The Last Blog Post - Christmas with the Hodges

We had the privelege of having Christmas Day with our exchange partners Tim, Karen, Jack and Ella Hodges at Broulee in Australia. It was a lovely day and we shared a Christmas meal together, a few drinks, a swim at the beach and plenty of chatting about 'last minute things' and our exchange year. It is a rare thing that exchange partners get to actually meet and we have made good friends with them through our exchange experience and our many email correpondences.

So, here's to our teaching exchange 2010 - bonds and friendships around the world!

Farewell England - The Journey Home and Finnish Christmas

"Farewell to ol' England forever, Farewell to my ol' pals as well...

Singing too-rall-li, too-rall-li, add-i-ty...

We're bound for Botany Bay"

Hopefully not 'forever'. Maybe we'll get back to England and see more things and meet our 'ol' pals' again but it was time to go home and land in the plane at Botany Bay, Sydney. However, this may have been easier said than done. The snow in England had caused chaos at Heathrow and we weren't very sure that our plane would be flying. We decided the only thing to do was to go to London and see how we go.

After breaking up from school we had three days of cleaning and packing, making the house ready for the Hodges' return and making sure our bags were the correct weight for the plane. All the time the snow came down outside and there was about 30cm of snow laying on the ground. Putting aside the worry of the plane taking off we weren't even sure if we could get out of our little lane at Trethawle! We had to go into Liskeard for some shopping during these days. I rode the mountain bike through the snow one day and had the surreal experience of riding down the closed fast lane of the A38 while cars gingerly passed me through the slush of the slow lane. On another day Stefanie and I walked in. It was a lovely sparkly, snowy day and there was quite a carnival atmosphere as people walked into Liskeard from the surrounding villages and were walking around Liskeard being careful not to fall over on the ice. It was all quite beautiful and very Christmas-y.

I rang a taxi to book him for our journey to the railway station the day before we had to leave and everything was very uncertain due to the snow. The taxi couldn't get out of his lane due to the snow, so we were told to wait and see if the snow would clear. On Tuesday 21st December it was time to leave. The snow had stopped overnight and thankfully Andrew, the local farmer, had used his tractor to clear the lane a bit to help cars through. I rang the taxi early to find out what was happening and encouraged by cars moving carefully up his lane he said he would 'go for it'. There was one very icy area on our lane that I was worried about but I told the taxi-man that it would be OK. Happily, it was. By more coincidence and symmetry the taxi driver was the same taxi driver that took the Hodges to the railway station to go to Australia!

So, we arrived at the railway station. Step 1 of this perilous journey achieved. The train arrived on time and left on time. Step 2 good. The train journey through the Cornish countryside and then into Devon and beyond was beautiful in the snow. We thought we had a lot of snow in Cornwall but it wasn't until we got to Exeter that we realised how much snow had fallen in the east of the country and why there was so much trouble at Heathrow. It was blanketing and feet deep.

We arrived into Paddington station on time and immediately caught the connection on the very crowded Heathrow Express train to Heathrow and then the bus to our motel for the night, the familiar Ibis Hotel that we had stayed at before. Unfortunately I mucked up the details of which bus to catch so we waited too long for another bus at Terminal 5. It was then that a Christmas miracle happened. We were lost, bewildered, cold and hungry. A man who looked suspiciously like Santa Claus (old, big white beard etc) asked out of the blue "where are you going?"

"We're trying to find Heathrow Central and then the 111 bus," I said.

"Get on the bus I get on and hop off at the next stop," he said.

From there the bus didn't take too long to arrive. We rode the bus awkwardly guarding our many big bags. We had been travelling for quite some time now and we were starting to get weary. We arrived at Heathrow Central safely and Santa Claus said a hearty "Merry Christmas!" to us, then I'm pretty sure he disappeared.

"Dad...do you think that man was Santa Claus?" Eleanor said uncertainly. We all laughed because we were all thinking the same thing.

"I think he was and he has just given us a Christmas miracle," I replied.

Eventually, dragging our bags across the ice we arrived at the Ibis Hotel. We checked in easily, threw our bags in the room and went downstairs for a beer or two and some dinner. We went to bad happy that our perilous journey so far had gone quite well. Step 3 was complete.

The next morning we had breakfast early and headed for the terminal as weren't sure how long the delays would be. I rang Qantas and they told me that our flight would be leaving. We arrived at Departures to be met by a line that was some 200 m long. We could see a lot of frazzled people and marquees had been set up to keep people sheltered or to help people who had been waiting too long. "My goodness, this is going to be bad," I said in front of the kids. I was thinking something else. It was then that we worked out how the departure system worked. We had to look at a big board to see our flight number and that told us which lettered entrance to use. We realised that we were in the line where flights were mostly going to Europe so we set off to find Entrance F for Qantas. We were met by no line and some people who were too cheerily asking people if they had a confirmation voucher for their flight. We didn't but I told them that I had just rung Qantas and they had said we would be flying so they were happy with that. It took mere moments to check in (so glad to get rid of the heavy bags!), seconds to get through security and then we were boarding the plane. This was a stark contrast to the distressed people we saw wrapped in silver space blankets who had obviously been at the airport a long time and looked like they had just about given up the will to live. Oh dear.

