of money spent to fortify them against a '1 in 100 year flood'. There are heroic stories of people being rescued and their dogs and cats and the sad story of a policeman drowning after a bridge was washed away (this was a big concrete bridge). We heard from the receptionist at our hotel that workers at the Travelodge in Cumbria had been stranded for 3 days - I guess they at least had a bed to sleep in but that probably wasn't much of a consolation!! The clean up is now beginning but there must be lots of concern up there as lots of the houses are terraced granite and pretty old to stand up to that sort of flood. So, we looked over to the hills of Cumbria from Morecambe hoping that the raining would lighten up over there giving some respite to the residents and knowing we would go to the Lake District another time - perhaps in summer we'll visit what is already officially known as 'the wettest place in Britain'. Morecambe is a seaside village a bit like lots of others. Not a lot to see except the walk along the promenade and on the beach was just what we needed after the long trip in the car. The tide was just coming in so there was the sea lapping up to mud flats with the reeds providing a little fence around each boat. Morecambe is home to Eric Morecambe (of Morecambe and Wise fame), but the town was not named after his family - it was the other way round. We also drove through Heysham "home to some charming 17th Century cottages and Barns" and famous for its non-alcoholic nettle beer (which we didn't try). But just over the hill from this little village were two rather large number nuclear power stations - they've been generating nuclear power for more than 25 years - kind of spoilt the 17th century village somehow.
And then on to Lancaster - we visited Williamson Park once a stone quarry - but a great way to clean up the environment once the quarrying had been done. Williamson was a linoleum manufacturer who gave the Park (or the quarry not sure) to Lancaster. On the top of the park is the Ashton Memorial (another memorial built for someone's wife)which we climbed to as it was getting quite dark (it was only 4.00 - gates closed at dusk but we worked out we could climb over a garden to get out if we left the car outside). We just missed climbing the steps to the top - but we continue to forget the as the nights draw in everything closes down. We also wandered around Lancaster Castle which over looks the city as most castles do. This one is now a low security prison but we were able to wander around some of the earlier parts of the castle including the magnificent court rooms (only magnificent if you weren't being tried I guess), as well as being told all about the family shields -one of the best collections in England we were told -you can tell what each family did from their shield - now to pass the time while listening attentively to the guide I wondered what would be on my shield - I can have four different pictures at the most and so I thought I could have on my shield a kiwi, silver fern, two children and a beach with hills in the background. Maybe I should design one to hang on a castle wall somewhere (yeah right). We wandered through the 12th century keep, through the Witches' Tower built 200 hundred years later, a Gatehouse, cell block and also the place they hung those declared guilty. It was interesting but also a cruel reminder of how barbaric our ancestors were - if they could have only shared their wealth around many people would not have needed to take the risk and steal a loaf of bread to feed their families.
And then as the evening again drew in we pulled up at the carpark at Cannock Chase - 'An Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty' - better known as AONB. There are 47 of these in the UK and they are defined as "a precious landscape whose distinctive character and natural beauty are so outstanding that it is in the nation's interest to safeguard them". We've a few AONBs' over here and their prime purpose is 'conservation' for future generations. As we wandered around Cannock Chase I did wonder if 'An area of outstanding natural beauty' was another name for 'a place to walk your dog', but thinking about it anywhere in England where you can walk without seeing a building or a house is quite a luxury and certainly worth looking after for the future generations - and what's more the dogs do enjoy it. And in Cannock Chase is a very special place - we almost missed it. When we were sitting in the car having a cuppa a young man came up and asked us if we knew how to find the cemetery - which we didn't then - but it reminded us that we had read about it the night before. So, with a help of a map, and after a number of wrong turnings and evasion of deer wandering nonchantly across the roads we found it. So, here is some more history...
In 1959 the UK and Germany made an agreement about the future care of the graves of German nationals who lost their lives in the United Kingdom during the two World Wars. They agreed that there would be a central cemetery in the United Kingdom of all graves which were not situated in cemeteries and plots of Commonwealth war graves. So, approximately 5000 graves of German and Austrian servicemen and civilian internees were bought to their final resting place in the new cemetery established at Cannock Chase (only about 5 can not be named). But we found it hard to believe that this cemetery had links to the brave soldiers of kiwiland. During the first World War the New Zealand Rifle Brigade set up camp in the area beside a 1000 bed prisoner-of-war hospital. The land that the camp and the hospital stood on is now the cemetery.
There are about 97 Commonwealth graves and most of them New Zealanders. It was pretty bleak in Stafford and you can imagine the New Zealand camp suffered greatly during their time there. In 1918 there was a serious influenza epidemic at the end of June but only a handful of men died. It was not so a few months later, when only a few days from the end of the war many more died - very sad. We did not see Freda's Grave. It is a lovely story of a dalmation dog, who must have been loved by the brigadiers. Her collar and lead are kept in Waioru military museum. The stories of how she became friends of the brigade is a bit hazy - either she was found in Cannock Chase, or another story is that she was adopted in France and brought back to England with them. There are stories though that she comforted many a wounded soldier in the battlefields. A sombre way to end another wintry weekend in England.
