Things that have crossed my mind lately:
(1)
The daylight hours here way up the globe totally flummox me. It is bright insanely early. Sunrise is before 5 a.m. This morning, it was 4:50 and the sun was beaming through the curtains. My poor sleeping mind then assumes the alarm didn't go off and I awake convinced I'm late. And then, it stays bright way later than it should in my book. I was watching the telly and it was just starting to go twilighty. The time? Nearly 10 p.m.!! That is just . . . wrong. And it's only going to get worse. The longest day is a few weeks off, yet.
(2)
There are a lot of really bad parents around here. A young man got on the bus yesterday with his son, who was about 2, and a friend. He completely ignored the boy. He just left him sitting in a stroller and he chatted away with his friend. The boy was the saddest creature I had ever seen, too. But his father is hardly the worse offender.
Way too many parents tell their kids to shut up. And the ones who do it the most have the same accent, so maybe it's a regional thing. But it makes me cringe. You just should not tell little kids (you know, like three-year-olds) to shut up. But the cake goes to this woman on the bus the other day who deserved to be throttled.
Two women got on the bus. They were easily in their mid-30s, so you can't blame immaturity for their less-than-stellar mothering skills. They had about five kids with them and a baby in a stroller. One woman sat near the front with the stroller. The other woman went to the back with the five kids. The kids were aged from about 2 to 4. The first thing that the second woman did that annoyed me was announce - quite loudly - that the toddler "stunk" and then she changed her diaper ON THE BUS. In the seat right behind me, I might add. Then she told the equally loud children to "shut up." And when that didn't do the trick, she moved to the front of the bus and left the children ALONE! She told the oldest child - who I remind you is about 4 - to take care of the others. Insanity! What if the bus stopped suddenly? Or rounded a curve too fast (which they do a lot)? How can you leave one four-year-old in charge of four other kids?
You know, if you don't wants kids, don't have them. Seriously.
(3)
I find myself wondering why the books at the Records Office are easier to locate than the books at the library. They're in order and everything. And also, why does the Record Office have four times as many books as the library's local reference section? That makes no sense. But I'm grateful. At least I have access to the books I'm after.
(4)
The Records Office was surprisingly un-busy today. Unfortunately, although I found everything I was looking for, it failed to yield what I hoped it would. I had a lot of dead-ends and disappointments. Here's hoping Monday turns out better.
29 May 2009
27 May 2009
Observations at Manchester Airport
Steve flew home this morning and half of me is now missing. I'm glad to be getting back to my research tomorrow. I need to keep my mind occupied. Even the weather is sad to see Steve go. After a week of mostly sunny skies, it's been raining all morning here. It's like the sky is weeping, too.
But enough unhappy stuff. My observations:
First Observation: I see famous people
They take security perhaps a bit too far at Manchester Airport. When you queue up to check your bags, only ticketed travelers are allowed to stand in line. So I had to hang back outside the strapped queue area for Steve to check his bags and get his boarding cards. As I stood there, a couple exited the area and walked toward me on their way out. I looked at them, recognized them, and then it hit me that they were celebrities! Maksim Chermerkovskiy and Karina Smirnoff were flying out of Manchester today and they walked right by me! For those who don't recognize the names: They're professional dancers from Dancing with the Stars. I think they were traveling with their families, because a large group of people speaking a Russian-esque language came by shortly thereafter. Maks and Karina hung out for awhile before heading toward the departure gates. When I told Steve about seeing them, he told me to take a photo of them. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Second observation: If you don't know how to write it, don't
Today is a huge football match between Manchester United and Barcelona in Rome. It's for the European championship cup, I think, or something along those lines. We apparently just missed a huge crowd of people flying out of Manchester to Rome. Many airport employees were wearing commemorative t-shirts. Whoever designed the shirt must have thought it would be clever to write the date in Roman numerals, since the match is held in Rome. In England, the date is written a bit differently than at home. It goes Day - Month - Year. So today's date is 27-5-2009. Now, in proper Roman numerals, that would read:
XXVII - V - MMIX
But that's not what was printed on the shirt. What did it have?
IIVII - V - IIXXIX
And to think, a lot of the Man United fans are wearing these shirts as they fly to Rome today. How embarrassing.
But enough unhappy stuff. My observations:
First Observation: I see famous people
They take security perhaps a bit too far at Manchester Airport. When you queue up to check your bags, only ticketed travelers are allowed to stand in line. So I had to hang back outside the strapped queue area for Steve to check his bags and get his boarding cards. As I stood there, a couple exited the area and walked toward me on their way out. I looked at them, recognized them, and then it hit me that they were celebrities! Maksim Chermerkovskiy and Karina Smirnoff were flying out of Manchester today and they walked right by me! For those who don't recognize the names: They're professional dancers from Dancing with the Stars. I think they were traveling with their families, because a large group of people speaking a Russian-esque language came by shortly thereafter. Maks and Karina hung out for awhile before heading toward the departure gates. When I told Steve about seeing them, he told me to take a photo of them. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Second observation: If you don't know how to write it, don't
Today is a huge football match between Manchester United and Barcelona in Rome. It's for the European championship cup, I think, or something along those lines. We apparently just missed a huge crowd of people flying out of Manchester to Rome. Many airport employees were wearing commemorative t-shirts. Whoever designed the shirt must have thought it would be clever to write the date in Roman numerals, since the match is held in Rome. In England, the date is written a bit differently than at home. It goes Day - Month - Year. So today's date is 27-5-2009. Now, in proper Roman numerals, that would read:
XXVII - V - MMIX
But that's not what was printed on the shirt. What did it have?
IIVII - V - IIXXIX
And to think, a lot of the Man United fans are wearing these shirts as they fly to Rome today. How embarrassing.
23 May 2009
Some reflection
I've not been doing any blogging, because I'm sucking up every iota of time with Steve that I can. We're apart tonight, though, because one of his best friends invited him to a concert by one of Steve's favorite musicians, Jean Michel Jarre. So I thought I'd share with you a bit of reflection.
Thursday was a beautiful day here in northwest England. It started off rainy, but it soon gave way to a brilliant blue sky, bright sun, and warmish temperature. Thinking it was foolish to waste such a glorious day (especially since it had been very rainy here - though nothing like that suffered by friends and loved one back home in "sunny" Florida), I suggested Steve and I go for a walk. This being Steve's childhood home, and with me having no clear idea of where I wanted to go, I asked Steve to lead the way and we began our trek through his neighborhood.
It's an area I'm growing to know pretty well. I recognized the houses and other landmarks as we walked to one of the main thoroughfares and down a hill. We walked past the park I shared with you a few blogs ago and through a long section of tightly-packed terraced homes. On the other side was the old Methodist Church and a view of the River Ribble.
"Do you want to go this way?" Steve asked, pointing to a foot path winding off to the left just before the church, "Or that way?" He gestured to a similar path across the road. I had no preference and we headed down the left path. Well shaded by a canopy of trees, the asphalt path was still wet from the morning's rain. I walked carefully, adjusting my foot falls to miss puddles and muddy patches.
We walked by some allotments. An allotment is an area set aside by the local council for residents to garden. It's required by national law. One of these days, I need to investigate the history of that legislation. But basically, for an annual fee, residents are entitled to about a 20 foot by 30 foot section of land on which they can grow fruits and vegetables. I think it's an awesome concept.
A few more minutes on the path took us near one of the main motorways and through a lovely neighborhood dating only to the 1980s. We picked up another footpath in the neighborhood and within a few feet, we were in the woods. A stream, swollen by the recent rain, burbled to our left. Chestnut trees towered above us. The breeze shushed through the leaves and was punctuated by a variety of bird calls. The birds that live here obviously do not have any cousins in Florida, because the songs were like nothing I hear at home. I listened to them, trying to come up with a verbal description of the patterns. Rhythmic da dit da dit da dits were followed by high-pitched trills. Simple high notes repeated themselves in series of threes and fours. Others simply tweeted. When we reached a partial clearing, the birds spotted us and the sounds changed from happy to threatened. Rasping calls alerted every bird around danger approached. When we kept walking, the bird call slowly returned to normal.