In no time at all we were in the air. It was as easy as that. Step 4 complete! The flight home was most pleasant. Stef and Eleanor (in the row behind us others) had a spare seat between them, we had good food and drinks and all the entertainment offered on long-haul flights. Stef and I watched a terrific Finnish film called Rare Exports which was a scary adaptation of the Joule Pukki (Father Christmas...literally Christmas Goat...story). Check it out if you get the chance. After some 13 hours in the air we arrived in Singapore. By this time, our internal timeclocks were all mucked up. Unfortunately, Stef left hers and Eleanor's boarding pass on the plane. I thought this was going to be a big deal and we would be stuck in Singapore but a quick show of the passport allowed another boarding pass to be printed. Thank goodness the passports weren't left behind! In the gate-lounge in Singapore we looked for a couple of fellow exchange teachers we had glimpsed on the plane but they weren't to be seen in the crowd. We had met them in Belfast. At that time, the man was dressed as a Leprechaun and Annie had danced the night away with him...but that's another story.

We left Singapore uneventfully and 7 hours later we were approaching Sydney over Hornsby and then dipped into Sydney Airport. Home at last. We were met by Stefanie's good friend Caitlin. It wasn't until we emerged from the airport that the Australian air wrapped us like a warm blanket. It felt good to be home.

Caitlin had enough room in her car for the kids and the luggage so Stefanie and I abandoned both and took the train and then our feet to Pymble where we would be staying overnight. It was a journey we were quite familiar with. Despite the fact the neighbours were having a loud, rocking party we slept quite easily. Step 5 complete.

The next day we had to get to Parramatta by train, find the Prior's bus to Broulee and enjoy the journey south. The luggage made the train journey difficult. So did the jetlag and the crowds on the train. We took some time to orgainse how we were going to get the luggage off the train at Parramatta. It was a difficult task but people kindly rallied to our rescue. The train pulled into Parramatta and within a blink of an eye some blokes had the luggage off the train and dumped at Stefanie's waiting feet. "No worries, mate!" one of them said in a thick Aussie accent that was quite unfamiliar to us after our year away.

We had trouble finding the bus stop for the Prior's Scenis Express. Fortune smiled again as in my wanderings I actually found the bus and followed it around Parramatta transport station to where it stopped. Stefanie hastily bought us some lunch items and then in no time at all we were off to Broulee. We arrived to be met by Ross and Joan at 8:10pm Christmas Eve. Step 6 and the journey home was complete.

We went to Joan and Ross's house for some dinner and to say hello to our Finnish friends, Lassi and Toula and Minna, Pekka and daughters Rossa and Sierri. Christmas Eve is Finnish Christmas time when Joule Pukki (previously mentioned but not quite as scary) comes to the house to give out presents. It was quite a surreal experience in a disorientated and jetlagged state. Towards 11pm Stef and I drove our familiar cars back home and we all went straight to bed tired but happy to be home at last.

Ending as we began - SNOW!

We started the year with snow and now, at the end of our exchange year it is snowing again. Here are some photos of the farm and the kids playing, in the snow.

Last Days at Looe Community School

I wanted to have the full school experience before I commented on teaching in England and Looe Community School. So, ironically, one of the last blog postings I am doing is about the very thing this teaching exchange is about - teaching!

I remember the first day at Looe School being picked up in the freezing cold by Martin Ollerenshaw and driving through the Cornish countryside. We arrived at the school which looked to be all car park and concrete to me. We walked in through the door to the Science Prep Room and I remember the unmistakable smell of labs everywhere: chemicals, washing up liquid and plant material.

"Hello, hello," Martin greeted Eunice the lab technician in his upbeat, happy manner.

"Helloo Martin," Eunice replied in a happy but busy way. This set up the scene for the year as Martin was always upbeat and Eunice was always happy but busy. Eunice looked every part the lab technician with her white lab coat on.

"Eunice, this is Wayne," said Martin.

We shook hands and Eunice said "Helloo Wayne. Welcome, welcome. Lovely to have you here. Come through and meet the others."

The Prep Room looked like organised chaos as many prep rooms do. Stuff on shelves, stuff on top of display cabinets, stuff in display cabinets, a huge rack of tray drawers, boxes of worksheets, bunsens and electrical equipment on top of workbenches. We went through into a small staffroom area with sink, microwave, table, chairs and filing cabinets. Max Chippett was there making a cup of tea.

