Here’s the last batch of old family photos I’ll share.
.
.
From right to left – my uncle, my aunt and presumably my father… theintrepid butterfly hunter.
.
.
My great aunt and an unidentified child, perhaps my aunt. From the look of their clothes, I’m guessing they were not ardent PETA supporters.
.
.
These next few shots are of the Henley Regatta.
.
.
Part of the English social season, the annual rowing competition originated in 1839 and takes place on the River Thames.
.
.
It also looks like a good excuse to buy a new hat.
.
.
My uncle and aunt. Because no well dressed toddler should be without a parasol.
.
.
My grandmother, still not smiling… with my aunt and uncle in their garden. Sadly, my uncle was another relative I never met. He was killed in a car accident on Christmas Day at the age of 30.
.
.
My grandfather in the garden.
.
.
And finally, another garden party shot of Wednesday Addams with my father and uncle.
Residents of Scarborough, England were thrilled when a walrus decided to visit their town. The creatures rarely venture that far south and the 2,000 pound oddity became an instant tourist attraction. Families brought their children to see the colossal beast and even gave him an appropriate walrus name…. Thor.
What could go wrong?
.
.
Funny you should ask….
.
.
Onlookers apparently saw a lot more of Thor than they bargained for.
.
.
File that tidbit of trivia away for future use. You can thank me later.
Since my husband has been wasting time and money working in the basement, it was inevitable he’d discover some treasure. And for the first time in a long time… I’m not being sarcastic when I say that.
To my delight, he came upstairs the other day with these.
.
.
A box full of old photo albums given to me by my late father’s sister years ago when she was moving. She gave us all kinds of unwanted things that were basement bound but these must have gotten mixed in with the rest, and sadly I’d forgotten all about them.
The photos are old, taken in England between 1910 and 1920… and just for fun I thought I’d share a few.
.
.
My father as a boy. A well dressed dapper little lad, no?
.
.
My grandfather and my aunt. Another dapper gentleman.
Unfortunately I never met him, as he died when my dad was 10 years old.
.
.
My grandmother and another aunt.
I was 2 when my grandmother passed and have no memory of her. It may have been the era, but I don’t possess a single photo of her smiling either.
.
.
My grandfather with two unidentified children. Apparently one of them was a daisy.
.
.
My father loved the sea, as is evidenced by him taking the tiller at an early age.
.
.
This is his older brother, who clearly was only trusted with toy boats.
.
.
My grandmother and uncle. Oh, that hat!
.
.
My grandfather, left, with an unidentified man in Cuba. Pops was a world traveler.
.
.
My grandfather and father. Did no one ever smile for pictures back then?
.
.
My father, building his own mini Stonehenge in Cornwall.
My husband is still not enjoying retirement. He’s bored, antsy as hell and no matter how many times I show him the honey do list… is always looking for something to do. When he’s not twitchy? He’s moping around the house and driving me crazy.
.
.
Damn. That sounds perfect! He has a bar in the man cave and knows how to tap a keg … he has experience!
Pardon me while I check airfare prices to Piel Island, County Cumbria.
I read an article the other day that made me chuckle.
.
.
The list was long, but here are a few highlights.
.
.
Yikes. I am in no way, shape or form a penny pincher…. ( the jury is still out on arse ) but I always box up my uneaten goodies. This has nothing to do with being cheap and everything to do with not wanting to cook dinner the next day. Of course we’re talking about English food here, so it really isn’t a surprise no one wants to bring that home.
.
.
Okay, I’m doomed. We spent 18 years in the south.. and smothered with sausage gravy is my very favorite way to eat biscuits.
.
.
Fanny means vagina? I had an aunt named Fanny. (crazy, but true) Then again, she was a nasty old biddy who should have embraced her latent homosexuality instead of living alone and miserable all of her bitter loveless life… so, okay.
.
Side note… Googling ‘Aunt Fanny’ makes me realize I am woefully out of touch.
.
It’s beginning to look like I won’t be able to cross England off my bucket list. I drink fresh brewed unsweetened iced tea every day, winter, spring, summer and fall. Why do Brits have such an aversion to ice?
.
.
Oh good grief. I’ve always used spunky as an adjective. Looks like I’m going to have to rethink that…
Part 2 of the historic triangle in the Williamsburg ,Virginia area is Jamestown. What I didn’t know before arriving was that there are 2 distinct ways to experience it…. the National Park site and the more touristy recreation.
We opted for the National site first, by way of the Colonial Parkway.
The Parkway is a beautiful 23 mile road that runs along the James River from Williamsburg to Yorktown.
We jumped off at Jamestown and drove the 5 mile Island Loop, a self guided tour that explores the natural environment and history of the area.
Then it was on to the visitors center.
I won’t bore you more than I already do with the story. You can read about it here. Suffice it to say Jamestown was the first permanent English settlement, the birthplace of Virginia… and basically, America.
There was a wonderful theater…
With multiple screens… where we brushed up on our high school history.
Outside there was a long boardwalk…
That led to a monument…
Which I’m sure the husband was glad he didn’t have to climb.
It was there we waited for our Park Ranger tour guide.
Who led us to the original settlers’ site.
That’s Pocahantas to the right… and yes, there was a Mockingbird on her head. A real one who proceeded to poop on her nose.
The only thing left from the original settlers’ buildings was one crumbling wall of a church.
But archeologists have been actively digging here for years….
Removing thousands of artifacts from the fort….
And various other buildings.
Here, the husband checks out a model recreation of the site.
The soldiers barracks.
Where the Queen visited a decade ago.
And the required selfie by the water.
There was an outline of a church with markers for the identified graves.
And a graveyard for unidentified remains.
It was a lovely spot.
But the history of the hardships the colonists suffered sure made you appreciate the wealth of opportunities and conveniences we have now.
Famine, civil unrest, severe weather, murder, Indian attacks…. even cannabilism. They experienced it all.
Second required selfie by the water to lighten the mood.
It was a fascinating tour…
And we learned a lot.
But it was lunchtime…. and the husband’s stomach was growling.
Not wanting to waste time and drive back to town, we were glad to find a small cafe on site.
You couldn’t beat the view.
Chicken salad spinach wrap with potato salad for me…
Tomato bisque and a Sloppy Joe with potato salad for the husband.
Thus fortified, we headed for the museum.
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 