Ypres part two (awaiting checking, revision and completion)

After the success (for want of a better word) of the first poison gas attack using chlorine, the Germans went on to develop the use of phosgene later in 1915 and eventually also mustard gas in 1917. Once the Germans had begun to use poison gas (against all the “rules of war”) others followed, first the French and then the British. The reality of trench warfare meant that once an army had dug in they were very hard to shift and poison gas offered a means of incapacitating or killing soldiers in their trenches so that an attack could happen. Things did not always go to plan: gas was generally released when the prevailing wind was blowing towards enemy lines, but if the wind changed then the gas could be blown straight back again. Many soldiers on both sides were killed or injured by what might be called friendly gassing.
The very first poison gas attack was unexpectedly successful, partly because the Allies saw the haze of greenish gas being blown towards their lines and, thinking it was a smoke screen to camouflage an enemy attack, ran towards the cloud. In fact, the success took the Germans as much by surprise as the Allies; had they been anticipating so many dead or incapacitated they would have been more ready to make the most of it and attack, but as an experiment it was certainly successful and opened the way to further use of chlorine and other poisons. Eventually a system developed of throwing bottles or pipes of gas into enemy trenches, where they would explode and the heavy gas then spread along inside the trenches, killing and incapacitating as it went. A favourable wind was still important, though, or the gas would drift in the wrong direction.

Travelling on from Essex Farm we passed a small cemetery with a monument to the 20,000 or so Breton soldiers, most of them seasoned and experienced fighters, killed by gas in 1915. The monument shows a Breton landscape with dolmen (dolmans?) and a crucifix and commemorates the patron saint of Brittany, St Ives (sp?). Behind it flies an Irish flag in memory of an Irish poet (name??) from Slaine who was killed on the first day of the third battle of the Ypres salient. This term describes the half-bow shaped area of land around Ypres. Noel said that in 1915 the Kaiser had thoughts of invading Britain and the Ypres salient formed the last fortification line of defence.
Britain’s involvement in the war was, he said, mostly to help Belgium, a small country which had held itself neutral but was now caught between Germany and France. Belgium’s neutrality dissolved under invasion by Germany, en route to France, and Britain stepped in to help.
From 1915 much of the Ypres salient was in German hands. In particular the higher level ground (at least in comparison to the surrounding area, much of which had been reclaimed from the North Sea and was relatively low-lying) remained German until 1917. Some 250,000 British soldiers died at the top of the ridge attempting to free this land from German control, and with them perished about the same number of Germans. We passed a monument to Harry Patch, the only survivor of his regiment in 1917 and the only soldier to have a monument dedicated to him in his own lifetime. He stayed in the area and lived to the age of 102, making him (I think) the oldest survivor.
Passing through the village of the same name we came eventually to Langemark (previously Langemarck), the German equivalent of Ypres for the British and Verdun for the French. Langemark began as the Studentenschlag or students’ cemetery but is now the Soldatencemeterie (sp?). 3,000 students are buried here, their names recorded on oaken panels just inside the entrance. Forty years ago it was decided, not least for reasons of cost and practicality once Germany had been divided, to reduce the number of German cemeteries. Accordingly the original multiple cemeteries were closed and the bodies consolidated into four large cemeteries, one of them at Langemark. The students were joined by 44,061 soldiers, 25,000 of them in one mass grave and the others in collective graves spread throughout the grounds. All of these bodies were from the period between 1914 and 1918 and their names are engraved on oak plaques inside the entrance building, on stone blocks around the central mass grave or on flat plaques of volcanic stone laid in serried ranks on the grass – each engraved with a name or names and then a number of “unbekannte”. The whole place has a heavy and sombre atmosphere, with dark stone, huge oak trees and high hedges all about. According to our guide when I came here with the boys, part of this was imposed on the Germans, who were given permission to have a cemetery there only if it could not be seen from the road (hence the hedges and flat plaques rather than headstones) and was as low-key as possible. There are no flowers, apart from a few shrubs and the odd tribute left by visitors, and the inscription over the entrance reads, somewhat chillingly, “Deutschland muss leben, und wenn wir sterben mussen.”
As you walk through the dark doorway, with rooms on either side (to the right a room full of oak panels inscribed with name after name after name, all in evenly spaced letters which give a feeling of anonymity; to the left panels engraved with maps showing where the German forces fought and fell) the rectangle of light ahead shows the bleakness of the mass grave while on the horizon is silhouetted one of the most striking images I have ever seen: a grouping of bronze statues by Emile Krieger. Inspired by an old photograph of soldiers weeping over the death of an old friend and standing guard over his burial, four soldiers stand forever frozen, watching over their fallen comrades.
The negative atmosphere is exacerbated, I feel, by the new path around from the car park, which takes you through a dark tunnel with screens showing footage of scenes from the First World War and related newsreels. The sounds and sights are grim and depressing and set the scene before you even reach the cemetery itself. Amongst the graves, over to one side, are pill boxes (??) and walls which, Noel pointed out to us, echo the shape of the Ypres salient itself. The sense of loss and pain there is still palpable. Noel showed us a newspaper clipping showing Hitler’s visit there early in the Second World War – a return visit in fact, having been wounded there as a young private, a runner, in 1914. It’s easy to imagine the effect the place might have had in galvanising him into a new determination; it is so very much a place about loss and defeat – and yet still with a sense of the importance of patriotism and the (denial?) unimportance of self.
Even here though, there are signs of the comradeship between soldiers of whichever side: inscribed alongside the thousands of German names are the names of two British soldiers also buried there. Noel told us that there are often soldiers of other nationalities buried in cemeteries alongside those they were fighting – in part a legacy of the policy of burying them where they fell – and that at Cannock Chase, in Staffordshire, there is a war cemetery which is completely mixed.

