England at last! But before I even leave Gatwick airport, I face my first international
crisis: British Customs demand exorbitant import taxes before releasing Melawend. After
two days and nights stuck at the airport, Melawend and I are underway, only to be knocked
off the road by a motorist on the first day out.
"Someone is watching over
you," said the passenger in the car. 
This chapter details
my first encounters with elements of quintessential England – the white cliffs of
Dover, the seashore, a castle, a 16th century manor (complete with sleep-shattering
peacocks), bustling London, a sheep farm, and the historic streets of Bath.
As enchanted as I am by my
surroundings, I am more impressed by the
Brits I meet, such as Ida Roperspole, a campground proprietress
who keeps a shotgun visibly behind her desk; Horace, the dandy of Arundel; and Lin Cox,
the blond beauty who accommodates me in her flat and shows me the 
sights of Bath, her hometown.
The chapter ends with a look at
interpersonal relationships as I hastily but also reluctantly leave Bath, bound for Wales.
Chapter
9
HAY DAYS ON TIR
MAWR
This segment begins with the transition from affluent England to the more humble byways of
pastoral south Wales. Desperately seeking a place to camp, I end up on Tir Mawr Farm, home
of Peter and Carol Francis. There, I bale hay and share the daily homelife of a Welsh
family. Peter discusses boxing during a heavyweight championship battle and vents his
anger over the affects of Chernobyl on north Wales.
This chapter also details my reception by the Cynon
Valley Council and the tour I am given by reporter Adrianne Liejerstam her tiny Austin
Mini. This jaunt through the hills includes visiting the ancient church where a famous
midnight run commemorates "the Fastest Runner in the World: a young man who died
after a hearty slap on the back after a race. It also includes a drive by the slagheaps in
the dispirited Rhondda Valley.
The chapter concludes with
Melawend and I following the Francis family into the vast green beauty of Brecon Beacons,
falling away as we meander our slower way.
Chapter
10
ROOTS
AND REVOLUTION
From Brecon Beacons, Melawend and
I explore the Wye Valley and visit Monmouth, photographing its fortified bridge, the
oldest in England. It was the home of Charles S. Rolls, co-founder of the Rolls
Royce Motor Company and the ancestral home of my maternal grandmother.
With limited funds, I can do
little more go up to the gate of Blenheim Palace, birthplace of Sir Winston Churchill, and
get a grab-shot of Shakespeare’s birthplace in Stratford-Upon-Avon. But I do
get to camp on the front lawn of a baronial home on a 3,000-acre estate.
While all England is watching the
wedding of Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson, I am treated to a fish dinner, head and tail
attached, at a country pub. I continue to experience the British character as when
listening to Bert Alpont, on his farm, Lupin Patch, recite a fine bit of verse on the fly
– he doesn’t write them down but I caught this gem on tape and share his words
with you.
The central part of
this chapter is both historically and personally significant. I learned from my maternal
grandfather, Thomas Jefferson Darby (described in Chapter 2) that I am descended from
Abraham Darby, who, being the first to successfully smelt iron with coke on a commercial
basis back in 1709, became one of the fathers of the Industrial Revolution –
symbolized in Ironbridge, site of the world’s oldest bridge made of iron.
I ride Melawend stately up to
palatial Dudmaston, where I meet Lady Labouchere, a woman of regal bearing who is a
descendant of Albert Darby, Abraham’s brother. Over tea, she tells me of the
Darby heritage, international diplomacy (her husband, Sir George Labouchere, was a
diplomat), and the simple binding ties of humanity.
I move on to the famed walled
city of Chester where I meet its mayor. Finally Melawend and I find refuge on the
farm of Denis and Pam Smith in Neston, stopping in part because I’m anxious to get
mail expected in Liverpool.