"Alright, O?" Max inquired of Martin in the Cornish manner. It was to be later revealed that Martin was generally known as Dr. O around the school.

"Yes, very good, very good," Martin replied.

"Cup of tea?" Max inquired.

"Yes, please," Martin said, "Max, this is Wayne." We shook hands.

"Alright, mate?" Max greeted me, "cup of tea?"

"Yes, please," I said.

Then from their various rooms Karen Meakin appeared and greeted me warmly and then Adrian Chapman.

"This must be all a bit of a shock for you, eh?" Adrian said. It was. It was cold, dark, the accents were strange and it felt a bit like walking on to the set of the TV program, Teachers. But it was a warm welcome and I instantly saw that the Science staff at Looe were a lovely group of people.

That first day was a training day. I was welcomed to the school by the Head Teacher, Heather Jenkins and I looked around at a staff who looked happy enough despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, there was the prospect of snow and they had just had Christmas holidays. The training day began with half a day on something called FFT(D) and the implications for something called the GCSE's and the grades of current Year 11's. Of course, I had done some research before leaving Australia and I knew that the GCSE's were basically the equivalent of the NSW School Certificate but I wasn't entirely sure how it all worked. A year on, I have a fair handle on it but it is still quite a complicated system. The second part of the day was given over to department preparation time. Max took me under his wing and tried to explain what was what, where things were and how things worked. I went home with a headache.

The next day, the snow came and the school was closed. It was the best thing that could have happened. The one thing I lacked was time and preparation for teaching lessons. The two days we had gave me just the chance I needed to get my head around what Max had told me, the syllabuses and what the heck to teach the students.

The third day we were into it. Things started off well. I slipped into teacher mode automatically and the students seemed quite stunned by this strange Australian who was standing before them. Then it got tougher. As the students realised I was as human as a teacher in their eyes is after all, some 'difficult' behaviours started to appear. Not all the classes were like it and it seemed to be concentrated with the Year 10 and 11 students but they just wouldn't listen! I seemed to have to project my voice over them nearly constantly and wait, wait, wait for them to settle. Everything took sooo loooong. I tried every trick I had over the next several weeks: changed the seating plan, strict use of the disciplinary system, food rewards, highly structured work, combinations of everything. Most things worked for a bit but I could see quite quickly that I wasn't going to make these students into more motivated and more independent learners in the short time I had with them. It became simply a matter of being on their case, encouraging, cajoling and always having high expectations of their behaviour despite the fact that they would rarely meet it. I was helped a lot by the Science Teachers' Aide, Mark Deakin who commented to the senior management that he thought that the new Australian Science teacher was a bit shocked by the students at Looe School. Mostly, he wasn't wrong!

What I did learn over time was that these kids were great. What some of them lacked in literacy, numeracy and learning skills they made up for in social skills. They were very interested in life in Australia and they happily bantered about sporting events: the football world cup, the rugby and at the end of the year, the Ashes. These kids loved to chat, and chat they did.

Over time, particularly after the summer holidays when I took on my own new classes, I had become more a part of Looe School and things did get better. The students understood more about how I operated and I had a better understanding of their abilities and interests. It is the same with small community schools the world over it seems, you have to be a part of the community and be able to talk about who knows who before you are accepted and respected.

So, what do I think of the English education system? It is overly complicated (the modular GCSE system), it is demoralising and unmotivating to quite a few students (setting GCSE target grades that are below the award of a GCSE in a subject but still expecting the student to work), it is highly stressful for teachers (performance management stresses and Ofsted stresses.) I find the government mantra of 'ever increasing student achievement' a noble educational pursuit, but the adversarial way the government have gone about it is wrong! It is highly teacher-centred. Despite the fact that most of the Quality Teaching and Learning research I have been looking at over the years has come from England, I have found that much of the pedagogical focus in England is on the song and dance of the teacher. Less emphasis is on looking at how students are learning, and putting the responsibility of learning on to the students. There is still a big focus on teaching content rather than teaching students how to learn. I think this is occurring because teachers are under such scrutiny to 'perform' that they are safest adopting an authoritarian, traditional approach.

What do I think of Looe Community School?

It is a lovely school filled to the brim with wonderful, generous people. The staff are dedicated, hardworking and friendly and the students are generally lovely kids. There is a terrific sense of community at the school. I remember going to my first Free (Singing) Assembly and just being amazed. Four hundred students, some staff, Mr. Tom Saddler up on stage - all singing their lungs out with wonderful enthusiasm. It caught in my throat and I had to swallow back a tear it was such a terrific thing to see. Even though starting at a new school, in the middle of the school year, in winter, when it should be warm, summer holidays was really difficult, I always felt very welcome, happy and supported at the school. It has been a terrific experience.