From the huge cemetery at Langemark we went on to the largest British war cemetery at Tyne Cot. On the way we passed the Brooding Soldier, a monument to the Canadian fallen. There are no Canadian cemeteries in the Ypres salient, because they were never buried separately; their graves are to be found amongst their comrades in the British cemeteries. At Essex Farm we had been behind the front line, but now we were moving into the battle areas. The land around still bears the scars of warfare and the road is uneven where old trenches cause subsidence. Every so often a farmer, ploughing his land, will turn up old ammunition – a dangerous business: four bomb disposal experts have been killed in the last ten years – or even a body, preserved by the heavy clay soil. Mud and poor drainage mean there is little oxidation in the soil and bodies stay intact, but identification is not always straightforward because often the body will have no dog-tag; a comrade would frequently remove it to take home it the fallen soldier’s family and all too often then be killed himself before he could make it home to make his report. Today we use double dog-tags to avoid this – one part can be removed and the other left for identification later. Presumably DNA testing has also made identification easier.
The water levels in this area, much of the land having been reclaimed from the sea, were so high that pumping stations were needed, and many of the workers used to build and maintain these came from different parts of the British Empire. It is estimated that more than fifty sub-nationalities of the Empire were involved in the war, not least Chinese coolies and Pakistanis. Many of them died there too.
We passed by Paschendale Ridge, also known as Tyne Cot Ridge, the furthest point of British advances before Armistice Day.

Ypres (part one)

A few years ago the boys and I went on a fantastic trip to Ypres and the surrounding area. I’ve been thinking recently that I should look at organising a similar experience for L, now that she is getting old enough to get plenty out of it. Then we saw an email offering two places at short notice on exactly the kind of trip I’d been thinking of planning 🙂

Accordingly, we started our Wednesday at 3:30am, in order to leave the house by 4 and travel down to Northolt, where we could meet the coach. Thanks to Google maps not being entirely helpful we had a brief scenic tour of various parts of North London but thankfully still just made it in time – phew! (Note to self: “At the roundabout, take the fifth exit onto Western Ave.” actually means “At the roundabout, take the third exit (or fourth, depending on how you count – but there was no way I could make it be fifth!) onto the A40.” It was a bit of a traumatic introduction to being navigator for L, but she did really well right up until that confusing direction – and at least we didn’t need to chase the bus to Folkestone!

Safely on board, we discovered that the people sitting across the aisle from us were friends of the Porticos. L got on well with Ph, which helped the day to go smoothly. 🙂 We were quite relieved to get to the services at Folkestone for a quick loo stop 😉 The Channel Tunnel trains were a good distraction, watching lorries and coaches get on and off and especially seeing the cars go onto upper deck levels. Finally it was our turn to board – always a little hair-raising as the coach seems almost too wide for the space available! The crossing was straightforward and we eventually got to Ypres at about noon, with a little time for sight-seeing before our booked time slot to enter the In Flanders Field museum. We went to the Menin Gate, keeping an eye out for the chocolate shop we found last time – didn’t find it this time, but bought chocolates from a different one instead. 😉 Climbing up to the gardens at the top, we found a memorial to the Indian soldiers who died in the war and a Braille/tactile version of the gate itself, which we thought was a lovely way of making it accessible to the visually impaired. I relinquished the camera to L, who had a lovely time making the most of her role as photographer – most photos taken on the day are hers 🙂
Dawn produced crayons and we had paper, so made some rubbings of the Braille, then we walked round the Gate itself, looking at all the names – so many names – and trying to get our heads round the sheer numbers involved, and the fact that all the soldiers listed there were never found and buried under their own names. According to our guide, there are 55,000 missing soldiers named here, along with another 35,000 at Tyne Cot and more elsewhere. The scale is just heart-breaking, and the names on every flat surface bring a lump to your throat.

