tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8034654612332099112024-02-06T20:58:41.680-08:00World Travel with AnneAnne Gordon is a widely read travel writer. Her articles and photographs are published in books, newspapers and magazines. For a glimpse into her world, read on ....Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.comBlogger327125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-82783174129012051592014-02-22T03:37:00.000-08:002014-02-22T03:44:43.919-08:00<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1393068293886_2334" style="line-height: 32px;"><b id="yui_3_13_0_ym1_1_1393068293886_2333"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">Rocky Mountaineer Canada Cruise and Rail Tours</span></b></span> </span><br />
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-25326185875544945862013-11-28T04:42:00.001-08:002013-11-28T04:42:26.215-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXwgPS3Y1I2vzcdaf-YBtdFbLwziKvKPN77dXqls1pkjYeVA-BG7zQ095qPhyphenhyphenCizYATGmXh5cX_SPITcWkYM6_PNTQu92AIpCmKn4ek53ivh_IBOl_HWRqLSSchrZsaez6hrQNb7Pctf9/s1600/5-MayMorning09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong></strong><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXwgPS3Y1I2vzcdaf-YBtdFbLwziKvKPN77dXqls1pkjYeVA-BG7zQ095qPhyphenhyphenCizYATGmXh5cX_SPITcWkYM6_PNTQu92AIpCmKn4ek53ivh_IBOl_HWRqLSSchrZsaez6hrQNb7Pctf9/s400/5-MayMorning09.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>A Morris dancer at Oxford's May Day celebration</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>SUMMER IS ICUMMIN IN continued...</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">On this occasion, dotted
among the crowd were teams of Morris Dancers dressed in traditional
costume; white shirts, white trousers, heavy boots or clogs with rows
of bells around their legs. Headgear, depending on which dance group
they were affiliated with, varied from floppy felt hats, bowler hats,
black top hats, and straw hats decorated with fresh lilac, daffodils,
peach blossom and early summer roses. The Morris Dancers’
traditional dancing goes back more than 600 years.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> As
the crowd became restless a musician struck up the fiddle and dancing
ensued. </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Jack
in the Green</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
a figure who accompanies the Morris Men on their dances, stood
motionless beside me, and I suspected that I was being observed. The
man was invisible beneath a tree-shaped arrangement threaded with
greenery. As I photographed the Morris Men, a voice came from deep
within the evergreen. “When am I going to see the photographs you
took of us last time, Anne Gordon?”</span></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
I pulled some of the leaves
aside and peered into the darkness and the face of Peter Lund, a don
from Christ Church who had loaned me a book on the history of the
Morris Dancers.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
As 6 a.m. approached, a
choir of Magdalen men and teen boys emerged with their singing master
onto the sloping roof at the top of Magdalen tower. For more than
500 years this ceremony, or one very similar, had been re-enacted
right there on the banks of the River Cherwell. It was originally a
pagan tradition, culminating in the crowning of a Summer Queen to
honour the spirit of vegetation.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Suddenly a splash of light
touched the ancient stone of Magdalen tower. All eyes turned towards
Christ Church meadow where the first rays of sun pierced the dawn
shadows. There was an expectant hush. Who would have thought that
there were thousands of people beside the river at that moment?
Then, from high above us, soprano voices burst into song; a Latin
hymn followed by a lively rendition of “Summer is Icummen In.”</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
For a moment my mind
flashed back centuries to the millions of people who had welcomed
past summers in this same place.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
As the singing faded,
enthusiastic applause greeted the deafening peals of church bells
reverberating across the city. With summer appropriately ushered in,
each group of Morris Men, like pied pipers, drew the crowds behind
them as they danced along cobbled streets to the music of fiddle,
pipe and drum. Other entertainers had gathered at their traditional
venue beside the Sheldonian Theatre, Fire-eaters spewed flames.
Jugglers and gypsy bands entertained the crowds and a Morris Man
encouraged children o try their hands at weaving the red, white and
blue ribbons as they danced around the maypole.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Was
this the 20</span></span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">th</span></span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
century? I felt as if I had stepped back in time.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumFIkuqNeJSv0qQdhN0cZsjf3aABPJzw1bebcaaI27psQRFGSwW93sEIlznAb8sOwi_WTax4rCpMTmqlvI0AnthLwAMVcFgl_2dkI1_NDh8qDpJf4a8EKPFJcjJPb6BUJui9MXkqwBSSX/s1600/6-MayMorning13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumFIkuqNeJSv0qQdhN0cZsjf3aABPJzw1bebcaaI27psQRFGSwW93sEIlznAb8sOwi_WTax4rCpMTmqlvI0AnthLwAMVcFgl_2dkI1_NDh8qDpJf4a8EKPFJcjJPb6BUJui9MXkqwBSSX/s400/6-MayMorning13.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><strong>Morris dancers celebrating May Day in Oxford</strong></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The Morris Men clambered
onto a raised platform opposite the theatre. Then to the music of a
fiddle, they launched into the intricate formations that make up
their dance. Heavy boots beat rhythmically on the ground, sticks
crashed together and handkerchiefs fluttered like butterflies as the
men bobbed and weaved from one step to the next.</span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
As the sun climbed higher,
weary crowds drifted away. Two university undergraduates in naval
dress uniform sat befuddled on the sidewalk as I passed on my way
home. One made a half-hearted attempt to summon a passing taxi, the
other, smiling contentedly, slumped in a heap beside his empty beer
glass.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Would they, with others of
their year, return to Oxford to celebrate in the future, encouraged
by fond memories of that May Morning so long ago?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Thursday, 28th November, 2013</span></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-68673115248727583212013-11-25T05:17:00.000-08:002013-11-25T05:17:10.203-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Carfax, Oxford's city centre</strong></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>SUMMER IS ICUMMEN IN continues...</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">At that early hour pubs were open for
business. Some had been on the go all night as the crowds drank beer
and celebrated till dawn.</span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The aroma of an English
breakfast – eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, tomato and freshly
brewed coffee – wafted from more than one doorway as I passed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
At Carfax, where Oxford’s
four main roads meet, street cleaners in orange overalls swept the
night’s debris from around tired students lolling on the edge of
the sidewalk.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
By day this very spot is a
maelstrom of double-decker buses. Weaving bicycles challenge the
traffic, taxis hoot and jay-walkers take their chances between
rushing cars. But in the early hours of that particular morning, the
only sound was muted voices as walkers hurried toward Magdalen tower.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
In the distance a sea of
spectators gathered, waiting for that moment when the sun would tip
the spires of the city.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> The
High, Oxford’s main street, is considered by many to be the finest
thoroughfare in all of Europe. Among its centuries-old buildings –
The Queen’s College, Oriel College, Pembroke College, Magdalen
College, the Examinations School and the Church of St. Mary the
Virgin – are some of Britain’s finest examples of architecture.