The last days of school were special. There were many opportunities to say farewell. The Christmas Reflection and Farewells Assembly was really special. I got up to say a few words of goodbye and thanks and to give the school a gift to acknowledge the teaching exchange - the whole school community gave me a warm and lengthy round of applause. It was quite overwhelming. I'll never forget it. It all goes back to what I said before, quite a number of the students were not the best learners I have ever taught but they are some of the loveliest people and they are extremely generous. I am quite sad to be leaving Looe School just when I'm starting to feel like I am more a part of the Looe School community.

What about the Science staff?

They are a terrific bunch. They welcomed me into the team enthusiastically. They put up with my moaning on occasion despite the fact that I promised myself I wouldn't moan during my exchange year. They supported me and we became friends. Saying goodbye to them was really difficult. And then there is Eunice the lab tech. Eunice saved my teaching life on more than one occasion this year. She went above and beyond the call of duty, has a wonderful scientific knowledge, an incredible memory and brain and worked just so hard to keep the department running smoothly day to day. I cannot praise her or thank her enough for the support she has given me this year.

I wrote to Helen Gregory the exchange organiser the other day and one of the questions I answered for her was 'could I live and work in England?'. The answer to this is 'yes'. But would I want to once I've got back to Australia, smelt the Eucalyptus, felt the warm sun, looked at the big, blue sky and had a swim in the sea? Probably not, but I will certainly miss the staff and students of Looe School.

Here is a link to some of the Christmas festivities at Looe School. It was great to end the year on such a high http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Y9JoYzmxBg

Mt. Edgcumbe Plymouth on a windy Saturday in Autumn

We were looking for somewhere to go this Saturday 20th November. I remembered that only I (Wayne) had been to Mt. Edgcumbe country estate on the saltash side of Plymouth's River Tamar so off we went for a look. It was really just a nice walk and explore. We concentrated on the formal gardens this time as I hadn't looked at them last time. Here are some photos but there is also a good website which shows some parts we didn't see as the house and the private gardens were closed for the winter. http://www.mountedgcumbe.gov.uk/

Bonfire Night Part 1 and 2

"Remember, remember the 5th (or 6th and 7th) of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot." Guy Fawkes or Bonfire Night is celebrated in England to remember when Guy Fawkes attempted to blow up the British Parliament with gunpowder in 1605. This could be considered as one of the earliest examples of western state terrorism. Discuss.
Anyway, this was another fond childhood memory. In fact, one bonfire night when I was perhaps seven years old was one of the only times that my Mum's and my Dad's families got together. It was a big party with traditional food of cheese and pineapple on sticks, hot dogs, hamburgers and 'potatoes in their jackets'. Apart from the potatoes it doesn't seem that traditional to me now as an adult with a 70's classic of cubed things on sticks and some American imports but what-the-hey, it is a tradition in my family. There were also thousands of fireworks (sometimes called firecrackers in Aus). My goal with Bonfire Night 2010 was to recreate something of that remembered bonfire night and make it something special as it was possibly the only bonfire night we would have as a family.
A lot of the fun of bonfire night is the fireworks and preparations for them started about 3 weeks out when they first came on sale at Morrisons. Annie and I walked up to the special counter they had set up and after quickly glancing at the packages and fireworks available we bought the biggest, most expensive firework selection they had. They all had encouraging names like TNT, Apocalypse, Storm Chaser and Euphoria. There were roman candles, Catherine wheels and rockets but was it enough?
The evening of Friday 5th came round and the predicted rain was falling so we waited until Saturday to begin proceedings. I had cheese and pineapple sticks, crisps, drinks, hot dogs, jacket potatoes and marshmallows at the ready. Mike from next door had built a bonfire. We went up to 'the field' to have the party. Mike had lit the bonfire and I had set up a few posts and things to hang Catherine wheels from and make the fireworks safe for lighting. When I started rummaging through the firerworks I realised that we didn't have any sparklers. What? This was an outrage and wouldn't do, so I drove into town to see if I could find some. I did at the hardware store and they had a bit of a sale on another selection of fireworks 'buy a packet of rockets and get the Ultimate Detonator for free'. Sounded good to me and clearly too many fireworks were barely enough so I returned to the bonfire with more fireworks and sparklers.
With safety in mind, the firework display started slowly with a couple of roman candles. The plan was to build up through the night to the crescendo of the biggest, baddest, loudest firework. Unfortunately rain called off play about halfway into the evening so we all retreated to the house to eat food and see if the rain would leave off. It didn't. Thus ended part 1 of Bonfire Night.
Part 2 happened the next night in similar conditions without rain. This was a 'get them lit' straight up firework display. All the best fireworks were left to last so the display was going to be good. There were only two mishaps which didn't result in any injuries, thankfully. One rocket arched a perfect parabola and exploded in a hedge. One firework didn't light so I thought safe disposal in the fire would be a good idea. We waited minutes from a safe distance to see if anything would explode in the fire. Nothing happened so we assumed it was all burnt up. It was 10 minutes later when Annie said "Dad, you should check that firework in the fire" when, as I approached the fire, it exploded and a shower of sparks flew out of the fire straight at me. Oh, how we laughed as we pretended we hadn't soiled ourselves. Potentially the most dangerous one was the one called Big Bertha or something that went off with such force that it fell over and started firing multiple missiles at us a bit like a Patriot missile battery in Afghanistan. One exploded amongst the little girls. "Is everyone alright?" I feebly called to the dark once it was over. "Eleanor and Sophie, are you alright?"
"Yes, but we're going inside now," was Eleanors reply. I felt awful as my safety procedures had clearly failed. Luckily, the girls are tough and they weren't too traumatised and the bright lights and whistles of the remaining fireworks quickly brought them back outside. We all agreed that the second last firework should have been the climax of the evening. It was a wonderful Sydney-New-Years-Fireworks-Display-In-A-Box (well...sort of). Either way, Bonfire Night part 2 ended happily with no injuries, only a little shell-shock and the satisfied grins of children who have had a good time.