At one o’clock we all met up again at the museum, where Julie had wristbands for us. These were programmable with age, place of origin and gender, so that at various points round the displays you could log in and be given information about somebody relevant to you in some way. We only had an hour there and could have done with two or three, really. It was very well organised, very visual (video displays at various points, lots of photos, lots of info boards) but spoilt a little (both L and I felt) by depressing, heavy music which played almost incessantly, dampened everything almost subconsciously – you only realised how all-pervasive it was when it stopped, sadly very briefly, and you could breathe freely for a while – and made the whole place feel very dead. We both came out with headaches 🙂 We weren’t even halfway round when we suddenly realised the time and had to rush through the rest of the displays to get to the end and meet up again with the rest of our group. We were joined by our guide for the next four hours, Noel, a sixty-something (my guess – may be completely out!) Belgian with a wealth of interesting stories and an odd approach to humour: punctuating his stories with, “Belgian joke – haha!”

Noel reminded us that we were in Belgium, about 50 miles from France (and having travelled through a short stretch of No-Man’s Land between the two borders as well) and that Ypres is only the French name for the town. The Belgians call it Ieper and it was also affectionately known as Wipers by the men stationed there during the war, as demonstrated by the underground paper they published known as the Wipers Times. During the course of the first world war Ypres was increasingly damaged, until by 1917 you could see from one side of the town to the other, with no buildings left standing to obscure the view. It had been utterly destroyed, except for the Abbey gate, which had somehow escaped destruction during the Revolution (when the abbey itself was left in ruins) and again during the war. By about 1922 – 1923 most private houses had been rebuilt and other buildings followed, with the decision being made to rebuild the town as nearly as possible to how it had been before. This gives a slightly odd feel to the place: the buildings look old but impossibly well-kept!
One new building, although again built in an older style, is the Anglican church on the corner of the market square, which was built in response to requests from visiting family members and friends who wished to have a Protestant place of worship as well as the local Catholic churches. There are, apparently, only two Anglican churches in all of Belgium, the other being in Brussels. Just around the corner from the church is an English-speaking school which, according to our guide, was built for the use of the children of the gardeners employed by the War Graves Commission to look after the various cemeteries in the area. These children spoke Dutch, French and their mother tongue was English, which made them very useful some years later when Germany again invaded and they played a part in the fight against Hitler. Many were forced to flee at Dunkik in 1940, but were then able to play a very useful part from England in translating and acting as go-betweens, while others fled to France or stayed in Belgium and were recruited into the Resistance. Many went on to be useful in the Second World War too. Noel showed us a newspaper clipping with an article entitled: The children who fought Hitler. In fact, he seemed to have a wealth of such clippings tucked away in various pockets as well as a great store of odd stories and comments which make this a very difficult post to put into any kind of logical order 😆

The War Graves Commission headquarters is in Maidenhead, but they also have centres in Arras, for France, and Ypres, for the rest of Europe. The policy has always been that British soldiers should be buried on or as near as possible to the spot where they fall, hence the great number of cemeteries and graves scattered around the world and cared for by the WGC. Unfortunately, more recent conflicts have been under circumstances which mean that this is no longer a practical or sensible course of action, so British servicemen who die in Afghanistan, for example, are repatriated rather than buried there.
As we drove past the Salvation Roundabout Noel mentioned that Ypres has a longstanding folkloric link with cats, which is the reason for a topiary cat being on the roundabout. Apparently during the Middle Ages 5 living cats would be dropped from the belfry 50 days before each Easter day – why, he didn’t say, and nobody else seems to be sure either, although the Lonely Planet guide tells us, “the Kattenfestival has its roots in a 12th-century tradition that had the city jester throwing live cats from the Lakenhalle’s belfry. Cats, it was believed, personified evil spirits and this ritual, which continued until 1817, was a sure way to be rid of them. Today’s version, which sees toy cats hurled from the belfry, was instituted in the 1930s. Held annually until 1991, the festival is now staged every third year. On this day, the town literally purrs. Store windows fill with cats, there are cat-shaped chocolates and marzipan and stalls sell all sorts of feline merchandise. The big moment is the Kattenstoet, a parade of giant cats. Following the parade it’s a case of look away now for it’s about to rain toy cats.”

