Mike is in a competition to see if he can get enough votes to do an ad on tv. I think he is by far the best having had a look at a few of the top scorers but I guess I am a little bit biased. At the moment he has nearly 500 votes but there are a few with many more so perhaps he won't be lucky this time. Anyway, you can see him for a while anyway on http://mitsubishiasx.com.au/mike. I am still on my vegetarian cooking experiments and the other night cooked a fried rice - pretty easy - but I took a hint out of the cook book 'if you want a hot dish leave the chilli seeds in' - half way through the meal my tongue took a long deep dive into a cup of water so I tend to think they were telling the truth. Another night we went out to a local pub for dinner with Jane and David and enjoyed sitting outside while the sun set with a cider (yes we are getting a taste for the traditional English drink). The rest of the week went by in a blur as per usual with a long trip to Swansea due to late trains - someone decided to take some cabling from the signalling system near Reading which caused a bit of disruption. Saturday morning saw us zooming along the M4 towards London - not quite as early as we hoped - in fact quite a lot later as both of us looked at the alarm clock as though it was a thing from outer space, hit the 'off' button and turned back to that blissful state of snoozing. We got to Chartwell in time for lunch, but because there was a timed admittance to the house and no queue lunch just had to wait for a while. Chartwell is the home where Sir Winston and Lady Clementine Churchill and their family lived for a number of years. It is one of those places left just as it was when they lived there and despite the crowds felt like a comfortable family home. It's a place where Sir Winston painted, wrote, gardened, built brick walls and contemplated life. Pull up a chair, take out a book and sit in the sun and relax and sometimes look out over the Kent hills and the magnificent garden - avenues of roses, silvery leaved plans, veges. In 1946 the Churchills went through a bit of a financial rough patch and they found they could not afford to run the property. A group of wealthy business people (presumably friends) bought the property and arranged for the family to live there until they died and then the property would become part of the National Trust estate. Great for people like us to see this era in history. The house is pretty ordinary by architectural standards but its closeness to London, view of the local region and great growing conditions (including its own water supply - no I am not talking about the good old English rain as it falls from the sky) must have been quite an attraction. And just to finish off the story of our visit to Chartwell here are some quotes which I quite like from the artist and the politician:
- I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.
- Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.
- I cannot pretend to feel impartial about colours. I rejoice with the brilliant ones and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns.
And there is a cute story to be remembered from our visit - it made me and Harry smile often during the day. I was walking over the bridge behind a Dad with his little boy that couldn't have been more than two. In front was a rather large pile of goose poo. The Dad said 'Watch the poo', and the little boy stopped and stared intently just waiting for something to happen. After a few moments Dad smiled and said 'I should have said mind the poo'. The little boy looked up and walked carefully around the pile.
Just down the road from Chartwell is Chris and Suzanne's place. We stopped at their place for a much needed cup of coffee and company and then followed Chris's directions to Ashdown Forest - the home of Winnie the Pooh. We drove by but didn't stop as it was getting late, took some photos of the little Pooh tea rooms and stopped at the nearby pub (Wagon Wheel??) for dinner (great vegetarian sausages). That night I found out that Harry had never played Pooh Sticks - deprived is all I can call him. We will go back to the forest one day and walk to the bridge so he can get lessons at the place where this great game was invented. The rules are fairly easy "It is a simple game which may be played on any bridge over running water; each player drops a stick on the upstream side of a bridge and the one whose stick first appears on the downstream side is the winner". There are even annual World Poohsticks Championships that have been held on the River Thames since 1984 but this year it was postponed as the river was flowing too fast. We'll have to go next year!!