Halloween 2010

Annie and Eleanor had fun on Halloween. Annie had been at a birthday party sleep-over which culminated on Halloween with Trick or Treating and Eleanor and the local kids all got into the 'spirit' (heh, heh..Halloween pun) by Trick or Treating around the farm. Both girls cane back with a few kilos of sweets and chocolates each. Here are some photos.

Brighton - Day 2 and Travelling home

What a difference a day makes! That's changeable English weather for you. As we sat at breakfast on Tuesday 26th October we looked out on to an angry day. Grey skies, a howling gale and horizontal rain. The sparkling blue English Channel had been replaced with a snarling, snapping foam. We thought this might happen so we had planned to do inside things today, the Royal Pavilion and Brighton Pier.
As we went outside, this was the Brighton that I remember. I had a sudden image of me walking the pavements to the shops with my Mum, eyes squinted against the sting of the rain, leaning into the wind, wrapped up in parker and hood. The air was wet and smelt salty. I wondered how much of the rain was falling from the sky and how much was blown from the waves. The wind whipped around the buildings where it could. People walking along quite happily with their umbrellas were suddenly ripped apart in a flurry of misshapen umbrellas, coats and skirts as they turned the corner into the seafront drive.
We found the entrance to the Royal Pavilion and were pleased to get inside. The Royal Pavilion was the Prince Regent's beachside palace. A grand building in a Taj Mahal-Arabic style with opulent Chinoise decorated rooms. A strange mix of multicultural design which screamed exotic. We'll have to get you to look up your own web-images of the inside of the Pavilion as you weren't allowed to take photos and all the images I could find are copyrighted. We were most impressed by the grand chandelier in the banquet hall. The roof fitting of the chandelier is held in the mouth of a dragon which soars above the dining table. We were also impressed by the 26000 gold shells that glistened in the dome above the music hall. It certainly is an extravagant building both inside and out. The history of the life of the Prince Regent (who took over from the mad King George III) was also very interesting. We listened to this and explanations of the architecture on audioguides we walked around with. Everywhere seems to have them now and they are a good idea, I think. The children chuckled along listening to their children's version so they had a good time with it all.
Next was lunch and it was time for fish and chips for me, Jack and Eleanor. Healthy Annie and still-full-from-breakfast Stef decided to have a salad and soup or some such instead. When I was a kid I used to have Huss and Chips on 'Friday night-Fish and Chip night'. Hadn't had Huss and Chips in 30 years. I ordered some as the sign on the wall said they had Huss and the Italian serving lady asked Bruno the cook for '1 X Rock and chips'. Rock? Must be an Italian thing, I thought. Unless she misunderstood me and I was actually going to get a rock with some chips. But no, a lovely Huss and Chips appeared. I looked on the menu and indeed, they call it Rock. Weird. Anyway, I got to have Huss and Chips in Brighton in one of the oldest fish and chip shops. Mission fulfilled. My Grandad used to run the oldest fish and chip shop in Brighton. It is no longer there so this fish and chip shop, stating that it is over 50 years in continuous business must be the next best thing. Right, after boring you with the fish and chip story, let's move on.
We were going to have a ride on Volks' Electric Railway. An old Victorian railway which takes people right along the seafront. Sadly, it was closed for the winter. So, we went on to Brighton Pier. It was about a third of the way along the pier that we realised we were walking on very old floorboards with angry waves churning away underneath. If you looked down you could see the water between the cracks in the boards. Yikes! Bravely we soldiered on. The pier is an amusement centre. There are a couple of halls of casino style/amusement arcade games. When I was a kid I remember there being antique Victorian amusements and penny arcade games. Now it is all flashing lights and nightclub music. We pushed on to the old Ghost Train.
They use a token system so as not to handle money on the pier. Getting the tokens was quite a business as the machine was outside in the howling gale and rain. It took coins so I had to change my notes for coins at one spot and then get the tokens one at a time at the machine. I had to juggle my handful of coins, get the tokens and not drop my wallet. "How many thousands of pounds do ya reckon are dropped down through the cracks into the sea?" I asked Jack. We thought there must be quite a bit of money under the pier.
Jack, Annie and Eleanor enjoyed the Ghost Train and then it was time to get back inside again. We thought we'd have a go at a bit of gambling, playing a game where you had to put the money into the machine in the hope that your coin would be the one that causes a cascade of 10p pieces and perhaps a massive gemstone or two to come tumbling down into our waiting cup. Eleanor had some success but then we lost it all. After learning our lesson about gambling we returned to the hotel for a nice cup of coffee and a bit of a relax before 5 star dining in the hotel for dinner.
Next day and it was time to travel home by train. The hotel sent their bill up to us and they had got it wrong so I pointed this out to them and they said they would fix it. Fix it they did! Giving us a better discount than the one they had already quoted due to the distress and inconvenience caused. I didn't tell them that I wasn't really that fussed about it, I knew what the problem was and I was confident of a quick resolution to the matter but anyway - Travelling with a family? Choose Hilton Hotels. The family friendly team!
We hopped on the train from Brighton to Victoria Station London. Nice train! Plenty of space and work area for me to do a bit more marking. We arrived at Victoria Station uneventfully and on time and we had about an hour to get to Paddington Station on the underground. That's when it all fell apart. There was a signal failure on the Circle line which was causing all sorts of problems on the tube. In hope, we decided to try some station and line hopping to see if we could get to Paddington another way. We somehow got to Earl's Court station which wasn't bad in itself but it became fairly obvious that we wern't going to make our 13:06 connection from Paddington. The 14:06 was available so we resigned ourselves to catching that. We eventually got on a train to Liskeard and the announcement came over the train speaker that tickets booked for a specific train (as ours were) held no value on this train and travellers would be charged full fare and a penalty. What? This was going to get really expensive. We sat and hoped that we would be forgiven as we had tried and the delay on the tube wasn't our fault. The ticket collector came round just after Reading. I think she knew that the tickets were wrong but took pity on our family and stamped them anyway. Grateful but a little rattled due to our tube experience and our predicament we settled back to try and enjoy our journey through to Liskeard. We arrived home at 17:50 only ten minutes later than we would have otherwise, quite strangely. An early night was had after a busy day.