Our first stop with Noel on board was at Essex Farm, the cemetery famous for John McCrae’s poem In Flander’s Field. McCrae was a doctor with responsibility for triage at the dressing station there. They were on the evacuation route from the front line at Sanctuary Wood/Hill 62; men would receive basic first aid at the regimental aid post and then be sent back, with the help of orderlies and stretcher bearers, behind the lines to the dressing station at Essex Farm. Here triage would determine which were likely to survive further travel and they would be sent on to the clearing station, possibly via an advanced dressing station for further treatment, and thence by ambulance (often horse-drawn) to the base hospital at Poperinge to wait for a hospital train to Calais, Boulogne or Amiens. Those who were judged too injured to be likely to survive such a trek were left at Essex Farm, where they died and were buried. The soil in that area is almost solid clay, with very poor drainage, and the bodies were buried in haste with no coffins. Some other cemeteries were excavated and rebuilt in the 1920s, Tyne Cot being a prime example; these are in better order than Essex Farm, where the headstones are not always straight and the lines are not all even. In some ways, though, I preferred it as it was – there is a rawness about it which contrasts with the sculptured lines of Tyne Cot.
We found the grave of VJ Stradwick of the Rifle Brigade, who died aged 15, and were told of another soldier (Irish – name? Tom?) who at just 14 was the youngest known to have died. Neither he nor the oldest to die, Harry Webber, 68, are buried here, but they show the range of ages of those who died. Noel also told us about the Victoria Cross, which is usually awarded posthumously (although there has been a recent exception). There have been about 5,000 awarded altogether, and the cemeteries around Ypres have about 60 Victoria Cross holders. Some of the headstones had stones on them, which Noel said is a Jewish tradition, made popular recently by the film Schindler’s List, of the stone as a symbol of eternity. When the Israelites were crossing the Sinai Desert those who died could not be buried but were not left uncovered either; their corpses were covered with small stones.
In 1915, after fierce fighting, an appeal was made to Canada to send help. A battalion of 20,000 arrived in April 1915, including John McCrae. Almost immediately the Germans launched the first gas attack, killing or injuring vast numbers of Canadian, British, French and Belgian soldiers. Since this was the first time gas had been used, nobody was expecting it and there were no gas masks. Some survived by protecting their faces with handkerchiefs or pieces of cloth but about 20,000 were killed in that one attack. It is said that McCrae, sitting on the back of an ambulance and mourning the loss of so many fellow soldiers and friends, penned his famous poem, in Flanders Fields as a response to the death of his friend Alexis Helmer on 2nd May. All around was desolation and destruction; the only thing of beauty left in the world was a flower, a wild, delicate flower – which became the symbol of the British Legion.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

More about Essex Farm and John McCrae here

Assault, indecent assault and beating someone up

We’ve been working through old boxes stashed away in the workshop, trying to reduce the amount of *stuff* that’s cluttering up what was meant to be a working space.
Today I came across a piece of paper I thought long gone 🙂 Between my year abroad and the final year of my degree (which in fact turned out not to be my final year, but that’s another story…) I had a summer job working for an exam board. Most of what I did was checking that marks tallied and entering data from printouts, but occasionally we were able to have contact with actual exam papers. My favourites were Sociology GCSE 🙂 and the piece of paper I found today was one where I jotted down quotes I particularly liked.

The title of this post comes from a response to a question about the three stages for a Bill to become law: assault, indecent assault and beating someone up.
The same question was also answered:
– It must pass the House of Commons and the White House…
– Two stages are the bill being made up by people who have to pay the bill eg using the telephone. Also the company adding the bill up and sending it to the payers.

Two functions of the speaker in the House of Commons:
– The Chancler of the Checker and the prime minister Jon Major.

Two state benefits paid for by National Insurance contributions:
– war arms and importing goods
– doll money, health mobility, accidents insurance, car insurance

On the role of Trades Unions:
– Fright for their Rights
– It’s when everyone get together and set out here prombles
– Two function of a trade union are 1) to agree or disagree about the trade and 2) to do something about it.

Reasons why the Government might subsidise an industry:
– Too much violence, rap and trouble.