Chapter
11
SOUTH
STACK, SNOWDONIA, AND SOGGY SHEEP
But it’s the weekend: the postal outlets are closed. So Melawend and I travel
the north coast of Wales to the birdy Isle of Anglesey. We ride the rugged stony
heights of Snowdonia, get my mail in Liverpool and rumble through the dreary dockside of
the Beatles’s hometown before settling wetly on a sheep farm near Settle, in the
Yorkshire Dales.
This chapter shows that my shell
is cracking more, hammered by necessity – I must approach strangers for help,
especially for a place to camp. Melawend acts like an international icebreaker, opening
lines of communication. The kind and generous receptions increase my self-confidence. This
will serve me well in places where language becomes a barrier.
The chapter concludes with me
cursing the British weather for veiling in rain the beauty of the Lake District as
Melawend and I slide through on the way to the homeland of the Sean Connery - Scotland.
Chapter 12
BABPIPES
AND LOCH LEGENDS
Melawend and I ride to legendary
Loch Lomond, passing the sleepy yet-to-be-famous town of Lockerbie. Then it’s
on to the eerie splendor of Glencoe, site of Scotland’s bloodiest clan feud, and then
to the shores of Lock Ness, where I take a brief look for one of the world’s most
successful recluses.
Dripping wet and freezing, I am
as welcomed as a guest by the Freeman of Inverness, with whom I share tea and biscuits. He
invites me to attend the Highland Games the following week but, because of time and the
weather, I decline (a regret to this day - feeling I should have toughed it out for a few
more cold days, a regret that I took another shortcut in life). Melawend and I rush
to the warmer south, to Edinburgh where I am received City Hall, a mostly vacant place
because of the Commonwealth Games.
This chapter
explores some of the folklore and the wondrous landscapes of Scotland. It reveals locals I
meet such as Alec Stewart. He's playing bagpipes in full Scottish regalia in remote
roadside rest stop near Glencoe. He is accompanied by his three-year-old-son who
puffs valiantly on his own tot-sized bagpipes. Alec says, "Aye, if I were single
I’d come along with you and play for food stakes."
(Photo: Glencoe, Scotland)
In this segment, I adapt to the
harshest weather yet and deal with the first bit of chilly behaviour overseas, via a curt
young lass on an old estate. Fearful that I would not go to the campground as she
directed, she says, "And don’t be setting just anywhere. His Lordship
doesn’t take kindly to such things."
The chapter concludes with me
being lonely and almost-penniless, walking the promenade beside the North Sea at Seaham,
wedding place of Lord Byron, wondering just how I was going to get out of Great Britain -
head back to London and find some employment?
Chapter 13
OF THE
BBC AND THE NORTH SEA
I find my way out via the sea at Newcastle Upon Tyne.
This chapter is about fulfilling
needs by reaching out to strangers for mutual benefit. I need money and approach the
local BBC Radio station, hoping for a paid interview (what did I know about radio
broadcasting?). I am not paid but the staff is fascinated with the Odyssey and we do
a few shows. One of the producers, Brigeen Clafferty, a feisty bit of Ireland in a
Patty-Duke look-alike, takes me under her wing and into her nest. She wangles a job for me
as official photographer for Newcastle’s first music festival through its dapper PR
executive, Roger Neville (Dabney Coleman with a British accent, more hair, and an umbrella
you can sit on).
After a week among fine people
– working on home renovations, playing Trivial Pursuit and doing the pubs –
there is a sad parting. That night, walking the gently rocking decks of a
Norway-bound ferry, I experience the psychological transition that will occur between
departures and arrivals – the regret of leaving a place for which I had initially
felt apprehensive to new apprehensions of what lays immediately ahead. Here, could
Melawend withstand the high rugged terrain of Norway. And, Quebec not withstanding, could
I handle this first land of a foreign tongue?
On the ferry, I meet a young
Norwegian girl who has an inner glow more radiant than the sunset that reflects on her
face. It's not for me - she has come from having spent time with her Scottish
fiance. She is filled with new memories. I again realize that at the heart of
marriage is accumulated memories. And I wonder if I will meet Her out there,
somewhere.