As we walked through this beautiful setting, two things occured to me almost simultaneously. One was a sense of marvel at how an area so natural and virtually untouched lay mere minutes from a thriving neighborhood. The other was the realization that I was truly happy to be in such a setting. The latter was almost a bit profound, because although I live in the sticks, I've always appreciated city living. I miss the conveniences of cable internet, pizza delivery, and the ability to pop to the store when you need something. I've always assumed that I was more of a city girl (or at least a suburban girl) than a country girl. But the way I felt as I walked down that wooded path, with dappled sunlight dancing through the rustling leaves, told me otherwise. And that, in turn, made me wonder if that's why history appeals to me as much as it does. And why modern history irritates me as much as it does.
I asked Steve to go for a walk, because I wanted to be out in the fresh air and open spaces. Funny how I ended up deep inside my head, instead.
Thursday was a beautiful day here in northwest England. It started off rainy, but it soon gave way to a brilliant blue sky, bright sun, and warmish temperature. Thinking it was foolish to waste such a glorious day (especially since it had been very rainy here - though nothing like that suffered by friends and loved one back home in "sunny" Florida), I suggested Steve and I go for a walk. This being Steve's childhood home, and with me having no clear idea of where I wanted to go, I asked Steve to lead the way and we began our trek through his neighborhood.
It's an area I'm growing to know pretty well. I recognized the houses and other landmarks as we walked to one of the main thoroughfares and down a hill. We walked past the park I shared with you a few blogs ago and through a long section of tightly-packed terraced homes. On the other side was the old Methodist Church and a view of the River Ribble.
"Do you want to go this way?" Steve asked, pointing to a foot path winding off to the left just before the church, "Or that way?" He gestured to a similar path across the road. I had no preference and we headed down the left path. Well shaded by a canopy of trees, the asphalt path was still wet from the morning's rain. I walked carefully, adjusting my foot falls to miss puddles and muddy patches.
We walked by some allotments. An allotment is an area set aside by the local council for residents to garden. It's required by national law. One of these days, I need to investigate the history of that legislation. But basically, for an annual fee, residents are entitled to about a 20 foot by 30 foot section of land on which they can grow fruits and vegetables. I think it's an awesome concept.
A few more minutes on the path took us near one of the main motorways and through a lovely neighborhood dating only to the 1980s. We picked up another footpath in the neighborhood and within a few feet, we were in the woods. A stream, swollen by the recent rain, burbled to our left. Chestnut trees towered above us. The breeze shushed through the leaves and was punctuated by a variety of bird calls. The birds that live here obviously do not have any cousins in Florida, because the songs were like nothing I hear at home. I listened to them, trying to come up with a verbal description of the patterns. Rhythmic da dit da dit da dits were followed by high-pitched trills. Simple high notes repeated themselves in series of threes and fours. Others simply tweeted. When we reached a partial clearing, the birds spotted us and the sounds changed from happy to threatened. Rasping calls alerted every bird around danger approached. When we kept walking, the bird call slowly returned to normal.
As we walked through this beautiful setting, two things occured to me almost simultaneously. One was a sense of marvel at how an area so natural and virtually untouched lay mere minutes from a thriving neighborhood. The other was the realization that I was truly happy to be in such a setting. The latter was almost a bit profound, because although I live in the sticks, I've always appreciated city living. I miss the conveniences of cable internet, pizza delivery, and the ability to pop to the store when you need something. I've always assumed that I was more of a city girl (or at least a suburban girl) than a country girl. But the way I felt as I walked down that wooded path, with dappled sunlight dancing through the rustling leaves, told me otherwise. And that, in turn, made me wonder if that's why history appeals to me as much as it does. And why modern history irritates me as much as it does.
I asked Steve to go for a walk, because I wanted to be out in the fresh air and open spaces. Funny how I ended up deep inside my head, instead.
20 May 2009
Steve has landed!!
According to Flightview, his flight landed at 8:23 this morning. By now, he's probably walking toward immigration to join the queue. He'll be through in no time, since I'm not there to drag down the process. If only I could have a British passport!
I'm so excited! He'll probably be home by 10!! I feel like a kid waiting for Santa!
Addendum added at 8:55 a.m. local time:
Steve just called. Flightview lied. He landed about five minutes ago and his plane was just taxiing to the gate. It was so nice to hear his voice and know he's just 40 miles away.
I'm so excited! He'll probably be home by 10!! I feel like a kid waiting for Santa!
Addendum added at 8:55 a.m. local time:
Steve just called. Flightview lied. He landed about five minutes ago and his plane was just taxiing to the gate. It was so nice to hear his voice and know he's just 40 miles away.
19 May 2009
Wife vs Historian
I guess I'm not as much of an historian as I thought. With Steve arriving tomorrow, I know full well I'm not going to get much research done. I miss him. I only have a week with him. I'm going to spend as much of it in his company as humanly possible. He's not big on historical research, so that means I'll be wherever he wants to be and not vice versa. But did I get any archival research done today? No. Why? Because I can't focus on anything other than the fact Steve's going to be here tomorrow. I am clearly more of a wife than an historian. And you know, I can live with that!
I woke up planning on going to the Lancashire Records Office (LRO) today. I originally planned to leave early, so I could secure a place before the old-age pensioners arrived en masse. Then Steve told me that he was going into work later than normal and that he'd try to Skype before he left. We hadn't had a chance to talk Monday night, so I thought that was a great idea. The LRO is open until 7:30 tonight, so I figured I'd talk to Steve in the morning and get over there later in the day, when the pensioners were heading home for tea. And even if it was crowded, I had plenty of microfiche reading to do to keep busy. For some reason, the microfiche readers aren't particularly popular.
As I waited for Steve to call, I took the time to organize all the notes I've accumulated. I transcribed most of them onto my computer, and neatened up the handwritten ones I am still using to find sources at the library and LRO. I also read a bit from one of my history books, and compiled even more sources to investigate. I re-engaged with some of the historical statistics I have and ordered the book from which I got them from amazon.com. I may not have done any archival research, but I had a productive morning and afternoon, all the same.
As the hours rolled by (a five-hour time difference can be a pain) and Steve hadn't contacted me, I worried. As it turns out, he had lost cell phone service. Since we connect to the internet via our Verizon phones, he couldn't get online. Nor could he text me, because he had no service. When I got worried enough, I texted his work phone and learned what had happened. Not sure why Steve didn't text me from his work phone to start with - he knows how I get. Anyway, I kept working from home, hoping he'd be able to call. When it got to be 3:30 here, I decided that I needed to get into Preston.
Naturally, Steve texts me whilst I'm on the bus heading into the city center to say that phone service was back and he was heading into Jacksonville. If I had waited just a few minutes more . . .
In Preston, I popped by the library long enough to return the "Lost" DVDs I had borrowed. I then bought some goodies for Steve (some McVitie's Ginger Nut cookies and some new Cadbury Twisted candy bars) at a store on Friargate. Then I came back. I had some cheese on toast for supper.
Steve said he's going to try and call from the airport. That'll be around 9 tonight, England time. I'm curling up with an interesting book about housing in Preston during the Industrial Revolution while I wait for his call.