Brighton - Travelling to and Day 1

"Oh, we do like to be beside the seaside. Oh, we do like to be beside the sea..." Not too sure if this song is specifically about Brighton but it fits so well. We heard it more than once as Mums sang it to their excited children as they walked towards the Brighton seafront.
Brighton is my ancestral home. Indeed, for nine years or so it was actually my home so we were always going to return here at some point this year to look around. It had taken several weeks of looking on the internet to make the plan come together. Accommodation was the main problem. Eventually persistence and luck paid off and we were able to get a really good deal at the 5 star Hilton Brighton Metropole hotel right on the seafront.
We travelled to Brighton on Sunday 25th October. It was a different train route east this time with a change at Westbury to connect with the Cardiff to Brighton line. I doubted that we would make the narrow connection window (7 minutes) but the trains went like clockwork on this day. We got off the train at Westbury, waited a minute and a half, in came the train from Cardiff, hopped on and five minutes later we were off to Brighton. Easy when it works. The train took us through Portsmouth and then through more familiar names of towns from my childhood: Worthing, Shoreham-By-Sea, Hove and eventually Brighton.
It was about 5pm when we arrived, so early evening. We rolled our little and recently purchased cabin bags down Queen Street and West Street towards the seafront. The first thing that strikes you about Brighton is that it is a very busy town with lots of noisy traffic. The second thing is that it is quite hilly. It was nice to arrive in Brighton with clear, blue skies. There was a cold bite to the air though as winter is very much here. Things became more familiar to me as we got nearer the seafront. There was an amusement arcade/casino that maybe I remember. There was The Odeon cinema which I think has always been there. Vague recollections at this stage but familiar none the less. The seafront with its distinctive turquoise railing, pebbled beaches and pier was instantly recognisable. We found our way to the Hilton Brighton Metropole, checked in and went to explore the local area in the hope of finding some dinner. We took a quick stroll along the seafront in order to get our bearings and soak up the atmosphere. Evenutally we found ourselves in The Lanes, a network of narrow walks with small specialty shops and swank eateries. I don't have many memories of The Lanes but by the look of it it has been 'glitzed' up with expensive jewellery shops and haute couture fashion shops. There was a good buzz in The Lanes on a Sunday evening with lots of beautiful people and families eating and drinking in the many funky cafes. We couldn't decide what to eat until Stefanie said "Oo look. I've never tried Vietnamese". Vietnamese for our first night in Brighton? Why not? It is that sort of place. Funky, spontaneous, cosmopolitan. No Jellied Eels and Cockles in vinegar for us. We ate beautiful traditional-style Vietnamese which was very healthy and tasted delicious. Fish and chips would have to wait for another day. There is an endless choice of fish and chips along the Brighton seafront. I had to have fish and chips in Brighton to pay homage to my late Grandad Foster who at one time ran the oldest fish and chip shop in Brighton.
After dinner it was back to the hotel to go to bed. We had separate rooms for the adults and for the children (part of the excellent deal the Hilton offered...50% off a children's room) but this meant that the children were sharing an enormous triple bed. They learnt to get on well over the next couple of days.
The next morning we emerged and went downstairs to The Windsor Room to have our buffet breakfast. Clearly, the children were going to identify 'breakfast' as a highlight of their trip to Brighton. All manner of cereal, pastries, breads, juices, cooked breakfast items, pancakes, waffles, eggs cooked to order by the friendly chef, Finnish-style breakfast goodies of smoked fish, cheeses, ryebreads, fruit, yoghurt, croissants...ridiculously good. Jack decided he likes 5 star hotels. Off we waddled to start our exploration of Brighton proper. We spun through the revolving door into blazing sunshine, blue skies and a flat, sparkling blue sea stretching before us. We had created a flexible itinerary with the help of my Dad before arriving and we used that to start our exploration. The first event was 'Wayne's World Famous Brighton Heritage Tour' which turned out to be an arduous hike through Brighton complete with 