Social differences between adults and children:
– an adult has been fully bread into society whereas a child hasn’t, an adult has already been taught i.e. to say please and thankyou.
– Two social differences between a child and an adult are adults behave more matually than children and adults are not so venerable as children.
– The addate actes more senserbul and knows what is best for the kids and child is probberly miss behaveing and arguing with the addalte.

Two members of the extended and not nuclear family:
– the groundmother and the groundfather.

On dealing with the elderly:
– The elderly could go to pubs, play bingo or do gardening. Arguments against these are that if they go to pubs they might get drunk, they might not be fit enough to do gardening and if they play Bingo they might win and get excited and not believe it and have a heart attack.
– The problem with elderly relatives they become an nuisance moaning all the time. Get under your feet while living in a family home. Become ill but know one can do nothing about it have to face facts that they are getting old.

Reasons for relationships breaking up:
– The male mite of bine haveing an iever with some other femal or they mite of had a argument about the child what is coming along.

Kentwell – belongs back in July!

Our plans for Kentwell this year were somewhat complicated by J’s school exchange, which meant that we expected to be hosting a French teenager for the first week and a bit, while J would still be at school until week three. When 6 was also added into the mix, with no idea of whether or not she would enjoy the experience and want to carry on or prefer to be at home, things got just a little more complicated. Then a good friend found out that the court hearing in her rather nasty divorce case was to be the Monday/Tuesday of week one – and I had promised to be there for her to give moral support. Fortunately, Dawn at the office was very accommodating of my uncertainty. Things were made easier rather unexpectedly when J arrived in France to find that his exchange partner was not expecting to stay with us at all, but had been told to go to an entirely different family – confusion reigned for a few hours, until we managed to clarify with J’s school that this was indeed the case; they had just forgotten to inform us of the fact. This meant that 6, A and I were free to stay for Wed – Fri of week one if we wished. When we heard that my friend had settled out of court we were then free to stay for Mon and Tues as well. All that remained was to see whether that was what 6 wanted to do – I already knew it was what A wanted!
In the end, we stayed for pretty much all of the three weeks – with a brief foray home to collect clean underwear and emergency clothing for those of us who had expected to be home on Monday or Tuesday!
Our assigned stations were: L to the gentry pavilion, where she was Mistress Jane de Vere, in navy wool, blue velvet and green brocade, K to the stewards, as Hugh de Vere, page, J, once he joined us, as Richard Clopton, minor gentry and musician, Bob on the butts, A, 6 and I in the cotte. 6 soon discovered the joys of basket making, however, and went off with C quite happily for a few days to spend her time making baskets (one for herself and one for L). After a while, though, the basketmakers became too crowded and 6 came back to the cotte, returning just to finish the basket she was on. By now Em and her children were there, including E, who was rapidly making a name for herself in the woolshed as being a spinner of particularly fine thread. She took 6 with her to have a go at using a drop spindle and that was the last we saw of her for the rest of the week, apart from dinnertime when both girls would appear with their bowl and spoon to see whether our offerings were better than the general pottage, then, tummies full, quietly disappear again. Her first skein may have been a little loose and lumpy, but 6 was still very proud to dunk it in the dyers’ vat and turn it blue. The second was better and became yellow, then overdyed with blue to make green, while the third was better still – practice may not have made perfect yet, but definitely makes improvement 🙂
Meanwhile L was doing her best to support Bess on a station distinctly lacking in numbers in week one but rather healthier in week two. She exchanged her fancy gown for a rather less fancy petticote/kirtle on a couple of occasions, so that she could help out in the kitchens (still at the visiting gentry pavilion) and have a little more freedom – no need for a companion on every journey, for a start – but on the whole still enjoys being gentry, especially when she gets the chance to dance, sing or play the rebeck. The final Wednesday of the Event was a Home Ed day, when the players found themselves in need of a drummer and the pavilion was closed in any case, so the scummy kirtle came out again and off she went to play with the players 😀
K had a whale of a time being a page, including lots of chess playing, a fair bit of tour guiding, a number of trips out on the moat with the punt and enough singing to earn himself the sobriquet “The singing page” 😀
J spent more time playing the recorder than the sackbutt, but enjoyed both as well as the odd game of chess – and definitely found it easier to be in the house for such a hot week than it would have been had he been outside in the sun; he doesn’t do well with heat, sun or suncream and his hayfever is starting to rival mine for intensity, poor lad 🙁
Bob had fun on the butts, although I’m not sure how much actual shooting he got to do in between all the talking and letting other people have a go, and the cotte was, as ever, a cool(ish) and dark(ish) place to be on even the hottest day – although having to build up the fire for cooking was at times a bit of a penance! We missed M very much 🙁 but were happy to have guests for dinner each day, including Nat (although I think the multitude of small children scared him at times!), Mistress Joan of the pinmakers, Long Meg the storyteller and on a couple of very memorable occasions Mad Jack, who decided to tell Long Meg a story and ended up talking “Spanish” with such high-pitched goobledegook that it sent A and Joan off into peals of laughter and giggles which needed just a little reminder to set them off again and again all afternoon 😆 We couldn’t persuade my father to leave his clock and come to dinner, but he did send his apprentice and we managed a few times to send food back for him which we thought he might actually eat…
I’m sure there’s far more I could say. I may return, or start another post, but for now this will do – Kentwell 1559: a good year 🙂