So I guess that, even though I am a better wife than historian, I'm still an historian. :-)
I woke up planning on going to the Lancashire Records Office (LRO) today. I originally planned to leave early, so I could secure a place before the old-age pensioners arrived en masse. Then Steve told me that he was going into work later than normal and that he'd try to Skype before he left. We hadn't had a chance to talk Monday night, so I thought that was a great idea. The LRO is open until 7:30 tonight, so I figured I'd talk to Steve in the morning and get over there later in the day, when the pensioners were heading home for tea. And even if it was crowded, I had plenty of microfiche reading to do to keep busy. For some reason, the microfiche readers aren't particularly popular.
As I waited for Steve to call, I took the time to organize all the notes I've accumulated. I transcribed most of them onto my computer, and neatened up the handwritten ones I am still using to find sources at the library and LRO. I also read a bit from one of my history books, and compiled even more sources to investigate. I re-engaged with some of the historical statistics I have and ordered the book from which I got them from amazon.com. I may not have done any archival research, but I had a productive morning and afternoon, all the same.
As the hours rolled by (a five-hour time difference can be a pain) and Steve hadn't contacted me, I worried. As it turns out, he had lost cell phone service. Since we connect to the internet via our Verizon phones, he couldn't get online. Nor could he text me, because he had no service. When I got worried enough, I texted his work phone and learned what had happened. Not sure why Steve didn't text me from his work phone to start with - he knows how I get. Anyway, I kept working from home, hoping he'd be able to call. When it got to be 3:30 here, I decided that I needed to get into Preston.
Naturally, Steve texts me whilst I'm on the bus heading into the city center to say that phone service was back and he was heading into Jacksonville. If I had waited just a few minutes more . . .
In Preston, I popped by the library long enough to return the "Lost" DVDs I had borrowed. I then bought some goodies for Steve (some McVitie's Ginger Nut cookies and some new Cadbury Twisted candy bars) at a store on Friargate. Then I came back. I had some cheese on toast for supper.
Steve said he's going to try and call from the airport. That'll be around 9 tonight, England time. I'm curling up with an interesting book about housing in Preston during the Industrial Revolution while I wait for his call.
So I guess that, even though I am a better wife than historian, I'm still an historian. :-)
18 May 2009
Clearly, an early start is mandatory
I had some errands to run this morning, so I didn't actually get started with my research until around noon. My plan was to rummage around the census records. I was looking up some family tree information and figuring I would start getting some population figures for Preston beginning with the 1801 census and running through the 1901 records.
After I deposit everything except my notebook and pencil into a locker and sign in, I went directly to the Census Resources corner. All the census data is on either microfiche or microfilm. The records are indexed by street name, so once I had the correct record labels noted, I picked out a microfiche reader and selected my first document.
Now, I've never used a microfiche reader before. But I have looked at microfilm and I figured fiche was easier. I sat down at the machine (which had no operating instructions) and looked it over. When I couldn't figure out where the "on" switch was, I decided I needed to get help.
I queued up at the information desk to get help. The man running the desk was helping an older lady figure out a location name. I was quite taken by the fact that he had an American accent. So taken, in fact, that my mind was not prepared for when another gentleman came up and offered help. As a result, I must have come across as a bit thick, because it took me a few seconds to shift my mind away from the eavesdropping I had been doing and toward what the man with the extremely quiet and very posh accent was saying. He was very nice and helped me get the machine going. It actually was quite simple to use and I probably should have just figured it out on my own. But the employees are there to help and there is nothing wrong with ignorance.
I spent a little over an hour working on the family stuff. I love researching Steve's family tree. Hunting down clues and following trails through the census and birth/marriage/death records is quite fun for me. It's particularly exciting when I find a skeleton in the family closet. Like an unmarried mother or a birth coming just four months after a wedding.
Anyway, my research for my thesis hit a snag. The census records only go to 1841, not 1801. In addition, I found no compilation data with the census records. There was nothing saying: The population of Preston in 1841 was X amount. It would take me forever to have to count manually, so I obviously need to make friends with the helpful people at the information desk. But I wanted to do some more online research of the office's catalogue, so I decided to turn my attention to the plethora of books housed there.
A quick look in just two sections yielded nearly half-a-dozen books of interest to me. Excited at this unexpected find, I grabbed one of the books and went to find a seat to examine it. And that's when I discovered an early start is a must. Not a single seat was available. Old-age pensioners filled every chair. I underestimated the popularity of local history here in Preston.
I walked back to the micro readers and pondered sitting there to look at the books, but opted against it. There really wasn't room to read a book at the machines, and I doubt my taking up space at one would be appreciated. So with a hint of remorse, I put the book back on the shelf.
Tomorrow, I'm going to have to get there in the morning and grab a chair before the old-age pensioners are back in force.
After I deposit everything except my notebook and pencil into a locker and sign in, I went directly to the Census Resources corner. All the census data is on either microfiche or microfilm. The records are indexed by street name, so once I had the correct record labels noted, I picked out a microfiche reader and selected my first document.
Now, I've never used a microfiche reader before. But I have looked at microfilm and I figured fiche was easier. I sat down at the machine (which had no operating instructions) and looked it over. When I couldn't figure out where the "on" switch was, I decided I needed to get help.
I queued up at the information desk to get help. The man running the desk was helping an older lady figure out a location name. I was quite taken by the fact that he had an American accent. So taken, in fact, that my mind was not prepared for when another gentleman came up and offered help. As a result, I must have come across as a bit thick, because it took me a few seconds to shift my mind away from the eavesdropping I had been doing and toward what the man with the extremely quiet and very posh accent was saying. He was very nice and helped me get the machine going. It actually was quite simple to use and I probably should have just figured it out on my own. But the employees are there to help and there is nothing wrong with ignorance.
I spent a little over an hour working on the family stuff. I love researching Steve's family tree. Hunting down clues and following trails through the census and birth/marriage/death records is quite fun for me. It's particularly exciting when I find a skeleton in the family closet. Like an unmarried mother or a birth coming just four months after a wedding.
Anyway, my research for my thesis hit a snag. The census records only go to 1841, not 1801. In addition, I found no compilation data with the census records. There was nothing saying: The population of Preston in 1841 was X amount. It would take me forever to have to count manually, so I obviously need to make friends with the helpful people at the information desk. But I wanted to do some more online research of the office's catalogue, so I decided to turn my attention to the plethora of books housed there.
A quick look in just two sections yielded nearly half-a-dozen books of interest to me. Excited at this unexpected find, I grabbed one of the books and went to find a seat to examine it. And that's when I discovered an early start is a must. Not a single seat was available. Old-age pensioners filled every chair. I underestimated the popularity of local history here in Preston.
I walked back to the micro readers and pondered sitting there to look at the books, but opted against it. There really wasn't room to read a book at the machines, and I doubt my taking up space at one would be appreciated. So with a hint of remorse, I put the book back on the shelf.
Tomorrow, I'm going to have to get there in the morning and grab a chair before the old-age pensioners are back in force.
15 May 2009
London Sightseeing
With my archival work completed, we had all day Wednesday to sightsee. Since it was Alicia's first trip to England, I opted to skip Hampton Court in favor of the Tower of London. While Hampton Court better fits with the era of history I enjoy most, the Tower offers a lengthier pedigree. But first, Alicia wanted to see the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace.
I've seen the palace, but I've not been there for the famous ceremony. So we got there about 45 minutes early and secured a good spot next to the wrought iron fencing that surrounds the palace. The first disappointment for Alicia was that the guards were not the usual palace guard in the red coats and furry black hats. These blokes wore more common-place military jackets and berets. Four of them stood in front of four little guard houses - stock still. Every few minutes, a pair of them would begin a choreographed routine where they would turn, walk away from each other, turn back, walk toward each other, and then resume their guard position. I'm sure it would have been more impressive if they were in sync. But one always lagged the other by about a second.