'hilarious and moving anecdotes about a childhood in Brighton in the 1970's'. We were going to get a bus from The Old Steine area but we didn't look at a bus timetable and it was going to be a long wait so we thought we would walk for a bit and catch the bus farther along. It is here that 'it is just around the corner' syndrome took hold and we ended up walking the whole way and not getting the bus at all. It wasn't until we got to an area called The Level that I had any real sense of deeply personal childhood memory. The Level hasn't changed in the last 30 years at all. Heck, The Level hasn't changed in the last 150 years I now realise as an adult. It is simply a flat, park-like area with a children's play area. I remembered the swings, the paddling pool, the stone step arches. I remembered playing there as a kid. I was glad to see that it is still the same.
Our next stop was 19 Aberdeen Road. This was where my Dad was born. A simple two-storey, terraced house in the middle of Brighton. He now lives on a large block of green on the open, rolling-hill plateau of the Atherton Tablelands in Far North Queensland. I don't think you could get any more different and I think he is now in a better spot.
We crossed the road and went to my old school, Fairlight School. It is still the same though I don't remember the garish blue signage and the same garish blue used as a colour theme in the school. Being half-term it was locked so we couldn't go in but we could see some of the colour through the windows. Around the back of the school they have put a second ramp entrance. The central playground was still the same except for a fenced off infants play area and a sort-of garden area. We used to kick a football around the playground. I'm guessing they are not allowed to do that any more. The world is bigger when you are a child and the memory sticks with you. It was weird looking down on this small playground space but remembering playing games there as a child. The perspective was all wrong.
We then followed the route I used to take for walking home from school. Around the corner and then up the hill of Hartington Road. I remember it being a long, steep hill and it still is! It is a nice road though with trees lining the bottom of it. It is fairly wide for England and there is a wonderful view of Brighton's Regency terraces from the top. Eventually we got to 229 and 235 where my Mum, Dad, my sister and I used to live. There was Carisbrooke Road where I used to play. As we stood outside 235 taking photos with me pointing out who lived where (there - the Barton's; there - my friend Ricky Green and his Nan who used to look after me after school and we used to watch Batman and Zorro; there - someone we knew a bit, their daughter was a policewoman; there - my friend Anna, we bought their house 235; there - Mr. Crooke a World War 1 hero; there - my friend Claire) a couple of little girls came skipping out of Mr. Crooke's house (Mr. Crooke now being 115 or so, so he has probably passed on). Partly curious as to what we were doing taking photos and such they skipped past and darted off down Carisbrooke Road to play. 'The new generation of Carisbrooke Kids' I pointed out to Stef, Jack, Annie and Eleanor. Surely they were going to see if Derek, Charlotte, Paul and Sarah could come out to play. I was pleased that the legacy of the Carisbrooke Kids continued. I wanted to sit down on the steps of a Carisbrooke Road house and tell the new generation stories of me, Derek, Charlotte, Paul and Sarah and the adventures we had playing on Carisbrooke Road. Sadly, that would have probably got me arrested in this day and age and we had to move on and continue our tour.
At the top of Hartington Road in the 70's there was a stone masons that made headstones for the graves of Brighton Cemetery and there was a gate known as The Top Gate which gave entrance to the cemetery. Both the stone masons and the top gate are no longer there. The stone masons is just an ivy overgrown ruin and the top gate has been blocked up by an ugly concrete slab wall topped with razor wire. Graffiti, probably marking St. Helen's Road gang territory, capped off the ugly scene. St. Helen's was known as a no-go zone for us as kids and it seems to be the same today. You could pass through there OK with an adult but it is to be avoided if by yourself or at night I would suggest. We walked back down Hartington Road to the main cemetery entrance.