Matilda!

A couple of years ago J, K and L did a workshop in the holidays where they prepared a shortened version of Oliver! and they really enjoyed it. This year the opportunity came up to do a similar workshop just down the road from here, this time based on Matilda the Musical, so we booked places straightaway, as it promised to be very popular. This was before we knew that 6 would be coming; we had four places booked and knew that the workshop had been full for some time so it was with some trepidation that I approached the organiser to ask if there was any chance of squeezing another person in. Fortunately she said yes, even though it meant 21 children instead of the planned 20, so our plan b of finding something else for J to do was not needed.
Our daily routine for the past week has accordingly been that I would walk the children down the road to drama school and leave them there with packed lunch, indoor shoes and lots of drinks while I walked back and had a useful day catching up on emails, sorting through boxes which have been sitting in the workshop for a shamefully long time waiting to be sorted, restarting the 40 bags in 40 days challenge which I didn’t manage to finish in the Spring (hate ME relapses) and resting lots to recover from all that activity. Meanwhile, the children were kept busy learning lines, songs and choreography as well as playing lots of drama games. It’s been a poor week for music practice as they were so tired by the time they got home that reading through their lines for the next day and eating tea was about all they could manage before collapsing in front of a film or heading straight to bed 😀
On Saturday Bob and I went along to see the result of all that hard work in the form of a short show (about 45 minutes) which told an abridged version of the story and included a few of the best-known songs. They were very good 🙂 6 and J were both narrators (the role was split between 4 children in total) and both word-perfect with their lines, K was Bruce Bogtrotter, with a pillow down his shirt and a solo starting off “When I grow up”, L, overcoming a serious case of nerves, was the young Matilda (sharing the role with an older girl who took over once Matilda started school) so also had a solo for the start of “Naughty” and A had lines including “Pick up your hockey stick and use it as a sword!” and “My Daddy says I’m a princess” which she performed with great aplomb.
They’re now all keen to do more musical theatre…. we just need a few more days in the week and a few more pennies in the purse 😉

another week…

Last week was deliberately kept free, an oasis of calm in a busy summer and a chance to regroup and catch up a bit. This meant that when things came up, as it seems they inevitably do, we were able to fit them in. As well as the trip to London we had friends over for the day, mostly to see 6 before she goes back to France. At Kentwell 6 and E had become the “little greenies” in the wool-shed, with their almost-matching green kirtles and constant chatting and giggling while they spun. Having spent so much time over the last couple of months with Em and her children it’s been a bit odd not to see them for a while, so on Wednesday Em kindly (because I couldn’t face driving this week, after so much to-ing and fro-ing) came over to ours with E and O and we had a lovely relaxed day, mostly spent by the children on the trampoline or in little giggly huddles round the house and by the adults in chatting over cups of tea. Just what we needed!
Also on Wednesday 6 had her last official phone call from En Famille International so that they could see how her English had come on during her stay with us. I think the answer is that her English is not amazing, but immeasurably better than it was when she came. It’s hard to judge though, because when she’s with her friends/our children she talks nineteen to the dozen in totally comprehensible English, including long sentences and phrases, but once she knows an adult is there, and especially when speaking directly to an adult, she struggles and worries about getting it right, or blushes and giggles and loses her words. Confidence is a big part of it, and it’s something we’ve been working on a lot, but I’m cheered to think how naturally it comes to her now to chat with friends in English even if she might not get an A* in her classes at school. The quiet little mouse who came to us at the end of April has almost completely given way to a sparky, bright-eyed, cheeky little monkey, full of mischief and giggles and a real pleasure to have around the house 🙂 I’m very much hoping we’ll be able to borrow her for at least a few weeks a year for the foreseeable future 😀