Shortly before the ceremony began, a regiment of about a dozen more guards marched out. Their commanding officer, who wore a metal stick at his waist that was supposed to be a sword (Its squared-off end rather ruined the illusion), came out and inspected each officer. I heard a woman in the crowd (apparently a local) comment that they were military cadets - I suppose that would explain the uniform. Apparently satisfied after the inspection, the commander marched the men toward the front of the palace.
The men stood in formation perpendicular to the the guards who remained standing in front of their guard houses, and the commanding officer began pacing back and forth in front of the assembled regiment. He'd walk to within a foot of the palace wall, step back as if surprised the wall was there, turn on his heel, and walk in the opposite direction. He repeated the maneuver when he reached the palace gate. He did this repeatedly. Then two more officer blokes came out. One joined the first officer in the pacing, the other went in the opposite direction. Back and forth. Back and forth. We watched the pacing for another five minutes or so and then I heard the local lady say to her antsy young daughter - "It's almost over now."
What?! I stood against a fence for 45 minutes, being bumped and prodded by strangers, for this?! In disgust, and already mourning those 45 minutes of my life I would never see again, I made my way through the throng of people and away. Changing of the guards my backside . . . more like boring of the crowd.
By the time we finally reached the Tower, it was approaching noon. We lucked into a 2-for-1 offer with our train tickets, so it cost just £8.50 each instead of the normal £17. We walked through the old medieval section of the Tower dating to Edward I that was extensively upgraded for the coronation of Anne Boleyn, then took a look at the Traitor's Gate. It was through this gate that the then Princess Elizabeth (Anne's daughter) was escorted when her sister, Mary I, accused her of treason.
It was now nearing 1 p.m. and my blood sugar needed a boost. So we paused to have lunch at the Tower's New Armouries Cafe. It was a cafeteria-style eating place, where you had a selection of sandwiches, hot meals, soups, and a carvery. I opted for a bowl of Georgian Spring Soup with a thick chunk of wholegrain bread. Alicia got a BLT. Condiments consisted of salt, pepper, and sugar. This proved a big problem for Alicia, because her sandwich was very dry. The salt helped me, though, because my soup was tasteless. It smelled lovely, but tasted like water! Only by adding copious amounts of salt did it show a glimmer of flavor. This meal did nothing to diminish the stereotype of bland English food, let me tell you!
After our unsatisfying meal (which cost me about $12), we looked at the exhibition of Henry VIII's armor and then the crown jewels. Outside of the Jewel House, Alicia spied a traditionally garbed guard and happily snapped a photo. We should've just come straight to the Tower and skipped Buckingham. *shrug*
Another point within the Tower I wanted to show Alicia was the plaque marking the spot where Anne Boleyn was beheaded. But the plaque is gone. Now an elaborate glass sculpture of a velvet pillow marks the spot where Anne, and many others (such as Katherine Howard) lost their heads to Henry's axe man. The area has been marked since Queen Victoria, moved by the story of Anne Boleyn, commanded the point where she was beheaded be commemorated. I guess this year's 500th anniversary of Henry VIII's coronation spurred the upgrade from wooden plaque to glass sculpture.
Next up were the Tower ravens. These huge birds have called the Tower home for centuries. The story goes that the astronomer for Charles II complained that the ravens interfered with his stellar observations and the king ordered the birds destroyed. But when he learned of the prophecy that when the ravens left the Tower, the monarchy would fall, he reversed his ordered and sought to protect the birds. Nowadays, the ravens are either housed in cages or have their wings clipped so they can't fly away. I guess HRH is taking no chances! Whilst we stood looking at the birds, one of them hopped up on to the back of a bench. He reached into the nearby garbage bin and pulled out a discarded carrier bag containing leftover food bits. The bird may not be able to fly, but at least he's fed well!
Our day concluded with a stroll to the Tower Bridge. Our plan had been to take in the Tower Bridge Exhibition, which allows you access to the walkways suspended between the bridge's two towers. Unfortunately, the lift had gotten stuck the day before and the bridge was closed. I was disappointed, because I didn't even realize you could go inside the bridge until this trip and was really looking forward to the view from atop the bridge walkway. By the same token, I'm glad I wasn't subjected to a possible stuck lift, either.
We caught a District Line train at Tower Hill station. Our stop was the western terminus of the line. As we traveled along and listened to the various conversations happening in our car, I realized that every accent was American. It was like a little pocket of home on the London Underground.
For our last night in Ealing, we had a pizza dinner at La Cantina and watched a bit of English television. We only had a few channels available and we ended up watching a medical reality show called Embarrassing Bodies. One poor bloke was suffering from prostatitis and was undergoing a prostate massage procedure under general anaesthetic. Much to our surprise (and Alicia's horror, I might add), we saw the man's penis in all its glory on the tv screen. It was a rather bizarre thing to see at 8:30 p.m. on a general broadcast tv station, let me tell you.
After our last breakfast at the hotel Thursday morning, we schlepped our bags to the tube station and began our trek to London Euston train depot. It took us about 45 minutes to make the journey and we had about an hour to wait before we could board. Signal problems caused some delays for some trains. Our train took off on time, but ended up delayed by ten minutes because of children playing on the track. Clearly, stupidity and lack of common-sense parenting are not exclusively American.
Today, Alicia bade England farewell. As of this writing, she's somewhere over the Atlantic heading home to her hubby and dogs. We enjoyed lovely weather whilst Alicia was here. Despite horrible forecasts for heavy downpours, the rain stayed away. Today, the truce is over and it's been raining for hours. It's as if Alicia has taken the sunshine back to Florida with her.
I've seen the palace, but I've not been there for the famous ceremony. So we got there about 45 minutes early and secured a good spot next to the wrought iron fencing that surrounds the palace. The first disappointment for Alicia was that the guards were not the usual palace guard in the red coats and furry black hats. These blokes wore more common-place military jackets and berets. Four of them stood in front of four little guard houses - stock still. Every few minutes, a pair of them would begin a choreographed routine where they would turn, walk away from each other, turn back, walk toward each other, and then resume their guard position. I'm sure it would have been more impressive if they were in sync. But one always lagged the other by about a second.
Shortly before the ceremony began, a regiment of about a dozen more guards marched out. Their commanding officer, who wore a metal stick at his waist that was supposed to be a sword (Its squared-off end rather ruined the illusion), came out and inspected each officer. I heard a woman in the crowd (apparently a local) comment that they were military cadets - I suppose that would explain the uniform. Apparently satisfied after the inspection, the commander marched the men toward the front of the palace.
The men stood in formation perpendicular to the the guards who remained standing in front of their guard houses, and the commanding officer began pacing back and forth in front of the assembled regiment. He'd walk to within a foot of the palace wall, step back as if surprised the wall was there, turn on his heel, and walk in the opposite direction. He repeated the maneuver when he reached the palace gate. He did this repeatedly. Then two more officer blokes came out. One joined the first officer in the pacing, the other went in the opposite direction. Back and forth. Back and forth. We watched the pacing for another five minutes or so and then I heard the local lady say to her antsy young daughter - "It's almost over now."
What?! I stood against a fence for 45 minutes, being bumped and prodded by strangers, for this?! In disgust, and already mourning those 45 minutes of my life I would never see again, I made my way through the throng of people and away. Changing of the guards my backside . . . more like boring of the crowd.
By the time we finally reached the Tower, it was approaching noon. We lucked into a 2-for-1 offer with our train tickets, so it cost just £8.50 each instead of the normal £17. We walked through the old medieval section of the Tower dating to Edward I that was extensively upgraded for the coronation of Anne Boleyn, then took a look at the Traitor's Gate. It was through this gate that the then Princess Elizabeth (Anne's daughter) was escorted when her sister, Mary I, accused her of treason.
