by My brother is now a few hours from landing in Christchurch, but for a minute there it was doubtful they’d get to New Zealand at all. On Friday I spoke to my brother who was in a panic (I don’t blame him) because he’d just found out while trying to complete an online check-in that his wife (and probably the little one too) needed a sort of visa to enter NZ. It would take days – which they didn’t have – to come through. But somehow they got themselves sorted. I think if you’ve applied for the visa thingy you’re OK, even if you haven’t got it. These nasty surprises are common now in the no-travel-agent book-and-hope era.
I haven’t been that active since I arrived in St Ives; in other words, things have gone according to plan. On Friday I didn’t do a lot apart from look at the lots for sale at the auction (the bottom has clearly dropped out of the antiques market) and go for a bike ride around the Hemingfords and Houghton.
The only bank left in St Ives. Having the bankiness set in stone has probably helped it survive. It has the same beehive motif that we see, on a larger scale, on a bank building in Timișoara.
Merryland. Great name for a street.
This early-18th-century house is on the market for £895,000
Bugingham Palace is a cute name for this insect “house” in this wild area by the river, but the lack of another G has been bugging me ever since I saw it.
Yesterday my family friend decided she fancied doing a tour of Houghton Mill, but when she saw it required an advance booking, she decided instead on a tour of Lucy Boston’s manor house by the river in Hemingford Grey. Would I like to come? Sure. We walked through the St Ives meadow and past a large house and colourful garden that was once the site of a waterside bar where my friend had a summer job in the sixties. She caught sight of the owner; they had a longish chat which involved much reminiscing on her part. Soon after that, we went past the manor house and saw they had a tour at 2:30; she made a booking for the two of us. We stopped at the Axe and Compass pub in Hemingford Abbots where we had a pint each and a shamefully tiny portion of chips that cost £4, or roughly 15p per chip.
Then it was time for the tour. Lucy Boston was the world-famous author of the Green Knowe series of children’s books. I never read them but I did see some of the TV adaptation. She died in 1990, aged 97. When I was at Hemingford School – this would have been in the spring of 1988, I’m guessing – our teacher (Mr Wright, my first male teacher) gave us all an outing. Half the class were lucky enough to go inside the house and meet the most famous resident of the village and perhaps the oldest too, while the other half (including me) got to draw cows by the river. Other than being the home of Lucy Boston, the house is renowned for supposedly being the oldest continuously inhabited residence in the country. It was built during the Norman period, almost 900 years ago. Diana Boston, Lucy’s daughter-in-law, lives in the house, and it was she (now in her mid-eighties) who gave us the tour. I loved how expressive she was as she showed us all the church-like windows and arched doorways and the changes that were made between the Norman and Tudor periods, and pointed out the features that gave Lucy the inspiration for her stories. In the early 18th century the whole frontage was replaced, and not very well it seems, but a fire at the end of that century did for that. Lucy’s patchwork quilts also became famous, so we got a good look at them as well. Surprisingly, Diana even gave us a tour of her own bedroom. At the end of the tour, we (there were about a dozen of us) sat in a fantastical-looking room which WW2 airmen used twice a week to listen to gramophone records. The colossal gramophone is still working; she has a collection of 150-odd boxes of records. She played us the airmen’s favourite, Abide With Me.
I only took limited photos of the manor house
The tour cost £12 per person; that wasn’t terrible value (unlike the chips). My friend and I then spent some time in the garden, which is itself impressive with its chess-piece topiary and bright colours. It is home to some of the world’s oldest roses. Then we walked back to St Ives. We discussed her daughters, my parents, and a potential trip to Romania.
Today I went to Cambridge. I spent a good chunk of my time on Mill Road; I was born at the maternity hospital there, just like Douglas Adams was. (The hospital closed in 1983.) I’d never explored Mill Road before, and I wish I had, because it’s absolutely fascinating. More than a mile long, it’s made up of two distinct parts, with a railway bridge separating them. The western end, where the hospital used to be, is in the suburb of Petersfield, while the eastern end is in Romsey. Mill Road is brimming with independent eateries, international food shops, bike shops, and community centres of one sort or another. I went into a couple of the food shops to see if there was anything Romanian in there, and sure enough there were tripe to make soup out of (no thanks), trays of mici, and even cans of Ursus and Timișoreana beer. Outside these shops were watermelons, costing about twice what I’m used to paying. It was 28 degrees, unusually warm for here, so I felt right at home. (Tomorrow it’s forecast to reach 33.)
The top one is going for £800k, the bottom one for £675k. Maybe there’s a Cambridge Road in Oxford.
The western end of Mill Road
Romanian produce in one of the shops in the western end
The eastern end of Mill Road
Update: I’ve just spoken to my brother. They all arrived safety after an uncomplicated journey which had a single stop in Singapore.