The Energy Show, with added cable cars

The Science Museum has a new show for the summer and one of the HE parents we know managed to get free tickets for a group to go and see it, so we thought it too good an opportunity to miss. After such a busy weekend we were a little slow getting going, so it was fortunate that the show didn’t start until early afternoon. We ate lunch and read Story of the World on the train and arrived in good time for the show but with little time to do anything beforehand. It was in the IMAX but was a live show, apart from the virtual lab assistant projected onto the back wall. The show was very well done, light-hearted and funny but also very informative. All the children loved it and felt they had learned something new from watching it, even J 🙂

This summer the Science Museum presents the world premiere of The Energy Show: explosive family theatre for curious minds. Live at the Science Museum’s new theatre space, this electrifying show runs for 6 weeks only.

Annabella and Phil, two futuristic science students, race against time to prove their knowledge of energy. With help from virtual lab-assistant, i-nstein, and a steampunk workshop full of gadgets and chemicals, they demonstrate live experiments on stage.

Methane bubbles set alight to make fireballs, liquid nitrogen freezes flowers and hydrogen rockets are fired into the audience. Stand back – theatre just got dangerously exciting!

Produced by the Science Museum, this fast and furious summer show is suitable for everyone aged 7+.

After the show we went back to look more closely at some of the things we’d gone past to get there, starting with the Pattern Pod, which the girls enjoyed for a long while, investigating natural and man-made patterns and making some of their own. The boys went a-wandering and came back when they were ready to move on, taking us to a section which had computer-based decision-making games. We stayed there quite a while, discussing the ramifications of each decision as well as playing the games, then went to The Garden (A’s choice) while J took the others off to see The Secret Life of the Home. We finally tore A away from the water play and all went to Launchpad for lots of hands-on activities, which kept us busy until the museum closed.

When we were in London last year for the Paralympics K, L A and I went on the Emirates Air Line, a personal challenge for me given that I don’t much like heights and for A, who is often reluctant to try new things and had to be coaxed on. K and L loved it and wanted to take 6 there too, so we made our way over there (totally the wrong bit of London from the Science Museum, but never mind 😉 ) while J and A tried to make up their minds about whether or not to come on. Once there we stopped to admire a water jet pack user on the Thames and talked about how long it would take to do a round trip on the cable car. A decided she was brave enough to come on again, which made J think twice about being left on his own. He is really very height phobic, so I was quite surprised when he announced of his own accord that he was going to come on with us. Fortunately there was no queue so he had no time to think about it before we were in our car and I held onto him as the doors closed so he couldn’t try to jump out at the last minute and risk injury. He was petrified but trying very hard to be reasonable about it – I was actually rather impressed at his fortitude. A held my hand very tightly, while L and K were happily pointing out to 6 the sights we could see, thanks to the little map we’d been handed along with our tickets – last time we just had to guess so it was nice to have a bit more of an idea. 🙂

As we reached the highest part of the ride J burst into tears and sat on the floor, then slowly lifted himself back up and admitted that it wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought it might be. We’d got 360 degree wristbands so that there would be no need to get off and on again (I hadn’t been certain we’d get J or A on again if they got off, and didn’t want to be stranded in the middle of Greenwich!) so as we arrived at the other end we just waved our arms a bit and stayed on for the return leg. This time J nibbled on a chocolate bar (he’d just held it on the way over, then dropped it a few times) and felt so much better that he stayed on the seat and by halfway over was even managing to take an interest in working out what we could see in each direction – definitely a successful trip 😀

After such an ordeal we felt that ice cream was in order. There were several flavours on offer, but bright blue bubblegum seemed to be a winner. 6 and I, more restrained, had lemon ices. Mixing and matching flavours (by tasting one another’s) led to some very interestingly coloured tongues: mine was yellow, most of the children’s blue or turquoise but 6’s bright green! We were trying to get a photo of all of us pulling faces to show them when a kind passer-by offered to take one for us. It’s surprisingly hard to stick your tongue out at a stranger, even when he’s told you you may!