It was now nearing 1 p.m. and my blood sugar needed a boost. So we paused to have lunch at the Tower's New Armouries Cafe. It was a cafeteria-style eating place, where you had a selection of sandwiches, hot meals, soups, and a carvery. I opted for a bowl of Georgian Spring Soup with a thick chunk of wholegrain bread. Alicia got a BLT. Condiments consisted of salt, pepper, and sugar. This proved a big problem for Alicia, because her sandwich was very dry. The salt helped me, though, because my soup was tasteless. It smelled lovely, but tasted like water! Only by adding copious amounts of salt did it show a glimmer of flavor. This meal did nothing to diminish the stereotype of bland English food, let me tell you!
After our unsatisfying meal (which cost me about $12), we looked at the exhibition of Henry VIII's armor and then the crown jewels. Outside of the Jewel House, Alicia spied a traditionally garbed guard and happily snapped a photo. We should've just come straight to the Tower and skipped Buckingham. *shrug*
Another point within the Tower I wanted to show Alicia was the plaque marking the spot where Anne Boleyn was beheaded. But the plaque is gone. Now an elaborate glass sculpture of a velvet pillow marks the spot where Anne, and many others (such as Katherine Howard) lost their heads to Henry's axe man. The area has been marked since Queen Victoria, moved by the story of Anne Boleyn, commanded the point where she was beheaded be commemorated. I guess this year's 500th anniversary of Henry VIII's coronation spurred the upgrade from wooden plaque to glass sculpture.
Next up were the Tower ravens. These huge birds have called the Tower home for centuries. The story goes that the astronomer for Charles II complained that the ravens interfered with his stellar observations and the king ordered the birds destroyed. But when he learned of the prophecy that when the ravens left the Tower, the monarchy would fall, he reversed his ordered and sought to protect the birds. Nowadays, the ravens are either housed in cages or have their wings clipped so they can't fly away. I guess HRH is taking no chances! Whilst we stood looking at the birds, one of them hopped up on to the back of a bench. He reached into the nearby garbage bin and pulled out a discarded carrier bag containing leftover food bits. The bird may not be able to fly, but at least he's fed well!
Our day concluded with a stroll to the Tower Bridge. Our plan had been to take in the Tower Bridge Exhibition, which allows you access to the walkways suspended between the bridge's two towers. Unfortunately, the lift had gotten stuck the day before and the bridge was closed. I was disappointed, because I didn't even realize you could go inside the bridge until this trip and was really looking forward to the view from atop the bridge walkway. By the same token, I'm glad I wasn't subjected to a possible stuck lift, either.
We caught a District Line train at Tower Hill station. Our stop was the western terminus of the line. As we traveled along and listened to the various conversations happening in our car, I realized that every accent was American. It was like a little pocket of home on the London Underground.
For our last night in Ealing, we had a pizza dinner at La Cantina and watched a bit of English television. We only had a few channels available and we ended up watching a medical reality show called Embarrassing Bodies. One poor bloke was suffering from prostatitis and was undergoing a prostate massage procedure under general anaesthetic. Much to our surprise (and Alicia's horror, I might add), we saw the man's penis in all its glory on the tv screen. It was a rather bizarre thing to see at 8:30 p.m. on a general broadcast tv station, let me tell you.
After our last breakfast at the hotel Thursday morning, we schlepped our bags to the tube station and began our trek to London Euston train depot. It took us about 45 minutes to make the journey and we had about an hour to wait before we could board. Signal problems caused some delays for some trains. Our train took off on time, but ended up delayed by ten minutes because of children playing on the track. Clearly, stupidity and lack of common-sense parenting are not exclusively American.
Today, Alicia bade England farewell. As of this writing, she's somewhere over the Atlantic heading home to her hubby and dogs. We enjoyed lovely weather whilst Alicia was here. Despite horrible forecasts for heavy downpours, the rain stayed away. Today, the truce is over and it's been raining for hours. It's as if Alicia has taken the sunshine back to Florida with her.
12 May 2009
The National Archives
Today I began my research at the National Archives near Kew Gardens, London. We arrived around 10 a.m. and immediately proceeded to the open computers where I could order my first round of documents. You're only allowed to request three documents at a time, and I had about 26 I wanted to see. Alicia also got a reader's ticket, so we could double our access. That meant six documents at a time. We were thankful the archives were open until 7 tonight! I was also thankful that I had my act together and had already done the legwork to figure out what documents I wanted. I wouldn't be wasting any time on hunting, at least.
After I had entered the first six documents, the computer said the processing time was about 40 minutes. While we waited, we perused the documents available online. About twenty minutes later, our documents were ready for pickup. Impressed by the quick turnaround, we went to the document reading room. This is where historians get a hold of those fabulous original documents. We had to scan our reader cards to gain entry and have our belongings checked. You're allowed to take very little into the actual room. Our bags were in a locker downstairs. All we had were pencils, notebooks, and cameras. You're allowed to take non-flash photos of the documents. I figured I could do that with some of them to save money.
Once cleared, we entered the great glass-walled room. Thirty-three tables are clustered in this room. Ours was Table 4, which was near a large window in the far-right back corner. As I wound my way to my table, I passed people doing a variety of research. One couple had before them a huge bound book that they were carefully opening. The woman smiled at me as I passed. An older gentleman was in the corner near our table wearing white gloves as he gently turned the pages of a thick volume of brown, brittle pages. He had a digital SLR camera mounted above the pages and he was snapping dozens of photos. Two women at another nearby table were doing genealogical research. They were not aware of the one-document-at-a-time rule (either missing or ignoring the clear instructions) and got a sound chastisement from one of the archive employees who regularly patrol the room.
Alicia and I secured seats next to each other at our table and worked on different documents. The first selections were large boxes of individual papers. I only needed four or five from a collection of over 300 pages. So Alicia looked through hers and I through mine. I opened the box and looked down at the stack of lightly browned pages lined with flowing penmanship. It was a box of correspondence. The top letter was dated 1811. It was surreal.
And so the research continued. Alicia was a huge help, acting as my assistant and doing the grunt work so I could actually read the documents and decide if they were necessary for my thesis. As a result, we finished in just a few hours. Out of the 26 documents I originally hoped to view, only about six proved useful. And several were not orderable, because of their size (such as the Sessional Papers of the House of Lords that take up 2804 volumes). I have photos of some of the documents of interest and copies of the others.
As I left the document reading room for the last time, I looked again at the people clustered around the tables. Most of the people handled the documents gently, almost reverently. But a few didn't show the papers any respect at all. One man sat with the contents of a box of old, browned pages and thumbed his way through them like he was reading a magazine. Still another flipped through a binder of papers with no regard for their historical value. Granted, his pages were still white and I assume were not as old as the ones I had been reading. But just because they're not very old now, doesn't mean they shouldn't be handled carefully and with respect. We want those pages to still be around a hundred years from now, so historians of the future have the same opportunity to read them. It sickened me that my fellow historians were so clumsy with the jewels of our trade.
As I sit in my hotel room, enjoying an unexpected free afternoon, I wonder if I missed anything at the archives. I probably did. There are over 11 millions documents on file there. Guess I'll just have to go back! ;-)
London - Day One
Day One of the London odyssey proved long and almost painful at times. It started off well enough. The anticipated rain didn't seem to be coming. The sky was a brilliant blue. I was up early (having the sun up and bright around 5 a.m. still throws me off)and we got to the train station in plenty of time. We wanted to change our seats, so we'd be near each other. But we couldn't, because we were too close to our departure. The guy at the Virgin desk (who really was not very nice at all) said we could just switch seats once we were on the train, provided empty seats were available.
What the guy did NOT tell us was another train out of Lancaster had been cancelled, and our train now had two trains full of people heading to Birmingham. So not only were there no extra seats available - OUR seats weren't available. Luckily, a very kind young man offered me his seat and Alicia lucked into an empty one nearby and we were able to sit for the 45 minutes it took us to get to Crewe. We switched trains there and, luckily, had a minimally booked train for the remaining 90 minutes to London. We were able to sit next to each other, although we didn't talk that much. Alicia was doing sudoku and I was dozing. Trains tend to make me sleepy.