The next day was 'Clandon' day - or to be a little bit more cryptic a day in the life of New Zealand in East England. William Onslow (now we know where Onslow College gets its name) was Governor to New Zealand for three years from 1889 (he arrived a year after my Grandmother did). He took the role because of an economic downturn and he wanted a salaried position (it was going cheap because the New Zealand government had cut allowances for the governor position and senior colonial administrators didn't want the role at such lousy pay - he was after all pretty young at the time). Times haven't really changed much have they? When he arrived typhoid fever hit town and one of Onslow's sons caught it - but survived. There are a couple of conflicting stories about Onslow - one that he didn't like Wellington much and locals didn't really like him because he did not "have the flair or flamboyance which helped some later governors win popular support". A year later he became involved in political debates which Governor Generals shouldn't and became more unpopular. Another story was that he was very popular toured New Zealand got to know the locals (bit of a socialite really) and his 4th child was called Huia after our now extinct little bird. Given the rest of the story and what we saw I prefer the second take better. Anyway, Clandon Park House is a fairly boring square shape built in the 18th century in rather a large Capability Brown landscape. We hadn't really come to see the house but little Hinemihi who sits under a large oak tree in the lawn in front of the house. I touched the carvings lovingly, smiled at this little meeting place and said "You are a long way from home aren't you?' - the same reaction I had when I said hello to the kea at Bristol zoo, and the Kune Kune pig in a wildlife park. Hinemihi was built and lived near Lake Tarawera. During the Mount Tarawera eruption in 1886 many locals from the Te Wairoa village sheltered under her roof and survived. She was covered in ash and surrounded by volcanic debris and sat like that for the next six years until Lord Onslow bought her for £50 and shipped her over to England - a souvenir of his trip to the colony. She initially sat beside the artificial lake at the back of the house but during World War 1 when New Zealand soldiers stayed at the house to recuperate from injuries she was taken down piece by piece, cleaned up, and reconstructed under the oak tree. Many of these soldiers are buried in the cemetery at the local church and their names are recorded in the 'register' which unfortunately we could not find. Over Hinemihi's time in England she has been used as a garden shed, boating shed, Wendy house and for parties. But then kiwis heard about her once again and they have helped the National Trust to restore her to her former glory and to be used more appropriately (she is looking a bit tired again and a further restoration is planned). Each May local kiwis come and celebrate with song and a hangi and we think we will try and go next year. One such visit was described as
“We could feel the presence of our ancestors, including those who sheltered inside Hinemihi during the eruption, as well as those who didn’t make it to safety. By touching the carvings we could hear their screams and feel their pain.”
We bought the book by Alan Gallop 'The House with the Golden Eyes' and I had trouble putting it down (goodbye housework, washing up, cooking for a couple of nights) . Here is his introduction
"The old from Te Wairoa sits alone under a giant oak tree in an English park, dreaming of home. She's perfectly happy at the end of the immaculate lawn looking across to 'the great house', having spent over 100 cold English winters, damp and foggy autumns, late springs and wet summers in Surrey. The old lady thinks her peaceful surrounds on his Lordship's estate are not that different to those at home, a distant land half a world away. There were plants and tall trees there too:harakeke - the flax on which her people were so dependent - rimu and totara trees and the fiery red pohutukawa at Christmas. Different to the sturdy oaks, ash and beech trees surrounding her now, but just as nice when they awake from their winter sleep. Visitors come and she is always glad to receive them, her arms permanently outstretched in welcome. Some are from home and have made the long journey to see her, talk to her, keep her company and confide in her. Others, lonely for home, come and sit with her to feel closer to the far-away land she calls 'Aotearoa' the land of the long white cloud which the rest of the world knows as New Zealand. New friends find her an interesting old lady with a fascinating story to tell about a night long ago when her life was nearly cut short as the ground shook and it rained fire and stones from the sky. She had opened her arms then and held her charges close to her heart until danger had passed, risking her life for their safety..."I sent the book to Mum and Cheryl so hopefully they will enjoy reading it as much as I did. Cheryl is keeping me updated on Mum's progress and I am getting an occasional letter dictated by Mum. It is so encouraging to see that she is improving so much and I can't thank my sister enough for all the time she has spent encouraging Mum. 
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