By now A needed the toilet, so we asked at the Underground station and were pointed in the direction of the nearest public convenience, but it was closed for maintenance. A quick scout round and we spotted a cafe; they had no toilet but suggested a noodle bar a little further along, where the owner took pity on us and said we could use the toilet. Unfortunately, there was someone already in there, with a friend waiting outside. Nearly ten minutes later we were still waiting and so was the friend, and by then so was another customer. Eventually a woman stuck her head out of the bathroom to ask her friend for some tissues. She’d obviously been changing her clothes and doing her make-up (she had a big bag in there with her). Her friend told her to hurry up, a sentiment which we heartily echoed, poor A with her legs crossed by now! Finally she came out and her friend said we could go in first (I think she planned to change too, as she’d been going through her own big bag looking for things) but the first woman muttered about the toilet being blocked and no toilet paper and the whole place disgusting… We went in anyway – A couldn’t possibly have waited any longer – and there was nothing a good toilet flush couldn’t fix – the bowl was full of tissues she had obviously just dropped in the toilet 🙄 Much relief 😆 We bought some noodles to celebrate 😀

Sadly, we arrived at King’s Cross just in time to not catch a train, so had a long wait for the next, which we spent camped out on the platform drinking fresh juice poured over the remaining ice in the frozen water bottles we’d taken with us. It was a good day for ice 😉

It was a very late night, by the time we were safely home, but a good day all round.

Much music-making

On Saturday morning everyone but 6, A and Bob had to leave the house fairly early, guests to get to their conference, L to a Strings Day and J and K to try the county orchestra sessions and see how they got on, with the option for K of switching down to L’s group if it proved too much for him. I dropped them off and came home for a day of pottering and baking, via the supermarket for supplies – packed lunches always seem to deplete the store cupboards incredibly fast!

At 3 it was time to return and collect everybody, with a strings concert to listen to what they’d been doing all day. It was fab, and it was easy to see how much those present had enjoyed their day. L loved it! The boys, meanwhile, had been having a great time too (we could hear them through the wall in the gaps between pieces at the concert so we knew they’d been busy) and J had been quite happy with the standard needed for second trombones, while K had managed three out of four pieces with the help of sectional rehearsals but had to rely on being good at working out where they were so he could pause and then join back in from time to time in the fourth – too many fast-shifting semi-quavers! Still, they were happy for him to carry on since his sightreading was good enough to allow him to do that, so he was happy too.

The rest of Saturday was largely spent baby worshipping 😉 Bob went and babysat for Ruth and Adam (taking my place so I could stay and chat) and the rest of us had cuddles and cooing until children’s bedtime and then tea and chatting until grown-up’s bedtime. Lovely 😀

On Sunday I dropped 6 and L off at church, where they were singing Eucharist, and then took K and J on to orchestra, where I stayed and listened for a bit then walked into town to meet the girls. Meanwhile Bob and A were the hosts with the most, getting their fair share of baby cuddles. We walked back through town and happened to pass the fudge shop just as they were beginning to labour a table of fudge, so we stopped to watch and ended up staying for the entire process, including tasting a little piece of the fudge once it had set and been cut into slices. Since another load had just been poured and set enough to start working it, we felt we had seen the whole cycle of making, so it was only fair to buy a slice or two 😉 L and 6 chose sticky toffee pudding, which reminded L that she’d never actually had sticky toffee pud (I’m sure she has, but she’s sure she hasn’t…) so they’ve decided to make it some time this week. I suggested a dark chocolate fudge for Bob, so we bought some of that too, then went home and iced cupcakes, made Marmite pinwheels and got together some bits and pieces for later.

In the afternoon we returned for the orchestra concert. The theme had been film music and the concert featured snippets of film which the music accompanied in much the same way as early silent movies would have a soundtrack provided by a live orchestra. The accompanying talk was fascinating too, and really made us think about the role that music plays in a film – not just building the atmosphere while you watch but also setting the mood for the next scene and altering how you read things, often in such a subtle way that you wouldn’t even notice unless you were looking for it. The whole thing was really well done 😀 and the boys both came out buzzing, especially K who with a little more rehearsal had managed to play all of all the pieces and was very appreciative of a particularly helpful section leader.

We couldn’t linger overlong because all three choir children had Evensong to get to. While they rehearsed, the rest of us went for a walk and came across a street performer who was setting up a juggling act. He was soon joined by a partner and they did a performance together, culminating in pulling J out of the audience to be part of the finale. He had to lie still and be somersaulted over, to much hilarity as they both made false starts, stopped for jokes and then finally succeeded, earning wild applause and the chance to pass a couple of hats round the watchers before they dispersed.

Back to Evensong and it was lovely: all the choirs were there and it was a fully choral service, followed by the end of year party (hence the cupcakes and pinwheels) and the traditional giving out of envelopes. Despite having only arrived partway through the term and then missed several weeks because of Kentwell, 6 had still earned enough by her regular attendance to have an envelope of her own (and not the slimmest one there either) while L and K had a little more because of their full first half-term.