Once in London, we began the long slog through the Underground to Ealing. Although we only had small cases, we had my laptop in one of them. Alicia got stuck with it, because her bag was big enough to accomodate it. So we're schlepping from Euston to Tottenham Court, where we changed from the Northern to the Central Lines. Then the long haul to Ealing Broadway. Once there, we got a taxi to the hotel.
The Grange Lodge Hotel is a lovely place. It's a converted house nestled in a picturesque and quiet neighborhood. Our room is a good size. We actually have a triple, although I only booked a double. This works out well, because now we have our own beds. I initially booked the room figuring it'd be just me.
Once we got settled, we decided to go the National Archives and get our cards taken care of. I had a list of over two dozen documents to view and we worried that it would take all day. If we could get the administrative stuff done and get the documents ordered in advanced, we'd be able to hit the ground running Tuesday morning. Well, we got the cards no problem. But the computer system inside the archives is different than the one I access from off-site, so I didn't know my way around it. Plus,it was nearly closing time and the document request desk was closed. So I didn't get a single document requested. We felt a bit like we had wasted a trip, but tried to content ourselves in the knowledge that we had our reading cards and knew the general layout of the National Archives.
We had reservations on the London Eye for 8 p.m. so we rode the Tube into central London. We exited at Westminster Station, so Alicia could see the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Cathedral, and the other points of interest along the Thames. We were also starving, having eaten pretty much nothing since toast that morning, so after exiting the tube station and walking along the Westminster Bridge, we turned back in search of food. That was a mistake. The Tamil Tigers were protesting recent developments in Sri Lanka and had staged a massive sit-in around the Houses of Parliament. Dozens of police vehicles ringed the general area, and probably a hundred or more police officers were trying to keep the chanting crowd of over 500 protestors contained. A helicopter hovered above St. Stephen's Tower.
Seeing the number of police officers and feeling the rising tension, I urged Alicia to snap a pic or two of Westminster Cathedral and suggested we make a hasty retreat from the area. We walked along the road for a few blocks before turning back toward the Thames. It was a strange experience finding oneself in the midst of all that.
We went to the south bank of the Thames, near the London Eye, and grabbed a meal at a Chinese buffet. The London Eye was not very busy, so we didn't have to wait for our reservation time. We boarded around 7:15 or so and had an enjoyable half hour looking over the city.
As we dragged our tired selves back across the Westminster Bridge toward the tube station, Alicia spotted something she wanted to buy from a street vendor. She inquired about the price of one item and the guy said "Seven ninety-nine." That was a bit more than she liked, so she then asked the price of a smaller, similar item. He replied, "Two fifty." That was a fair price, so Alicia picked one and waited for the guy to finish haggling with an Asian family. When he got back to us, Alicia handed him two pounds fifty. "What's this for?" he asked. "This," Alicia replied, showing him her purchase. "That doesn't cost two fifty," he declared. "That's six pounds." Alicia retorted, "You told me two fifty when I asked before." To which he replied, "I was talking to someone else." Sensing the scam, Alicia said, "Well then," as she took her money from his still oustretched hand (he expected her to pay the balance) and deliberately put the item back in its place. Lesson learned: Don't think it's possible to get a fair price from a street vendor in London.
After that, we made the long ride back to Ealing (it takes about 30 minutes or so, I guess). We were looking forward to retiring for the night, and I was anxious to talk with Steve and tell him about my day. We've spent so much money on text messages to each other, that I really had to limit how many I sent. Not only was I paying 20p per text, but Steve was paying for both the texts he received from me and the ones he sent. Our text plan doesn't include international, so he was paying about 50 cents each time I texted and he replied. Texting was proving expensive, so Skyping was now my main way to communicate with Steve. And I was anxious to share my day with him and see how his day went.
Much to my dismay, when we got back to the hotel around 9, the internet wasn't working. So my plans to chat with Steve were dashed. It was with a very heavy heart that I finally went to sleep, leaving a long, tiring Monday behind me.
What the guy did NOT tell us was another train out of Lancaster had been cancelled, and our train now had two trains full of people heading to Birmingham. So not only were there no extra seats available - OUR seats weren't available. Luckily, a very kind young man offered me his seat and Alicia lucked into an empty one nearby and we were able to sit for the 45 minutes it took us to get to Crewe. We switched trains there and, luckily, had a minimally booked train for the remaining 90 minutes to London. We were able to sit next to each other, although we didn't talk that much. Alicia was doing sudoku and I was dozing. Trains tend to make me sleepy.
Once in London, we began the long slog through the Underground to Ealing. Although we only had small cases, we had my laptop in one of them. Alicia got stuck with it, because her bag was big enough to accomodate it. So we're schlepping from Euston to Tottenham Court, where we changed from the Northern to the Central Lines. Then the long haul to Ealing Broadway. Once there, we got a taxi to the hotel.
The Grange Lodge Hotel is a lovely place. It's a converted house nestled in a picturesque and quiet neighborhood. Our room is a good size. We actually have a triple, although I only booked a double. This works out well, because now we have our own beds. I initially booked the room figuring it'd be just me.
Once we got settled, we decided to go the National Archives and get our cards taken care of. I had a list of over two dozen documents to view and we worried that it would take all day. If we could get the administrative stuff done and get the documents ordered in advanced, we'd be able to hit the ground running Tuesday morning. Well, we got the cards no problem. But the computer system inside the archives is different than the one I access from off-site, so I didn't know my way around it. Plus,it was nearly closing time and the document request desk was closed. So I didn't get a single document requested. We felt a bit like we had wasted a trip, but tried to content ourselves in the knowledge that we had our reading cards and knew the general layout of the National Archives.
We had reservations on the London Eye for 8 p.m. so we rode the Tube into central London. We exited at Westminster Station, so Alicia could see the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Cathedral, and the other points of interest along the Thames. We were also starving, having eaten pretty much nothing since toast that morning, so after exiting the tube station and walking along the Westminster Bridge, we turned back in search of food. That was a mistake. The Tamil Tigers were protesting recent developments in Sri Lanka and had staged a massive sit-in around the Houses of Parliament. Dozens of police vehicles ringed the general area, and probably a hundred or more police officers were trying to keep the chanting crowd of over 500 protestors contained. A helicopter hovered above St. Stephen's Tower.
Seeing the number of police officers and feeling the rising tension, I urged Alicia to snap a pic or two of Westminster Cathedral and suggested we make a hasty retreat from the area. We walked along the road for a few blocks before turning back toward the Thames. It was a strange experience finding oneself in the midst of all that.
We went to the south bank of the Thames, near the London Eye, and grabbed a meal at a Chinese buffet. The London Eye was not very busy, so we didn't have to wait for our reservation time. We boarded around 7:15 or so and had an enjoyable half hour looking over the city.
As we dragged our tired selves back across the Westminster Bridge toward the tube station, Alicia spotted something she wanted to buy from a street vendor. She inquired about the price of one item and the guy said "Seven ninety-nine." That was a bit more than she liked, so she then asked the price of a smaller, similar item. He replied, "Two fifty." That was a fair price, so Alicia picked one and waited for the guy to finish haggling with an Asian family. When he got back to us, Alicia handed him two pounds fifty. "What's this for?" he asked. "This," Alicia replied, showing him her purchase. "That doesn't cost two fifty," he declared. "That's six pounds." Alicia retorted, "You told me two fifty when I asked before." To which he replied, "I was talking to someone else." Sensing the scam, Alicia said, "Well then," as she took her money from his still oustretched hand (he expected her to pay the balance) and deliberately put the item back in its place. Lesson learned: Don't think it's possible to get a fair price from a street vendor in London.