Parts of St. Mary’s Church date back to the 11</span></span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">th</span></span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
century and the church itself is mentioned in England’s famous
Domesday book. For me, walking to Magdalen tower that morning was
like a walk through history.</span></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
As the sky coloured with the
onset of sunrise, the throng of people swelled until they seemed to
fill every space. Elevated positions, walls, steps and surrounding
windowsills, were choice viewing points and had long been
commandeered by earlier arrivals.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Many onlookers were dressed
in elegant ballgowns and black tie from college balls the night
before. And then there were the revelers from the May Ball at
Shotover on the outskirts of Oxford. After a night of dancing and
drinking, mayhem erupted on the main road as inebriated parties
decided to walk back to Oxford.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
On this particular
occasion, punts are rented for champagne breakfasts. Punters with
picnic hampers gathered near the bridge in their flat-bottomed boats
where the chance of being tipped into the water or jumped on from
above are hazards that go with the event. At a previous May Morning
celebration two young men, overcome by youthful exuberance, dived
from the bridge into three feet of water and suffered severe
injuries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">More to follow tomorrow...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Monday, 25th November, 2013</span></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-57512410613867650182013-11-21T04:18:00.000-08:002013-11-21T04:18:00.483-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Summer flowers in Oxford's Covered Market</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span><br />
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>SUMMER
IS ICUMMIN IN</b></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">To those not familiar with
England’s passion for tradition, a celebration that starts in the
early hours of a usually chilly May morning must seem a queer thing.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Why
do they do it?” then-Russian Prime Minister Nikita Kruschev
reportedly asked, when told of the May Morning celebrations during
his visit to Oxford in 1955. “Because”, replied the president of
Magdalen College, “they have done so for the past five hundred
years.”</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
As a Canadian who had lived
in Oxford for many years, I found the celebration of the first day of
summer, another English festivity that constitutes tradition in this
ancient land, a source of constant delight.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
I had talked many times of
rising at 5 in the morning to join the celebrations at Magdalen
tower, but each year on the first of May, I snuggled down into my
warm bed and left the welcoming of summer to others. Then finally,
with my return to Canada imminent, the urge to celebrate May Morning
became more pressing.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
At a pre-dawn 5.30, I
stepped out onto the towpath behind our house where a damp mist rose
ghostlike from the surface of the Thames.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> A
heavy beating of wings, and a flurry of movement and flying droplets
filled the air as a pair of white swans emerged from beyond a
gossamer curtain. As they raced across the surface of the river,
their short gray legs seemed to tread the water before one mighty
effort lifted their straining bodies free. Necks outstretched, feet
tucked under feathers, creaking wings sent the pair soaring higher
and higher above the chimney pots.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Contrary to popular belief,
May Morning and other traditional events in Oxford have little to do
with tourism, although tourists attend in droves. With its
cosmopolitan student population thousands of Americans, Europeans and
Asians who have studied at Oxford regularly return from foreign
lands, often into old age, to relive those nostalgic memories of
youth. Other dedicated fans are the English of all ages.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
And so it was that on my
way into town I passed couples, groups of students, tourists with
cameras and families with children. Little girls in frilly dresses,
flowers entwined in ringlets or with flower-bedecked hats trailing
long ribbons, danced along in a frenzy of excitement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">More to follow...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Thursday, 21st November, 2013</span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-59258577835728246542013-11-19T04:43:00.000-08:002013-11-19T04:43:25.856-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Mercury, God of Speed, Christ Church Oxford</strong></span></div>
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</div>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR 'O</strong></span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>XFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND'</strong></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>COLLEGE MISCHIEF continued...</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.1cm; margin-top: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">One
afternoon as I was heading on home, I stopped beside the pond in the
middle of Tom Quad and watched water slide like olive silk along the smooth back of a large fish. In the fading
sunlight its scales glittered silver, like sequins clothing the
sinuous body of a dancer.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
As
Mercury, God of Speed, poised above gently rocking lily pads the scene was
tranquil. What stories our
Mercury could tell, including one of his own dunking.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Way
back nearly two centuries, a mischievous gathering of students intent on a night of vandalism and led by a youthful 14</span></span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">th</span></span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
Earl of Derby, tippled bronze Mercury from his plinth and it
was many a long year before he was replaced with our present Mercury
who is a copy of a statue by Giovanni da Balogna. </span></span>
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> “Boys
will be boys” they say, and these occasional acts of mischief are
looked upon with tolerance by the Dons, although Christ Church has
its fair share of scars to remember them by. A scarred door at the bottom of the steps leading to Christ Church's Great
Hall bears testament to that bit of mischief.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Legend
has it that the words NO PEEL inscribed with the aid of a nail into the solid wood of the door was a protest by students in the 17</span></span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">th</span></span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
century. They were, the story goes, forced on the advice of the college doctor to dine on potato peelings. The unappetizing potato peels would ward off
the Black Death he said. Not surprisingly a rebellion among students erupted. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But legend it is. The truth is that the
students were protesting against Sir Robert Peel Prime Minister of
the time. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
More
recently another group of undergraduates, maybe drunk after a night
in the pub, emptied a bottle of bleach into the dark pool in the
centre of the quadrangle as Mercury looked on. By morning the
surface of the water was full of dead and dying fish as they floated
in a stinking mass atop the poisoned water. Amidst the carnage
bobbed the bleach bottle – empty. </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Those fish fortunate enough to
have survived were transported to the “animal sanctuary” in the
Meadow where they were lovingly tended and nursed back to health. It
was a particularly unpleasant act of vandalism and doubly devastating; the fish had been a gift from the Emperor of Japan.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
The
pond has always presented an irresistible attraction for drunken
students, so much so that during my tenure at the college each
student found swimming there was fined 20 pounds payable to the
Senior Censor.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
On </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Red
Nose Day almost the entire student population of Christ Church as well as Mercury and the
stone carving of Archbishop Thomas Wolsey outside my office sported red noses. And then one morning when I
arrived for work, Mercury was swaddled from head to toe in toilet paper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Tuesday, 19th November, 2013.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-20773691947090653902013-11-18T03:31:00.004-08:002013-11-18T03:33:49.965-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Oxford's 'The Eagle and Child' - aka 'The Bird and Babe', </strong></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>a popular student pub </strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times;"></span></strong> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>COLLEGE
MISCHIEF</b></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"></span></strong> </div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Having
a University degree from one of the world's most famous places of
learning is not an encumbrance when feeling silly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.1cm; margin-top: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Shelley
the poet while studying at Christ Church is a good example of student
mischief. One</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
of his juvenile </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">pranks
was to connect door knobs to a generator to give people shocks.
Another more serious prank was swopping babies into different prams
if they were left out on the street while the mother was shopping on
the High. </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.1cm; margin-top: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> During
my time in Oxford it was not uncommon to hear complaints from
restaurant owners about the ignorant behaviour of many a so-called
well-bred youth. Out for an evening on the town, bread throwing was considered fun and woe betide
diners who were in the line of fire.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.1cm; margin-top: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> In
one of the colleges there was a warning notice, “<em>Gentlemen coming
from homes where bread throwing at the dinner table is habitual, and
finding a difficulty in conforming suddenly to the unfamiliar ways of
higher civilization, will be permitted to continue their domestic
past time, on the payment of 5/- a throw.”</em></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> A
short while before he retired Dr. Heaton was horrified one afternoon when
the ladies of the Mothers Union exited the Cathedral following a service. Making their way through the archway beside my office, three drunken students with their legs tied
together as if in a three legged race approached the ladies, shouting
uproariously. The Dean was right
there and rushed them, his black cloak billowing out behind him,
mortar board askew and shouting above the voices of the students “For
the good name of the college...GO.” Coming into my office moments
later he was outraged that the ladies of the Mother's Union should
see such behaviour. Did he see my covert smile. I think not.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.1cm; margin-top: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Even
Dons were not averse to a bit of fun. In the 1890s when bicycles
became a popular means of getting about in Oxford, one of the more
mature tutors enjoyed nothing more than careening down Boars Hill
with his feet on his bicycle's handlebars. It seems that he found
the view of Oxford from this vantage point particularly appealing.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.1cm; margin-top: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> As
for heavy drinking Oxford colleges have had their fair share of
imbibers. Wine is consumed copiously, and sipping sherry before
dinner – and lunch – is a tradition. Many of the colleges have
excellent cellars and they are big spenders when stocking up on
booze.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-right: 0.1cm; margin-top: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Dutch
Admiral Cornelis Tromp was an imbiber to trump all imbibers. When
entertained by the Dons in Oxford in 1675 he was so drunk by the end
of the evening that he was loaded onto a wheelbarrow and carried back
to his lodgings like a barrow of cabbages at Covent Gardens.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Monday 18th November, 2013</span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-45858033309757311602013-11-16T05:43:00.004-08:002013-11-16T05:43:51.365-08:00<br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Contemplating a plunge in Oxford</span></strong></div>
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</div>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> UPSTAIRS AND DOWNSTAIRS continues...</span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Before long I settled into
what for me was a job made in heaven where I was to act as personal
assistant to a delightful man as well as perform other quaint duties.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Rachel, Dr. Heaton’s
wife, soon discovered that she and I had a mutual love of antiques,
and so periodically she popped into my office at the start of day
with the suggestion that the two of us ride the train to Birmingham
for a weekly antique sale. She made sandwiches for our lunch and I
contributed my favourite Eccles cakes – a delectable English pastry
covered with sugar and filled with spicy raisins . The Dean,
obliging as always, wished us good hunting. It was a job with a
difference.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
On those occasions, while
other college staff dealt with more mundane tasks, I spent the day
doing what I enjoyed most, chatting to antique dealers and searching
for undiscovered treasures.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
After a days rummaging amid
mounds of copper kettles, antique snuff bottles, Worcester cups and
saucers, farm scythes in various stages of decrepitude and even the
occasional repro Chippendale chair with an outrageous price scrawled
on a label dangling from a chair leg, we returned to Oxford at days
end well pleased with our purchases.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
As for quaint duties, one
misty morning Rachel hurried into my office to say that the mallard
duck that had been broody for days and had built a nest beneath a
climbing japonica creeper beside my office window had hatched out a
clutch of beautiful little yellow ducklings. They were, she said,
scampering all over the garden. The problem with this scenario: the
annual charity Cruse Fete and Sale hosted by Rachel was to take place
in the deanery garden that same day. The ducklings, she feared,
would be trampled in the rush for bargains.
