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Non-Fiction
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| The Message | |
| By patterjack | ||||||||
| 25 January 2007 | ||||||||
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It was a very cold winter in England in 1979 , and although, ( disappointingly to a pair of winter - expectant sun -drenched Aussies ) , it did not snow very much in the first two weeks we were in London , the weather was somewhat grey and drizzly in the presumably normal British tradition. After our first fortnight there and after the setting up of future plans about surveying drama , we believed we had to move out of the private hotel we were inhabiting , to allow the proprietress , a lovely Welsh lady , her own Christmas in Wales. In fact , we found out that she would have been willing to let us stay as the only residents , and at a later time in the year for a different occasion we were able to do just that. This was one of the two most welcome occurrences among many, many others during those first two weeks in England . The warmth of her welcome and her generosity was matched by the fact that for a couple of minutes after we left Heathrow , the sun had actually shone ! As it was , however , we took the opportunity to begin a trek through unknown parts for us . I wanted to go south , if only to see the town of Mousehole , a name that had caught my fancy while looking at maps . The wife wanted to go north . So York it was . No regrets at all about that -- and Mousehole was still there later in the year . Wonder of wonders to us , no sooner had we ensconced ourselves in a boarding house just outs1de the gates of York , than it began to snow-- a light , fluffy fall that gradually grew sporadically heavier during our week there . It did not snow heavily , nowhere near as heavily as it did when we later moved down to Lincoln , but apparently there was enough further upstream to turn the Ouse into a very flooded river . We didn't care ; it was all new to us , and it led to a couple of interesting , and in this case sequential , situations . We visited all the major sights of York , and as we were carefully feeling our way in regards to finances , we purchased a very large sized pork pie , which he hoped would do for our Christmas dinner . However , on Christmas Day , we went walking out of the town area , into the country side. About noon , we came to a rural pub which had just opened its doors as seems to fit the strange hours of English hostelries and I suggested , as is my wont , that we sample the local ale. So in we went , to sit before a huge fireplace with a huge fiery log , and ordered a couple of beers. At that point , a lilting Welsh voice enquired as to whether we were Aussies -- if he judged our accents aright . We admitted to that sin , to be informed that he had been a saiior , had spent much time in Melbourne and loved Oz . During the afternoon of chat we found out that he had been a jazz drummer as well as a sailor and many another odd occupation too. Naturally , he was related to Gareth Evans and every other famous Welsh Rugby Union player . He introduced me to a drink till then unknown to me -- rum and blackcurrant very suitable for the weather , but each drink was met with the sailors' toast * Rum , Bum and Baccy * . He must have been taken with us , for as the pub with its strange hours closed for a time , he invited us to return that afternoon , have a drink with his family and then come down to his home for mince pies and other Christmas delicacies . Such an invitation on our first week in England could not be refused , so we came back later and met the tribe , a lovely lot of people . When the pub closed we were driven to his home , and indeed the mince pies were both home made and delicious. By midnight or later we were all aglow , but it was time to get back to the boarding house , so his son-in-law offered to drive us there. With black ice , a snow storm and a would -be racing driver at the wheel , we were grateful to make it safely . Boxing Day was , to say the least , a bilious one for the wife -- she could not face any more pork pie ! I have a much more hardened stomach . While she slept I wandered out to see if I could take in my first game of Football at the York ground . There I found out two facts , that York was in the Fourth Division ( though as one of the local police at the game informed me * They do have their mooments * ) and that there were more police in the crowd than there were spectators . I decided I could wait to watch a later First Division game , preferably one with Stoke on Trent playing since that was my father's city's team . Therefore I wandered up to the York Minster and into building . As I stopped before the famous Rose Window and looked up , the sun came out for the second time in our stay in England . The sight of the array of colour penetrating the gloom of the Minster was an incredibly moving experience , and it is to my regret that my wife had missed it . I have wondered since if the deity had been trying to send me a message. He might have done better speaking to the wife .
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