After that, we made the long ride back to Ealing (it takes about 30 minutes or so, I guess). We were looking forward to retiring for the night, and I was anxious to talk with Steve and tell him about my day. We've spent so much money on text messages to each other, that I really had to limit how many I sent. Not only was I paying 20p per text, but Steve was paying for both the texts he received from me and the ones he sent. Our text plan doesn't include international, so he was paying about 50 cents each time I texted and he replied. Texting was proving expensive, so Skyping was now my main way to communicate with Steve. And I was anxious to share my day with him and see how his day went.
Much to my dismay, when we got back to the hotel around 9, the internet wasn't working. So my plans to chat with Steve were dashed. It was with a very heavy heart that I finally went to sleep, leaving a long, tiring Monday behind me.
10 May 2009
Down Time
I've not been to the library for a few days, because my friend, Alicia, arrived Saturday morning. I took Friday off to do mundane chores (like laundry) and have spent the weekend showling Alicia some sights and having some fun. We had dinner out and a bit of a pub crawl with most of the girls of the family and did some shopping today. Tomorrow, we take the train down to London.
Tomorrow is a touristy day. We arrive in London around 1 and will head straight to the little hotel in Ealing I've booked for three nights. Once we've dumped our bags in the room (and I've secured my laptop under lock and key), we're heading into central London for some sightseeing. We've got 8 p.m. reservations on the London Eye, so I figured we'll wander around that area for a bit. Westminster Palace (aka Houses of Parliament, St. Stephen's Tower (which houses Big Ben), and Westminster Abbey are all in this area. I figure there's plenty to keep us busy until it's time to queue for our ride on the Eye.
Tuesday is when I go back to researcher mode and head to the National Archives. I've been working on a documents list for a couple of days now. It's already huge. I think my game plan is going to have to be to do a quick scan of the documents and check for relevance to my general thesis. Those that fit get copied for close reading later. This seems the best way to accumulate all the info I need in a short span of time.
We'll just have to see how that goes. Stay tuned.
Tomorrow is a touristy day. We arrive in London around 1 and will head straight to the little hotel in Ealing I've booked for three nights. Once we've dumped our bags in the room (and I've secured my laptop under lock and key), we're heading into central London for some sightseeing. We've got 8 p.m. reservations on the London Eye, so I figured we'll wander around that area for a bit. Westminster Palace (aka Houses of Parliament, St. Stephen's Tower (which houses Big Ben), and Westminster Abbey are all in this area. I figure there's plenty to keep us busy until it's time to queue for our ride on the Eye.
Tuesday is when I go back to researcher mode and head to the National Archives. I've been working on a documents list for a couple of days now. It's already huge. I think my game plan is going to have to be to do a quick scan of the documents and check for relevance to my general thesis. Those that fit get copied for close reading later. This seems the best way to accumulate all the info I need in a short span of time.
We'll just have to see how that goes. Stay tuned.
07 May 2009
So many notes . . .
. . . so little idea what to do with them.
I've accumulated a lot of statistical data the last couple of days. For instance, in 1851 Preston had the highest death rate of any location in the entire United Kingdom. Another example, 70% of Preston adults (and 53% of the total population) in the mid 1800s were Irish immigrants. Cool stuff. Well, I think it's cool. But is it needed data? That's the question I keep grappling with. And I periodically panic about it.
Am I wasting my time? My question is still too big! I don't have a clue what my smaller question is yet! Should I have a clue? What if I miss something? Am I missing something?
Thus far, I keep assuring myself that (a) I'm only a week into my actual investigating and (b) it's okay if I don't have my smaller question, yet. How can I possibly zoom in on the little picture until I'm well-versed in the big one? So I keep collecting information figuring that a good portion of it will probably not make it into my thesis. But that, I imagine, is pretty normal.
At least I hope it is.
A particularly awesome find yesterday was a book entitled Cotton: A Bibliography of North West England. That little treasure was about 175 pages listing the books, articles, governmental pamphlets, and other documentary goodies related to cotton manufacture in (mostly) Lancashire. The goodies I uncovered in its pages then led me to even more goodies. For instance, I've gone through the catalogue for the National Archives using some papers mentioned in that book. I now have a list of a couple dozen documents to look at when I'm in London next week, including Session Papers from the House of Lords and correspondence between Preston leaders and Parliament. Items I didn't even know existed until I read that book. So much for me not having anything to look for at the archives!
Not that the past couple of days have been all wine and roses at the library. There have been . . . issues. Yesterday was apparently disgusting old man day at the library. The first man is in there every day. He's not researching anything, he's reading newspapers. The library apparently subscribes to a number of local papers, and this man and a couple of other people I keep seeing go the library just to read them. Talk about cheap. Anyway, this one man is sitting about five feet from me and he just belches really loud. He doesn't utter an excuse me or anything. Just lets loose with a loud, long "buuurrrppp." A total of three of them over the span of about 30 minutes. Another old man came in shortly after Burp Man left and sat at the end of my table. He, too, was reading a newspaper. He, too, burped (although a bit quieter), but what made him disgusting was he kept spitting. Not big loogies, but as he'd read, he'd repeatedly make a rapid trio of wet P sounds. So he was actually spitting a bit. I have no clue why he kept doing that. I'm not 100% sure he realized he was doing it. He'd also smack his lips, making a generally gross wet sound.
Today, thankfully, Burp Man wasn't gassy. But I think I'd rather hear his burps than the screaming child some stupid cow brought into the library. The kid was around a year old or so and either happily screamed or angrily screamed. The librarians said nothing. I'm sitting on the other end of the room trying to comprehend columns of statistics from a sociological examination of 19th-century Lancashire and this kid is piercing my ear drums! I finally couldn't take it, anymore, and ended up leaving about a half hour earlier than I originally planned. I do not understand why the librarians didn't ask the woman to take her caterwalling child out of the library.
My other issue today (and the final one) is the fact that the reference library (like all reference libraries in Lancashire county) is being converted into a community history library. So any and all documents/books not directly related to local history are being transferred into the normal collection. Okay, no big deal. Except a book I wanted today (A History of Factory Legislation)has been removed from the reference library as a part of this change. Unfortunately, it's not actually in the normal collection, yet. Steve's niece, Nikki, who used to work at the Harris library, told me that when a book is tranferred like that, it must first get catalogued in the computer. Makes sense, except who knows how long it will be before that book is catalogued? Nikki said the basement is full of books like this. If I ask for the book, will the librarians even be able to find it? I didn't ask about it today, because the librarians had a bunch of people needing help. Fortunately, the information in that book is available from other sources (even if they are Parliament records written in some unfathomable legalese), so I figured I could just skip this source for now. Still, it's an issue. What if other books are similarly in limbo? What if I can't decipher 19th-century English legalese?
Thus ends my first week of active research. I'm taking tomorrow off to do mundane things, like laundry and vacuuming. My friend, Alicia, arrives Saturday and I want my weekend free of chores to show her around Preston before we dash to London Monday.
I've accumulated a lot of statistical data the last couple of days. For instance, in 1851 Preston had the highest death rate of any location in the entire United Kingdom. Another example, 70% of Preston adults (and 53% of the total population) in the mid 1800s were Irish immigrants. Cool stuff. Well, I think it's cool. But is it needed data? That's the question I keep grappling with. And I periodically panic about it.
Am I wasting my time? My question is still too big! I don't have a clue what my smaller question is yet! Should I have a clue? What if I miss something? Am I missing something?
Thus far, I keep assuring myself that (a) I'm only a week into my actual investigating and (b) it's okay if I don't have my smaller question, yet. How can I possibly zoom in on the little picture until I'm well-versed in the big one? So I keep collecting information figuring that a good portion of it will probably not make it into my thesis. But that, I imagine, is pretty normal.