</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
The rescue was on. All in
a day’s work , the two of us gathered up the precious balls of
fluff, put them in a shoebox, and me in my office apparell and Rachel
in her apron – she’d been cooking breakfast – set off from the
Deanery garden down a cobbled walkway through Christ Church Meadow to
the Thames River. Rachel carried the box and I, like the proverbial
goose girl with a twig in hand, stumbled along behind in my spiky
heels, shushing the quacking mother each time she strayed off route.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
Upon reaching the river, mother duck plopped into the water and the
ducklings, in a state of high excitement, jumped in feet first, in
hot pursuit of their sleek feathered leader.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Saturday 16th November, 2013</span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-65104954734725303832013-11-15T04:19:00.000-08:002013-11-15T04:42:44.229-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Tom Tower, the entrance to Christ Church in Oxford</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>'UPSTAIRS AND DOWNSTAIRS' continues...</strong></span> </div>
<div style="margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In the palatial deanery,
'Upstairs and Downstairs' in the upper echelons of English society
was alive and well. Operating in a less rigid format, sans tweenies,
housemaids, footmen, head cook, under-cook and kitchen maids, men of
consequence I was to discover, still managed with a butler, a
housekeeper and a cleaning lady or two.
</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
And so, with limited
experience of the English heirarchical system, a colonial such as I -
a Canadian of South African birth - could hardly be blamed <span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">for
mistaking the impeccably attired handsome Irishman who greeted me
at the Deanery door that morning, for being the Dean
himself. </span></span>
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Fortunately I didn’t
disgrace myself by indicating as much. Instead, I shook the hand of
the handsome Irishman and followed him into the hushed confines of
what I thought was his study, ready for my interview. Within seconds
I realised my mistake. Tom Burke the butler, my greeter at the front
door, announced “Mrs. Gordon to see you sir”.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Across from a desk at which
the ‘real’ Dean sat, flames flared and crackled in a huge
fireplace. Along the mantelpiece, invitations, mostly grand and gold
lettered, imparted a sense of the event and the importance of both
sender and recipient. The walls of the beautiful room were lined with
bookcases from floor to ceiling.
</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
On an elegant polished
table beside a wingback chair near the fireplace, a bowl of white
daisies and sprigs of late summer lavender brought to mind a still
life in oils.
</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
For a brief moment I looked
enviously through tall windows at a beautiful English walled garden.
It was early fall and the leaves were turning gold. A Horse Chestnut
tree with branches propped up with wooden poles dominated the far
corner of the garden. I was to learn later that that same Horse
Chestnut was the very tree in which the Cheshire Cat from Lewis
Carroll's famous childrens classic “Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland” sat when talking with Alice.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Dr. Heaton, impressive and
tall with a courtly manner, rose and walked towards me with hand
outstretched. “Shall we have tea in front of the fire?” What
could I say. I was charmed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">More to follow tomorrow...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Friday, 15th November, 2013</span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-24657603472245816252013-11-14T04:07:00.000-08:002013-11-15T04:42:15.067-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Right outside my office door...</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Cardinal Wolsey flanked by angels, founder of Christ Church in Oxford</strong></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span></div>
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>UP<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">STAIRS
AND DOWNSTAIRS</span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Within a week of settling
into the Headington cottage, our new landlord paid us a visit. After
tea and conversation he crouched down beside my chair in the sitting
room and suggested in a most persuasive manner that I might be
interested in what he described, as a highly desirable secretarial
position. Barbara still laughs when she talks about that day. “Why
would he kneel beside your chair like that Anne, and why was he so
keen for you to take that job?”
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
In his enthusiasm, he
went as far as labelling said secretarial position as the most senior
secretarial post in the entire city of Oxford! I wondered about
that. The Dean of Christ Church he said, was the head of Oxford's
grandest and most prestigious college and he was in dire need of
assistance. “I’ll go and see him” I ventured rather
reluctantly. Little did he know, but employment was not on my agenda right
then.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
The following morning,
walking beneath Tom Tower and past eagle-eyed, bowler-hatted
custodians guarding the college entrance, I made my way across a
grassed quadrangle, past a pond with a black lead statue of Mercury,
Roman God of Speed, to a massive wooden door. The entrance to the
Deanery loomed in an intimidating manner.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Although I was duly
impressed by the grandeur of the place, I was still not enamoured
with the idea of instant employment. Standing with my hand on
the knocker I had second thoughts. How could I forgo such an
opportunity. A lover of England's royal history...I must admit King
Henry the V111's connection to this history-filled place was tempting.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span></strong> </div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Wednesday, 13th November, 2013.</span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-37104794324830623682013-11-13T03:41:00.000-08:002013-11-13T03:46:58.119-08:00<br />
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>St. Andrews Street in the old village of Headington and the White Hart pub</strong></span></div>
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</div>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND</strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times; font-size: x-large;"></span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> “<b>A
PIG IN A POKE”</b></span></span>
<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Like a plump iced donut
precarious in its upper extremities, the first sight of our
house-to-be opposite St. Andrews Parish Church in the old village of
Headington, left me feeling alarmed. </span></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Built in the 1700s and
once home to a family with eight children, the walls were at least
two feet thick and lumpy. The house was described in historical
records as being “a more humble home than its neighbours and built
of random rubble!” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The interior was hidden from the outside world
by teeny windows of mullioned glass. T</span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">he front door opened
directly onto the two foot wide sidewalk. In some places the plaster
had fallen away and the upper third story leaned alarmingly.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Peering
down at us like a trio of curious dames, three dormer windows, all at
different angles - one leaning left, one leaning right and the other
leaning forward - looked as if a fast car whizzing by, or even a
drunken shout from the White Hart pub three doors down, would send the
whole structure crashing into the street.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> At first I was adamant that
we’d been saddled with a pig in a poke by the Oxford letting
agency that had arranged our accommodations. When I'd been offered
(by mail) the choice of a modern bungalow or an historic house, I’d
opted for what I thought would be a Victorian house, not a place that
had been around for more than 300 years … and to top it off, built
of ‘random rubble’.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Anxious to avoid what she
saw as a mother-meltdown, Melissa, 16 years old with oodles of common
sense, took my arm and said “Come now Annie” - Melissa’s name
for me still, when she thinks I’m becoming overly dramatic. “It’s
not all that bad. Let’s knock and see if anyone’s home. Maybe
we could have a look inside.” We knocked, and the door was
promptly opened by a tall white-haired Anglican minister with what
appeared to be white paint splotches on his left cheek. He'd
probably been observing us from within, as we four out on the
sidewalk diligently went about our exterior home inspection.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> “Anthony de Vere” said
our greeter. “Anne Gordon” said I. After explanations as to why
we had been giving his house the once-over, he invited us in and
explained that he and his wife Celia – our landlords - had been
doing last minute painting touch-ups before we, the new Canadian
tenants, arrived. Well, it took as little as tea, cake, a tour and a
companionable chat with the de Veres, and this mistress of quick
decisions and her three daughters eager for resolution, literally
fell in love with a house that was already past its prime long before
Queen Victoria was a twinkle in her father’s eyes.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Thinking back on it now, it
was the ten foot high stone wall alongside the patio in the back
garden that finally won me over! A gardener longing for an English
cottage garden, my imagination in overdrive, I could already see a
tumbling mass of cerise, pink, mauve, yellow and cream-coloured
sweetpea blossoms scrambling against its perfect climbing surface.