Many childhood memories were here as quite a lot of time was spent exploring and playing in the cemetery. The memory that hit me most was the coloured glass beads that some people spread on the top of the graves. I'd forgotten about this and I instantly remembered being dazzled and fascinated by it as a child. The cemetery was always good for finding conkers in the autumn and we quickly found some as we walked up the road. I think the road used to be a sort of white-ish gravel but now it is just black bitumen. Our mission was to find the graves of my Grandads and the memorial plaque of my Nan Foster. 'Always read the instructions!' is the moral of the story as my Dad had clearly emailed where the graves were but I had only remembered 'near the chapel' as a reference. Amongst the thousands of gravestones there it was like finding a needle in a haystack so we spread out. Thankfully, fortune smiled and we found the grave of Grandad Hagon fairly quickly. Grandad Foster is supposedly buried right next to Grandad Hagon but there was no headstone to mark the place. We could see that there was indeed a grave next to Grandad Hagon's so we assumed it was the right place and paid our respects to both Grandads.
In the 70's there used to be a hole in the wall that could be used to access the old part of the cemetery. A wall divided the old and new parts of Brighton Cemetery. We tried to find it but we couldn't. There was an area that looked right but it was all overgrown and blocked off. Time was getting away from us anyway and we wanted to visit the Memorial Garden where I believed my Nan had a plaque on the memorial wall. We looked and looked but this WAS like looking for a needle in a haystack. Unless it suddenly sprung out to the eye there was no chance we could find it. With a feeling of 'at least we tried' we had to continue our journey.
Sick of walking by this stage we decided to get a bus back to town. We caught it at the cemetery gates and it went back up Hartington Road, Ryde Road, around the hospital, Queen's Park Road, Islingwood Road, towards Brighton Station, London Road shops etc. It was a bumpy, windy journey which gave me great opportunity to change my walking tour into a bus tour and point out things to the now-flagging but bravely staying with me, family.
We had lunch and a bit of a rest before getting the bus to Preston Park and The Rockery (one of the world's largest rock gardens). Both these places were childhood favourites with learning to ride a bike at Preston Park cycling track, kicking a football around on the fields, walking through the walled garden of Preston Manor on a sunny Sunday and exploring the Rockery. The bus trip was a bit of an adventure as the bus didn't take the route that I expected and we missed the park. Realising the mistake and a bit anxious that we would have to pay for an unnecessary bus ticket (not cheap when you are dragging around a family of 5) we waited for a bus in the opposite direction. I explained our predicament to the very friendly bus driver who helped us out both ticketwise and with directions. Grateful, we alighted at the correct stop. Then came the best example of childhood memory distortion yet. "Oh dear," I said to Stef, "we are diagonally opposite from where we should be which means we've got to walk all the way across the park." Surely, Preston Park is a vast acreage of land which takes hours to get across! We crossed the road and entered through the gate in the wall which hides Preston Park from this angle. About the size of three football fields, Preston Park is not as big as I remember it. Everything is still there as it was. We went to look in the rose garden and walled garden of the manor. Is it just me or did the garden and manor look a little run down from 30 years ago? The walled garden had closed at 4pm so were unable to go inside but we looked through the gate. We made our way across the road to the Rockery. It is a lovely rock garden with some beautiful Japanese Maple type trees in beautiful autumn colour. I remember struggling to climb the rocky paths as a little tike. Dad used to make up stories as we walked around. The witch that lived in the whirring electrical room buried in the rocks always made walking along that bit of path a challenge and we used to enjoy doing 'trip trap trip trap over the rickety bridge' like Billy Goats Gruff when we got to the wooden bridge. There was always a chance that you would fall in crossing the stepping stones in the frog pond. We liked visiting the Rockery it was a bit of quiet, relaxing space in an otherwise busy city.
We hopped back on the bus and went and found a rocking Italian restaurant at the children's request. They weren't that keen on the Vietnamese the night before apparently. Then back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.