And even more tempting, my imagination extended to a delicate
sweetpea fragrance that wafted teasingly in front of my nose.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> But we were soon to
discover that life is not all sweetness and light living in a house
more than 300 years old.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Upon returning from town
late one afternoon, I discovered a 3 foot x 3 foot chunk of ceiling
lying in the middle of my bed. Wisps of straw and spider webs
clogged with plaster hung from a gaping hole above, exposing dark
innards that had probably not seen the light of day for centuries.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Squeezing up the narrow winding stairway from my bedroom to the attic the following morning, I found my visiting South African sister-in-law huddled deep beneath her blankets in one of the three Lilliputian attic bedrooms. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Time for breakfast you lazy woman.” I jerked the covers back, and there she was with the upper extremity of her tights pulled snugly down over her head and ears, leaving only nose and mouth exposed. “Why are you wearing tights on your head Barbara?” I asked, stifling my laughter. Snatching the blankets she pulled them back over her head. From the woolly depths I heard her muffled voice, “It was that humungous spider we found crouching in the straw on your bed yesterday…Ughh, I can't stand the thought of spiders in my ears.” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">And yes, when clearing the debris from my bed the night before, we had come across a 'humungous' spider. When Barbara tried to remove the monster, it skipped nimbly aside each time she hit the bed with her weapon; a broom handle. After numerous unsuccessful wallops she finally managed to lure it onto the end of the pole, and watching carefully for possible attack, she walked gingerly to the window and dropped it ten feet into the back garden. Barbara was taking no chances.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Both she and I were used to modern bungalow-type houses where the warm weather was usually conducive to al fresco living for spiders in South Africa. Although South African spiders could be huge, their preferred habitat was in places of damp leafy undergrowth, crouching in bushy hedges, or reclining in the centre of gossamer webs awaiting a clumsy bug. Barbara's English experience was obviously unnerving her. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> In Canada, spiders, if they do gain entry into the house, are mostly of the miniature variety. But here in England, come cooler weather, mice, spiders with massive mandibles, eight bulging eyes and long hairy legs and other creepy crawlies migrate to the dark nooks and crannies of century-old dwellings.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Tuesday, 12th November, 2013.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Apple Garamond; font-size: medium;"></span> </div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-58442216028276412732013-11-12T04:36:00.000-08:002013-11-12T05:15:10.511-08:00<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong> </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4XUANaC0jmB9xiJXpjkVBQTwGezc1OJcXfF1xJ_13xbjCTpuh6dlJ4P2reAhVgIEzLnsahTqi-QuvObDSj_GEYSvjw-EnW-I9okYU7MCxzdCXtQAcoOqx0mVxHyhPOoNaUMsIMDyZt-W/s1600/London16-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4XUANaC0jmB9xiJXpjkVBQTwGezc1OJcXfF1xJ_13xbjCTpuh6dlJ4P2reAhVgIEzLnsahTqi-QuvObDSj_GEYSvjw-EnW-I9okYU7MCxzdCXtQAcoOqx0mVxHyhPOoNaUMsIMDyZt-W/s320/London16-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong> </strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">England's traditional public transport, a double decker bus</span></strong></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong><span style="font-size: small;"></span> </strong></span></div>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> ...AND
FOOTBALL HOOLIGANS</b>
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Boarding the bus at St.
Aldates for a preliminary visit to our permanent residence the
following afternoon left me feeling equally apprehensive. The house
had been booked sight unseen through an Oxford agency called Finders
Keepers. No sooner had we settled on the bus than a stream of
football fans rushed the double-decker. About 25 youths shouting
profanities scrambled up the narrow stairway to the upper level.
Within seconds a wild-eyed young African tumbled down the steps, out of
the bus and onto the sidewalk. No response from the driver. He
looked the other way.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> The noise from above was
alarming, but even more alarming was the rocking motion of our
transport. As we proceeded on down the High - Oxford’s main street
- with our riotous load of drunken football fans, pedestrians stopped
and stared. Many watched with mouths open, at what must have looked
like the passing of a cage of monkeys. The noise from above was
deafening. Were they breaking the windows I wondered. The bus
driver looked stoically ahead, obviously used to this Saturday
fiasco, or else he was not about upsetting a bubbling cauldron.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> A brief ride up Headington
Hill and the bus came to a halt at the Headington bus stop. The
football fans, still bellowing, poured down the steps and headed off
to the Oxford United Stadium for an afternoon cheering on the local
team and hopefully getting rid of some of that testosterone.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> There were police at the
bus stop. They looked officious. The driver climbed out of his cab
and joined the uniformed officers. Alighting, we stopped beside the
group as they looked up at the top of the bus. I gasped. It looked
as if every one of the windows was missing.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Another first I thought.
We’d encountered a contingent of England’s infamous football fans
… and we'd made it to Headington without calamity!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Tuesday, 12th November 2013.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-73945818224870660172013-11-11T04:56:00.000-08:002013-11-11T04:57:01.861-08:00<br />
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Ghosts and Ghoulies in Oxford</strong></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>PUNKS AND GOTHS continues...</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Billeted for the
next two weeks in our red brick, dark eerie house we set about
exploring our new environs.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
In the sitting room
occult books were scattered about. In our meanderings we discovered
stuffed birds, beloved of Victorian wives, perched on branches
brittle with age in dust-covered antique glass domes. In the low
light their eyes glinted as they stared sightlessly into space.
Soft- bodied puppets perched on chests and others dangled grotesquely
- like the recently hanged - from hooks in the ceiling. Glassy-eyed,
they seemed to watch our every move.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Later that evening
we found that our temporary home-away-from home came with a giant
spider squatting possessively on the bath plug. We tried to capture
it by putting a glass over its corpulent shape but it was too big, so
we ended up trapping it, with much fuss, in a pudding basin from the
kitchen.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Nicky and I shared
a big feather bed that night. Its quilt, probably once quite
beautiful but threadbare now, looked as if the cat had used it to
sharpen its claws. Melissa and Gillian, not usually agreeable to
sharing a room but on this occasion pleased for the company, bedded
down in the room next door.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
At midnight we were
woken by heavy plodding footsteps overhead, the kind you hear in the
movies prior to an axe murder! Muffled voices drifted down from the
upper floor. I’d heard about ghosts in England’s ancient old
buildings. Were there ghosts too in this spooky place?
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
Deciding to
investigate, with torch in hand and Nicky close behind I crept along
the passage; our shadows, like ghosts, floated across the walls.
Upon reaching the foot of a stairway I looked up to see a strip of
buttery light gleaming from beneath a door above. There were
definitely inhabitants up there, ghostly or otherwise. I called in a
shaky falsetto, “Is anybody there?”
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
The door at the top
of the stairs creaked open.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
An apparition
appeared, a young woman with her head engulfed in fat pink rollers.
She was clutching a torch that underlit her face. Holding the door
ajar, her oversized nightdress trailed in a froth of fabric about her
feet. Could this ghost be wearing Dutch clogs beneath that nightdress I
wondered? It had sounded like it from our bedroom beneath. Her pink
rollers wobbled as she spoke. “Sorry if we woke you. We’re
students and we rent the upstairs rooms.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span></strong> </div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1cm 0.1cm 0cm; text-indent: 0.1cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Monday, November 11th 2013.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-68403382025027987782013-11-10T07:24:00.000-08:002013-11-11T05:28:39.041-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times; font-size: x-large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">PUNKS AND GOTHS continues...</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">With sole
responsibility for three young daughters, the punks milling around in
a mischief-inviting melee at the bus station had already stirred
latent feelings of anxiety in my motherly breast. Mohawk haircuts,
facial spider-web tattoos, black leather jack-boots and chunky
jewellery in a menacing tumble of chains and swastikas left me
feeling extremely apprehensive as I stepped off the airport bus at
Gloucester Green that September. Was this moving to England a crazy
idea, something I'd live to regret? </span><span style="font-size: large;">
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For months prior to
our departure from Canada, James and I had suffered from heavy
dollops of wanderlust, a subtle mind-infiltrating process that had
stalked us with a persistence that we found hard to resist. As with
thousands of others before us, its siren call proved irrisistible and
we succumbed. Just ten years earlier we had departed South Africa for
Canada – albeit for different reasons - and now after a decade in
Canada we were on the move again.</span></div>
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Beautiful South
Africa, sunny and relatively warm year-round, with a landscape that
includes craggy mountains, deserted beaches that meander for
thousands of miles along a pristine coastline, abundant wildlife and
undulating wide-open veld, was for 35 years my home. Canada,
equally dramatic, equally beautiful, modern, well organized with four
distinct seasons and like its sister America, with possibilities
lucrative and pleasureable for all those who care to use their
imagination, was our home of choice. And now here we were in
England.
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Our plan; James and
our son Michael were to stay on in Canada until January when Michael
would rewrite his math exam. A pass was a requirement for his
eventual admission to Sandhurst, England’s military college. The
girls and I would head on over to England so that Melissa, Nicola,
and Gillian could start the school term afresh in September.</span></div>
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And so I returned
to the letter. “<i>My daughter will be round
to welcome you. You’ll recognize her by her black and red striped
hair. She’s heavily into make-up and outlines her eyes with kohl.
Jewellery usually comprises a black leather choker studded with
metal. Her dress sense runs to long, and with her Goth leanings her
attire is black.</i>”
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Goths were a new
phenomenon to me. In 1984 they had yet to make an appearance in
Canada. I continued reading, but after a few minutes sensed that
someone was watching me.
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I turned. And yes,
it was the Goth, and she was even more intimidating than her mother
had described. Her face was chalk white, like that of a geisha out
for a night on the town. Her lips were a startling vampire red. Her
dress slipped seductively from a pale left shoulder. If I hadn’t
read about her just seconds before I would have suspected imminent
mugging by an exotic female thug….and screamed blue murder.
Instead, I put out my hand and said calmly, “You must be the
daughter. So nice to meet you.”
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She smiled, but her
eyes I suspected had picked up on my discomfort. “Just thought I’d
pop in to tell you about the cat.” Oh yes, she’d intended to
scare me, but her mother had pipped her at the post.</span></div>
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Billeted for the
next two weeks in our red brick, dark eerie house we set about
exploring our new environs.
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In the sitting room
occult books were scattered about. In our meanderings we discovered
stuffed birds, beloved of Victorian wives, perched on branches
brittle with age in dust-covered antique glass domes. In the low
light their eyes glinted as they stared sightlessly into space.
Soft- bodied puppets perched on chests and others dangled grotesquely
- like the recently hanged - from hooks in the ceiling. Glassy-eyed,
they seemed to watch our every move.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Monday, 11th November, 2013.</span></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-73373798289454571412013-11-10T05:06:00.000-08:002013-11-11T05:38:30.231-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grotesque, Magdalen College in Oxford</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></strong> </div>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>AN EXTRACT FROM MY MEMOIR, "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong> PUNKS AND GOTHS</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">With clouds like malevolent ghosts looming overhead, we stood, four bedraggled females on the sidewalk in Oxford, the city that Keats the poet thought one of the most beautiful places in the world.
In keeping with Britain's reputation, a fine English drizzle soaked
into our crumpled travel apparel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">After an eight hour flight from Canada, a two hour trundle on a
National Express bus from Heathrow Airport, and a hair-raising
scramble in a taxi from the bus station, we'd arrived at our
temporary accommodations. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">At that moment I found it hard to believe the accolades uttered by no less than King James 1. He said that if he
were not a king he would like to be an Oxford man. Hitler reaffirmed
King James's infatuation for this ancient city. In
the midst of the carnage of World War 11, he issued a threat that
death awaited any Nazi fighter pilot foolish enough to bomb his city
of choice. Oxford was to be the killer despot's capital once he'd
conquered Britain!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> As the taxi pulled away, we turned and looked with gloomy gaze upon
a sombre red brick Victorian house, home to academics who were at this moment probably sipping wine in a French café. Ever
imaginative, in my mind's eye I could see a bony finger beckoning us
in. Inserting the key in the lock we entered. It was dark, it was
gloomy, it was not welcoming. I tripped as I caught my foot in a rip
in the entrance hall carpet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In a spacious kitchen with scarred pine furniture, a wood stove and
plump shabby chairs, a letter propped against a stack of Oxford
travel books was first to catch my attention. “Dear Mrs. Gordon”
it read. “Welcome to Oxford. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in
our home. Would you be so kind as to feed our cat during your stay.
She’s a good little creature but she does yowl at times.” And I
glanced up and there she was, “the good little creature”,
standing on the kitchen windowsill, wanting entry and clawing at the
window. She looked for all the world like an apparition from a
Wiccan nightmare.</span></div>
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On that rainy afternoon, her tabby pelt was ‘moussed’ to spiky
tufts. Yellow eyes, fierce like those of a jungle cat, glared at me
through speckled glass. Her teeth when she opened her mouth to yawn
were tiny but lethal. Needle-sharp claws, instruments of torture for
captive rodents, were fully extended. Then, as warned... she yowled,
a spine-tingling sound that would've scared the hell out of the
devil. I’m allergic to cats and we were scheduled for a three day visit
to friends on a farm in the Peak District. So, what was I supposed
to do with this recalcitrant feline? I looked back at the letter in
my hand. “Don’t be alarmed if my daughter should call. She’s
one of those Goths.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>More to follow tomorrow...</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Photograph copyright Anne Gordon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Saturday 9th November, 2013.</span>Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-85935864995135650832013-11-09T10:44:00.002-08:002013-11-10T07:27:30.562-08:00<br />
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<strong>Entrance to the Great Hall, Christ Church, Oxford</strong></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>MY MEMOIR: "OXFORD, A DECADE IN WONDERLAND"</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now this is going to be different. Every day from now on I'll be putting a brief extract from the memoir I'm writing about my ten years in Oxford, on my blog.</span>
<span style="font-size: large;">
Over the centuries
Kings and Princes, Dukes, Earls, British Prime Ministers, Viceroys of
India, American Presidents, giants of industry, explorers, poets,
writers and scientists have studied for a brilliant future in
Oxford’s hallowed halls.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">While working in
the heart of academia - I was secretary to the Dean of Christ Church, Oxford's most prestigious college - I lived among the locals; an entirely
different experience. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">At the start of my journey my family rented a
500 year old house in a quaint little village on the outskirts of
Oxford. A year passed and we moved on to what we later discovered
was a decrepit and dangerous habitation in the upper story of a grand
manor - The Great House - in Great Milton. While there, foreign
royalty paid a call, the Great House featured in a movie, and
traveling Americans were entertained to a plush B&B experience by
our aristocratic landlord. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In the fields surrounding Great Milton my
daughters and I had an experience that convinced me that ghosts do
exist. Our pet canary nearly met his death when a peregrine falcon
swooped out of the sky one morning and tried to make off with canary
and cage left sunning on a parapet outside our window. An even worse
near-tragedy eventually drove us from our Great House apartment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">If this sounds like a story that could interest you, or if you've ever wanted to visit Oxford, check in tomorrow for the start of an interesting read. There will be daily posts as of tomorrow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Photo copyright Anne Gordon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Saturday, November 9th 2013.</span><br />
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-2800861724526267932013-07-26T04:36:00.004-07:002013-07-26T04:40:01.971-07:00<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;"><strong>THE LAZY HAZY DAYS OF A CANADIAN SUMMER IN </strong></span><strong><span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">COTTAGE COUNTRY</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Photos copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Saturday, 26th July, 2013</span></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-3950648728809499212013-07-25T04:41:00.001-07:002013-07-25T05:01:51.329-07:00<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>SONNENBERG
MANSION AND GARDENS</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Sonnenberg Mansion and Italian Garden</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">That
day at <i><a href="http://www.sonnenberg.org/"><span style="color: #990000;"><strong>Sonnenberg Mansion and Gardens</strong></span></a></i> at the Finger Lakes in
New York State was a day of fascinating contrasts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Starting
our tour with an exploration of Sonnenberg's rabbit-warren
greenhouse, we must have explored 8 or so different interlinked glass
rooms. As we wandered, sunlight filtered through glass panes dappled
with moss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">At
times the greenhouse appeared to be in an advanced stage of
delapidation</span><span style="font-size: medium;">, but then as we made our way further in the lush
splendour of moss-covered terra cotta pots overflowing with rampant
geraniums, deep pink coleus and brilliantly coloured bromelliads
captured my imagination. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">There
was something magical about the place. Surrounded by dense
vegetation an ancient stone statue of a child standing in a shell
shaped fountain overlooking a pool with golden carp performing a
sinuous dance in cool waters, transported me back in time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The
greenhouse, young in the 1800s but now showing signs of rusted pipes
and peeling paint on metal frames provided an unusual backdrop for
orchids that would have looked at home in a Thai jungle. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">With
romantic appelations; Wedding Gown, Summer Lace, You-Me Emotion and
Let's Dance Starlight, I discovered a random scattering of rare and
beautiful hydrangeas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">In
other rooms a recorded story of the life and times of the original
owners followed us as we captured photographic images of cacti
covered in Spanish Moss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">For
'bug phographers', models in the garden were abundant. Nicola, my
daughter, whose passion is photographing bugs, discovered a snail
with a recently hatched baby no bigger than a button on a new born
infant's jacket. From then on 'mother and child' were transported
around the garden in a coffee cup as she searched for props on which
to photograph them. At the end of the modelling session they were
tenderly placed on a wild plant to continue their foraging. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">In this
flowery haven bees, phosphorescent green bugs, spiders and Two-tailed
Swallow-tail butterflies live in glorious contentment. Dragonflies
and damselflies dart in a flurry of wings from flower to flower.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Photographs copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Posted on Thursday 25th July, 2013</span></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-26108494944575727662013-07-23T08:35:00.000-07:002013-07-23T08:37:08.476-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>A PRINCE IS BORN TO THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF CAMBRIDGE - A GREAT TIME TO VISIT BRITAIN</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The news of the birth of the Duke and Duchess’s son was announced today with an easel proclaiming the birth standing outside Buckingham Palace, just as Prince William’s birth was announced in 1982. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The young family will make their home at<b> </b></span><a href="http://www.hrp.org.uk/KensingtonPalace/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Kensington Palace</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>,</b> where the Duke of Cambridge and Prince Harry grew up. The royal homes are in the private side of Kensington Palace, but visitors can explore the side open to the public, and see the King’s and Queen’s State Apartments. With such a glamorous and stylish mother, the new baby is likely to be equally well dressed. Visiting aspiring little princesses and princes can gain inspiration from the new prince’s ancestors at the new </span><a href="http://www.hrp.org.uk/kensingtonpalace/WhatsOn/FashionRules" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Fashion Rules</span></i></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> exhibition at the Palace, featuring dresses of the Queen, her sister Princess Margaret and Diana, the Princess of Wales. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Duke of Cambridge took his first steps in public on the grounds of Kensington Palace. A popular place for parents to take their kids to play is the </span><a href="http://www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/kensington_gardens/diana_playground.cfm" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Diana Memorial Playground</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. It was inspired by J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan stories and features an enormous pirate ship. Just a five-minute walk from Kensington Gardens, this is a must-visit for families. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He may be christened in a replica of an intricate Honiton lace and satin gown, from Queen Victoria’s eldest daughter, which has been used as far back as 1841. Prince William and his father were both christened wearing the original gown in the Music Room at </span><a href="http://www.royalcollection.org.uk/visit/buckinghampalace" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Buckingham Palace</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Travelers can visit Buckingham Palace, home to the baby’s great grandmother, The Queen, through the summer. A new special </span><a href="http://www.royalcollection.org.uk/exhibitions/the-queens-coronation-1953" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">exhibition</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> celebrates the Queen’s Coronation 60 years ago, displaying the robes worn, the Diamond Diadem and even the personal invitation sent to four-year-old Prince Charles for the occasion—allowing visiting families to experience history first-hand! Open July 27 – September 29.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Duke and Duchess’s country house will be at Amner Hall in </span><a href="http://www.visitnorfolk.co.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Norfolk</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, England. The Royal Family spends Christmas just down the road at </span><a href="http://www.sandringhamestate.co.uk/" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374593200708_2111" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sandringham</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, the Norfolk retreat of Her Majesty The Queen. Open to the public, visitors have the opportunity to personally experience what makes the estate such a special place including the house and exquisite gardens. Sandringham’s Country Park offers 600 acres of beautiful land—plenty of ground for all members of the family to explore and enjoy. There are also holiday cottages for visitors who want to vacation on the grounds. Open March 30 – November 3, except July 27 – August 2. </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.visitanglesey.co.uk/en-GB/home-1.aspx" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Anglesey</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, Wales where the couple began their married life together is an ideal backdrop for a family vacation. Pristine beaches such as Newborough are great splash pads for families. The </span><a href="http://www.white-eagle.co.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">White Eagle</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> pub, where the couple has been known to dine, offers scenic views and a yard for children to play. Kate might want to pick up some cute outfits for her son at </span><a href="http://www.tinkersandbelles.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tinkers and Belles</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> in Beaumaris, a charming seaside town that is home to </span><a href="http://cadw.wales.gov.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Beaumaris Castle</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Returning to Scotland where the couple met, the Earl and Countess of Strathearn, as the new parents are known in these parts, may want to dress their newborn in traditional Scottish wear. </span><a href="http://www.littlelegsbabykilts.co.uk/" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374593200708_2125" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Little Legs Baby Kilts</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> is a Glasgow-based company that specializes in making sure tiny ones can stay true to their Scottish heritage. When they decide it’s time to take baby back to </span><a href="http://www.visitstandrews.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">St Andrews</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> to show him where his parents met, he can look the part! The </span><a href="http://www.standrewsaquarium.co.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">St Andrews Aquarium</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> </b>would be a great stop for family fun and learning. Whether it’s sharks, seals or penguins that catch your eye, there is something for everyone in the family to enjoy here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Photo Copyright Anne Gordon</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Post from Visit Britain on 23rd July, 2013</span>Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-74858232752773842912013-07-23T04:07:00.002-07:002013-07-23T04:18:22.353-07:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcxgU84kI6352wDRSrdsF7dw_fHMy0a7l3ayNoh-qffKygDvG3dzWxa_0XIVg1-mXUtFdI1NRDqOXPO7xrgTpPtQh_KR5n3y11Lhp1IEI_L4q3EWh3StNfyfYaPhXh-gqcIHiDWxILHP8/s1600/IMG_0572-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcxgU84kI6352wDRSrdsF7dw_fHMy0a7l3ayNoh-qffKygDvG3dzWxa_0XIVg1-mXUtFdI1NRDqOXPO7xrgTpPtQh_KR5n3y11Lhp1IEI_L4q3EWh3StNfyfYaPhXh-gqcIHiDWxILHP8/s400/IMG_0572-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>OAXACA, MY FAVOURITE MEXICAN DESTINATION</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">Oaxaca in a
highland valley in the southern reaches of Mexico is a city of
sunshine minus the oppressive heat sometimes experienced in these
climes. <a href="http://visitmexico.com/"><span style="color: #990000;"><strong>Oaxaca</strong></span></a> has a community that speaks 16 different languages and they come from hundreds of diverse ethnic
groups. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfkkrnWK66S1kwYsFMeUsmQD7DZuw3RDeqIG1K_IWOu541tezclqQDj-KE8J7KzuhPQ3_AzqCvJfYbcGSUwfBbR2eM9tLZaQodsekc69F65Lmitom_WRHkyMroDgWh6nCjFD4qfMrPVQm/s1600/Mexico+055tnn-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfkkrnWK66S1kwYsFMeUsmQD7DZuw3RDeqIG1K_IWOu541tezclqQDj-KE8J7KzuhPQ3_AzqCvJfYbcGSUwfBbR2eM9tLZaQodsekc69F65Lmitom_WRHkyMroDgWh6nCjFD4qfMrPVQm/s400/Mexico+055tnn-1.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">A city of narrow streets lined with colourful Mexican architecture makes it a
delightful place for strolling. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LuMnsOjBZoTiaw03ilkyK8P13E_AUxmXnhzBKuDXWOzM8kA4gXoOIMJjkj0pgKoe_4cee1_UINCHHv8n0PfPOn-lG_jZnIa40eXozftgqzMYTeG9xMbt4K9-2rMy7DFE8iAPOuDQgVgS/s1600/Mexico+096-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LuMnsOjBZoTiaw03ilkyK8P13E_AUxmXnhzBKuDXWOzM8kA4gXoOIMJjkj0pgKoe_4cee1_UINCHHv8n0PfPOn-lG_jZnIa40eXozftgqzMYTeG9xMbt4K9-2rMy7DFE8iAPOuDQgVgS/s400/Mexico+096-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">The zocala, similar to the main
squares in Spain is the venue for festivals and traditional dance. Mariachi bands entertain whilst Oaxacans relax in pavement cafes sipping and enjoying
the country's national drinks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">For the non alcoholic variety of Oaxacan drink visitors should try Tejate made with corn, seeds, Rosita flowers and cacao beans. For those who enjoy more of a kick, Mezcal with its smoky flavour and a worm in the bottom of the bottle is the way to go. Made from the Agave cactus it is an extremely potent tipple and one should imbibe with care.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">Photos copyright Anne Gordon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Posted on Tuesday, 23rd July, 2013.</span> </span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-73886494448914123372013-07-22T07:17:00.002-07:002013-07-22T07:19:12.012-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYyBZT_iEbNeRFjLy3hk7MQarI9wkPatr2KWmPR7MkOLW-UHtMZgizD5ypAJSGmGJDrrgz_o1VZu2Go-3ODMF5FwBgn5VWsM7AsFbF0c-BffqI8ThVXn2hdCWHTd28g_SqxYuo8aoM5rd/s1600/1-DSCN9621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYyBZT_iEbNeRFjLy3hk7MQarI9wkPatr2KWmPR7MkOLW-UHtMZgizD5ypAJSGmGJDrrgz_o1VZu2Go-3ODMF5FwBgn5VWsM7AsFbF0c-BffqI8ThVXn2hdCWHTd28g_SqxYuo8aoM5rd/s320/1-DSCN9621.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<strong><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374502088249_2209"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">RECORD BREAKING RIVERDANCE ALONG THE LIFFEY IN DUBLIN CELEBRATES IRELAND'S 2013 GATHERING</span></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">1,693 people kicked up their heels in Dublin to set a new Guinness World Record for the longest Riverdance Line of Dancers</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></strong><br />
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374502088249_2211" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(Toronto ON, 22 July 2013) -- Ireland broke the Guinness World Record this weekend when 1,693 people from 44 countries gathered on the banks of the River Liffey to perform the Riverdance - The Gathering Longest Line. The event was watched by an audience of thousands, who lined the quays from Dublin’s Samuel Beckett Bridge to the Sean O’Casey Bridge, cheering on the participants as they danced into the record books. The previous record of 652 people dancing in a continuous line was held by Nashville, Tennessee.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>The Ha'penny Bridge crossing the Liffey River in Dublin</strong></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374502088249_2221" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The participants, who gathered from as far away as Mexico, Uzbekistan and Japan to take part in this once in a lifetime event, were led in their performance by Jean Butler and 100 members of the Riverdance troupe. Following a starting signal provided by the LE Niamh, the Irish Navy ship, the banks of the Liffey came alive to the iconic sounds of Bill Whelan’s Riverdance, and the 1,693 dancers began the very special Riverdance - The Gathering performance, and in doing so set a new Guinness World Record on Sunday 21 July. </span></span></div>
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<b id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374502088249_2225"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374502088249_2224" lang="EN-US" style="color: red; font-size: 12pt;">See all the action on YouTube </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rDbiiMjazw" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1374502088249_2227" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rDbiiMjazw</a></b></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Photos copyright Anne Gordon</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Post from Tourism Ireland on Monday, 22nd July, 2013</span></strong></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-74041671209121928852013-07-22T05:17:00.001-07:002013-07-22T05:22:23.738-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>The Hotel Napoleon in Paris</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>A WEEKEND OF ROMANCE IN THE HOTEL NAPOLEON IN PARIS</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Standing at the window of our suite in the Hotel Napoleon I look across the rooftops of Paris
through a petalled vista of red geraniums. In the distance the Eiffel Tower, a sparkling monument in a myriad of lights, looks for all the world like a Christmas tree.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Decorated in the Empire style favoured
in Napoleon’s time, this hotel was a wedding present from a wealthy
Russian émigré to a young Parisian art student. He wanted her to
have a place where she could complete her studies in wonderful
surroundings.
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Painting in the Hotel Napoleon</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Its 101 guest rooms includes 47 suites
providing luxury and comfort for guests. Our two nights will be
in the hotel’s Youssoupov Suite a dramatic setting in red and gold
with a leopard skin print carpet that makes me feel more like Empress Josephine
than a Canadian travel writer. Named in honour of Prince Felix Youssoupov who
saw it as his duty to Tsar and country to kill Rasputin. When lacing
wine and chocolate cake with potassium cyanide failed he ended up
shooting the “holy man”. Numerous photographs of Prince Felix
and his wife Princess Irina decorate the walls in the suite.
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>The rooftops of Paris</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">With my imagination in overdrive, I open the French doors and the warm fragrant scent of the City of Light drifts in. Tonight I can stand on my mini
balcony high above the racing traffic on Avenue de Friedland and
imagine that I am the Empress Josephine and the traffic below, carriages.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Photos copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Monday 22nd July, 2013</span></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-82063348407485151842013-07-22T04:19:00.004-07:002013-07-22T04:21:40.517-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A coastal view in Kauai</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>KAUAI, HAWAII'S MOST BEAUTIFUL GARDEN ISLAND</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
natural beauty of Kauai, Hawaii's garden island, was formed over millions of years. Waimea Canyon the spectacular Na
Pali cliffs, 20 bogs that make up the Alakei Swamp and its rainforests are just a small part of its attractions.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Leis of Kauai</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kauai is a
rural hideaway for a people who value their connection with other
islands but also value their unique place. Many say that the
Hawaiians from the other islands favour Kauai above all for having
retained the Hawaiian spirit.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Hanalei Colony Resort on the island of Kauai</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">The glitzy developments of Hawaii's other islands are low on the priority list of nature loving islanders.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>There are few
streetlights here, no high rises and most buildings are no taller than a coconut
palm. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Plumeria blossoms on the island of Kauai</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">In
spite of that, Kauai is no slouch as far as activities are concerned.
Fancy a massage, a cave adventure or kayaking to the Na Pali cliffs,
one of the most dramatic scenic beauties to be found anywhere,
everything is at your fingertips. For the robust a hike in the
Waimea Canyon or a walk through Alakei Swamp will be a revelation for
those interested in the natural wonders of the island. Snorkelling
in the crystalline waters around the coast take you into a world of
slow motion drifting with currents where sharks and other sea creatures watch with curiosity the antics of human invaders of their watery world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">Photos copyright Anne Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Monday 22nd July, 2013</span></div>
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Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-69292906469568238152013-07-21T04:34:00.004-07:002013-07-21T04:40:08.999-07:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_F3CzmyCz7-s2j8fqAc7jtdJVaycb5M_5IUxixI2XM4djWCfzfoKlzf91HG2pw3-2gqXq0szoiShY5a_Ff2KO7gJBd3jh4HV9OcWKsidtoUlw20H3lhVZXnRKsGi2itYcAFKXUS-3ulT/s1600/DSCN4143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_F3CzmyCz7-s2j8fqAc7jtdJVaycb5M_5IUxixI2XM4djWCfzfoKlzf91HG2pw3-2gqXq0szoiShY5a_Ff2KO7gJBd3jh4HV9OcWKsidtoUlw20H3lhVZXnRKsGi2itYcAFKXUS-3ulT/s400/DSCN4143.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">ROOM WITH A
VIEW AT THE GREENBANK HOTEL IN FALMOUTH</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">A massive intricately carved
wooden seat at the hotel entrance conjures an image of two Victorian
ladies whispering secretly behind fluttering fans as they await
their carriage and a ride to afternoon tea with a titled friend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The Greenbank, with large
windows that open to a spectacular view of a flotilla of yachts at
anchor, certainly has <b>the</b> prime position on the sea wall
overlooking one of the largest natural harbours in the world. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4R5WR5EVQbj6IAMX9jj6-SIiXpirq8ztc7Ya0EBXjZ5A6m5NuuVjUQeLApWcq9OoZkOjZJ12yXczovKnHGXuy0-o4DxFI33X6EqPuQ-z0kKM81MP6yeiQoQ44QjHwvV8rwf69TkDMJk3/s1600/Seagull38-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4R5WR5EVQbj6IAMX9jj6-SIiXpirq8ztc7Ya0EBXjZ5A6m5NuuVjUQeLApWcq9OoZkOjZJ12yXczovKnHGXuy0-o4DxFI33X6EqPuQ-z0kKM81MP6yeiQoQ44QjHwvV8rwf69TkDMJk3/s320/Seagull38-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">In our room with a view, we take
a momentary break before setting out to explore. Within minutes we
are confronted at the window by a curious seagull. Strutting up and
down, squawking as they do, and finally hopping onto the window sill
and knocking over a half empty cup of tea in its efforts to snatch a
cookie, we are formally adopted for the next three days. No matter
what time we return, there he is, and if we don't open the
window, he taps urgently on the glass with his beak. I must admit
to enjoying and photographing all his facial expressions as he
watches us from his window perch. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Photos copyright Anne Gordon</span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Posted on Sunday, 21<sup>st</sup>
July, 2013</span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-10703214465150818512013-07-21T04:13:00.001-07:002013-07-21T04:41:07.000-07:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHag7mIvXgLlE1TDRVZe2YBoZrXHnOH3Y7kq78J0XNDLII4e7E3Ly6QkMNz0djtB6OTAOY7KVdgaRXE07dVl7ThSOU4szOliRMLHzNLzPkYgiOOeRIPyFkdV10UCkikTYKEpEcx0_dtLl/s1600/DSCN4129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHag7mIvXgLlE1TDRVZe2YBoZrXHnOH3Y7kq78J0XNDLII4e7E3Ly6QkMNz0djtB6OTAOY7KVdgaRXE07dVl7ThSOU4szOliRMLHzNLzPkYgiOOeRIPyFkdV10UCkikTYKEpEcx0_dtLl/s400/DSCN4129.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong></strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>FALMOUTH'S GREENBANK HOTEL</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Located
just a few minutes walk along the harbour front from the centre of
town, Falmouth's Greenbank Hotel's décor is genteel
olde-world English as opposed to North American glitz. </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsHveadrboO3vZ7Gu0W-AKXn1fJOlXOT6tlmuJWSt5C2mzrifCXSovrJ5h61h82zcaKs8Xi3vzQJYNHmy6cuS1ZIqJA_yBpk5yfBEBh_gXZ3EmOYLjVdoh23vqWdlA8Rf5hSB6auMSF8T/s1600/4-DSCN4727-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsHveadrboO3vZ7Gu0W-AKXn1fJOlXOT6tlmuJWSt5C2mzrifCXSovrJ5h61h82zcaKs8Xi3vzQJYNHmy6cuS1ZIqJA_yBpk5yfBEBh_gXZ3EmOYLjVdoh23vqWdlA8Rf5hSB6auMSF8T/s400/4-DSCN4727-001.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">To reach the hotel we pass a sea
wall sprouting clumps of pink and scarlet Valerian, and Originon
dappled on slender stems like delicate lace. Along the way roses,
blowsy in the heat of summer, hydrangeas and fragrant honeysuckle
perfume miniature gardens.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx5-Dv7P36W_fbvmbHFbWwuj1hYvOYfW7wnsswRWKiVp-QXd6dZZ1IrszGFZKNnJX53LGnB6UQlmjd3Mo8vgGXFYkqfpMKFiqJKFcO82iHQvuk3EzthczyUi8PrY8-klmLpOXjrg7Rf3P/s1600/2-DSCN4708-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx5-Dv7P36W_fbvmbHFbWwuj1hYvOYfW7wnsswRWKiVp-QXd6dZZ1IrszGFZKNnJX53LGnB6UQlmjd3Mo8vgGXFYkqfpMKFiqJKFcO82iHQvuk3EzthczyUi8PrY8-klmLpOXjrg7Rf3P/s320/2-DSCN4708-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Leaning on the sea wall, I watch
enchanted as a party boat breaks free from surrounding yachts. Music
trails like a bridal veil from the rear of the boat, and seagulls,
hundrds of them, like tossed confetti swoop and dive in its wake. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9z4pW8CjCEYJjdXRmYomn7f_GhlxlJySAllNVOk_eLOWoOfnsgKBZMkTqongi9esaJrJ7GEwCtAk1-Qe6Ta_NncHp8UFydK7y8i8ykP-TfuJsg1Ko7cp32r7qLSbLu3UEcEJNP_1r26vE/s1600/DSCN4140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9z4pW8CjCEYJjdXRmYomn7f_GhlxlJySAllNVOk_eLOWoOfnsgKBZMkTqongi9esaJrJ7GEwCtAk1-Qe6Ta_NncHp8UFydK7y8i8ykP-TfuJsg1Ko7cp32r7qLSbLu3UEcEJNP_1r26vE/s320/DSCN4140.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Standing in the foyer I can
imagine Florence Nightingale, a one time </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">guest,
making her entrance in a no-nonsense, I'm in charge manner. In the
sitting room with its large comfy chairs and quiet elegance I also
imagine Kenneth Graham, author of that children's classic, “Wind in
the Willows”, writing the letters to his son that subsequently
became part of the “Wind in the Willows” story. Graham wrote
those letters while staying in the Greenbank Hotel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Photos
copyright Anne Gordon</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Posted
by Anne Gordon on Sunday 21 July, 2013</span></span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803465461233209911.post-30274451566473542702013-04-27T04:59:00.002-07:002013-04-27T05:01:32.037-07:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BTmc5tX4vZEfQGo3PnmD9U8nKbDZCeNzCGQW2tQM3kdRwmw8CjX1vTCttl2L7euSdIg-8IjywUa9_K5sv4HtO6GsnkW-tYVb7EcW2jpOlxes5sBWDAV5KpPohyp62RsYNFo8Ue0TRMKr/s1600/2-London61.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BTmc5tX4vZEfQGo3PnmD9U8nKbDZCeNzCGQW2tQM3kdRwmw8CjX1vTCttl2L7euSdIg-8IjywUa9_K5sv4HtO6GsnkW-tYVb7EcW2jpOlxes5sBWDAV5KpPohyp62RsYNFo8Ue0TRMKr/s400/2-London61.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Westminster Bridge crossing the Thames beside</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>England's Houses of Parliament</strong></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>TOURING ON THE THAMES RIVER</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Curls of mist swirled around
our heads that August morning as we made our way to Victoria Station,
then down into the bowels of the city where the underground trains,
like dragons, gobbled up and spewed forth passengers. My daughter,
experienced with the workings of the London Underground, guided me
expertly through jostling crowds and onto a waiting train to Charing
Cross Station, the take-off point for a day’s exploration of the
Thames.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #010101;">England’s
great river, although dwarfed by the 2,560 mile Mississippi and
sedate in comparison with the rapids that swirl and tumble through
the Grand Canyon, nevertheless has a long and impressive history. As
a clear bubbling spring it rises at its source in Cirencester. Two
hundred and fifteen miles later, its swollen tides sweep into the
English Channel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #010101;">Crossing
its wide expanse on the Hungerford footbridge I leaned over the
railing to watch water taxis, ferries and other small craft bustling,
like ‘riverboatmen’ insects on a pond beneath us. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Palace of Westminster in London England</strong></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #010101;">London’s
river thoroughfare is one of the city’s most popular tourist
destinations. Travelers can undertake a circular tour on a river
ferry, alighting or disembarking at any one of three stops between
Westminster and St. Katharine’s Piers to explore such places as the
National Theater, Southwark Cathedral, Westminster Abbey and the New
Palace of Westminster, more commonly known as the Houses of
Parliament. Serving as Britain’s seat of government this
outstanding example of gothic architecture is in fact a royal palace
that replaced the original destroyed by fire in 1834.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiexuswAGK1x-sqU7EIDR4q7MpT2LIkuNL5MvkMYpLa8oeIKBlV9JsoTquz7UAGiill0jV4uvpL8XptOr0PFBww7rS7Q3_-95JSumuByipnQKsEarSVVYLUh1kKLuZu1j6oLtHzW1FJZj7o/s1600/12-London008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiexuswAGK1x-sqU7EIDR4q7MpT2LIkuNL5MvkMYpLa8oeIKBlV9JsoTquz7UAGiill0jV4uvpL8XptOr0PFBww7rS7Q3_-95JSumuByipnQKsEarSVVYLUh1kKLuZu1j6oLtHzW1FJZj7o/s400/12-London008.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Ice cream sellers at Westminster Bridge</strong></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #010101;">Today,
as you pass on the ferry at teatime you may witness an illustrious
gathering of Earls and Dukes, the Prime Minister and numerous
Parliamentarians. The country’s leaders assemble daily on the
patio overlooking the river to enjoy that most English of rituals,
afternoon tea. But riding the ferry is just one way to tour the
Thames.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #010101; font-family: Arial;">Photo copyright James Gordon</span></div>
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<span style="color: #010101; font-family: Arial;">Posted by Anne Gordon on Saturday 27th April, 2013</span></div>
Anne Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05656556069015961855noreply@blogger.com0