At least I hope it is.
A particularly awesome find yesterday was a book entitled Cotton: A Bibliography of North West England. That little treasure was about 175 pages listing the books, articles, governmental pamphlets, and other documentary goodies related to cotton manufacture in (mostly) Lancashire. The goodies I uncovered in its pages then led me to even more goodies. For instance, I've gone through the catalogue for the National Archives using some papers mentioned in that book. I now have a list of a couple dozen documents to look at when I'm in London next week, including Session Papers from the House of Lords and correspondence between Preston leaders and Parliament. Items I didn't even know existed until I read that book. So much for me not having anything to look for at the archives!
Not that the past couple of days have been all wine and roses at the library. There have been . . . issues. Yesterday was apparently disgusting old man day at the library. The first man is in there every day. He's not researching anything, he's reading newspapers. The library apparently subscribes to a number of local papers, and this man and a couple of other people I keep seeing go the library just to read them. Talk about cheap. Anyway, this one man is sitting about five feet from me and he just belches really loud. He doesn't utter an excuse me or anything. Just lets loose with a loud, long "buuurrrppp." A total of three of them over the span of about 30 minutes. Another old man came in shortly after Burp Man left and sat at the end of my table. He, too, was reading a newspaper. He, too, burped (although a bit quieter), but what made him disgusting was he kept spitting. Not big loogies, but as he'd read, he'd repeatedly make a rapid trio of wet P sounds. So he was actually spitting a bit. I have no clue why he kept doing that. I'm not 100% sure he realized he was doing it. He'd also smack his lips, making a generally gross wet sound.
Today, thankfully, Burp Man wasn't gassy. But I think I'd rather hear his burps than the screaming child some stupid cow brought into the library. The kid was around a year old or so and either happily screamed or angrily screamed. The librarians said nothing. I'm sitting on the other end of the room trying to comprehend columns of statistics from a sociological examination of 19th-century Lancashire and this kid is piercing my ear drums! I finally couldn't take it, anymore, and ended up leaving about a half hour earlier than I originally planned. I do not understand why the librarians didn't ask the woman to take her caterwalling child out of the library.
My other issue today (and the final one) is the fact that the reference library (like all reference libraries in Lancashire county) is being converted into a community history library. So any and all documents/books not directly related to local history are being transferred into the normal collection. Okay, no big deal. Except a book I wanted today (A History of Factory Legislation)has been removed from the reference library as a part of this change. Unfortunately, it's not actually in the normal collection, yet. Steve's niece, Nikki, who used to work at the Harris library, told me that when a book is tranferred like that, it must first get catalogued in the computer. Makes sense, except who knows how long it will be before that book is catalogued? Nikki said the basement is full of books like this. If I ask for the book, will the librarians even be able to find it? I didn't ask about it today, because the librarians had a bunch of people needing help. Fortunately, the information in that book is available from other sources (even if they are Parliament records written in some unfathomable legalese), so I figured I could just skip this source for now. Still, it's an issue. What if other books are similarly in limbo? What if I can't decipher 19th-century English legalese?
Thus ends my first week of active research. I'm taking tomorrow off to do mundane things, like laundry and vacuuming. My friend, Alicia, arrives Saturday and I want my weekend free of chores to show her around Preston before we dash to London Monday.
05 May 2009
Let the Research Commence
I awoke to another wet day today. I didn't sleep well again (lots of tossing and turning and weird dreams), so I was slow to get a move on. I had hoped to be on my way to Preston by 10 a.m., but it was rolling toward 12 before I finally got out the door.
I took the bus into town and got off at the railway station, because I needed to stop at Wilkinson's on the way to the library to pick up some nail polish remover. The thing is, I don't know Preston all that well. I can get to the library no problem, but when I last went to Wilkinson's on Saturday, we went there from the library. I wasn't sure what way to go. In Florida, I never get lost, because I carry a mental map. So long as I'm not on an island, I have a natural sense of direction and can work my way around. But it takes me a few weeks to develop that sense outside of the state. Thus, I don't have it for Preston. So . . . I got a bit lost. Not lost as in, OMG where am I?! lost. But lost as in the street I walked down didn't deliver me where I hoped it would and I couldn't quite suss out how to remedy it without going back.
I texted Steve, but he was still working out. So I just retraced my steps and ducked into The Mall. I know The Mall opens onto Friargate, which is where I wanted to go. I just needed to find the right exit - which I did without trouble. So I had a little bit of an adventure on my way to library.
The real adventure began in the library, though. As I staked my claim on the end of one large wooden table, I pulled out the list of books I wanted to read over and began my journey. I've been reading books since I got here, enveloping myself in Preston history. I wanted a feel for the era and area, so I could begin to develop a theory. But now I was going to start more of the nitty-gritty work. It's still in the secondary sources, but these sources date to the 1800s. So it's pretty exciting.
Or it was until I began pulling out various books one-by-one and realizing they really didn't tell me anything I needed. Then I sat there and wondered what it was, exactly, that I needed. Should I be looking up the Parlimentary election records? Maybe the housing records are a better idea? Where should I be looking? What should I be asking. OH MY GOD . . . I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!!
Fighting off that brief wave of panic, I reminded myself that I'm just beginning my quest and forced myself to cast the net out wide again. I grabbed a couple of general history books of Preston (one from 1883 and one from 1992) and began reading them. The earlier version, which I've perused before, gave me a lot of what happened, but didn't delve into the why so much. I moved to the 1992 book and found the whys. I also found a helpful bibliography (the first in close to a dozen books I've gone through since getting here) and notes that actually made sense.
Several pages of notes later and with blood sugar dropping (I forgot to pack a snack bar), I decided to make my way home. As I rode the bus home, I thought about some new and unexpected info I found. On the surface, it's not all that shocking. But as I thought about it, I realized it might fit into the puzzle I'm attempting to assemble. I have to do more research. but I must admit, I think it will probably lead to a dead end. Despite that, I'm not discouraged. Why? Because at some point during my research today, I quit thinking like a grad student writing a research paper and began thinking like an historian. And that was a pretty cool thing to discover.
The front of the Harris library and museum - this week's home away from home.
I took the bus into town and got off at the railway station, because I needed to stop at Wilkinson's on the way to the library to pick up some nail polish remover. The thing is, I don't know Preston all that well. I can get to the library no problem, but when I last went to Wilkinson's on Saturday, we went there from the library. I wasn't sure what way to go. In Florida, I never get lost, because I carry a mental map. So long as I'm not on an island, I have a natural sense of direction and can work my way around. But it takes me a few weeks to develop that sense outside of the state. Thus, I don't have it for Preston. So . . . I got a bit lost. Not lost as in, OMG where am I?! lost. But lost as in the street I walked down didn't deliver me where I hoped it would and I couldn't quite suss out how to remedy it without going back.
I texted Steve, but he was still working out. So I just retraced my steps and ducked into The Mall. I know The Mall opens onto Friargate, which is where I wanted to go. I just needed to find the right exit - which I did without trouble. So I had a little bit of an adventure on my way to library.
The real adventure began in the library, though. As I staked my claim on the end of one large wooden table, I pulled out the list of books I wanted to read over and began my journey. I've been reading books since I got here, enveloping myself in Preston history. I wanted a feel for the era and area, so I could begin to develop a theory. But now I was going to start more of the nitty-gritty work. It's still in the secondary sources, but these sources date to the 1800s. So it's pretty exciting.
Or it was until I began pulling out various books one-by-one and realizing they really didn't tell me anything I needed. Then I sat there and wondered what it was, exactly, that I needed. Should I be looking up the Parlimentary election records? Maybe the housing records are a better idea? Where should I be looking? What should I be asking. OH MY GOD . . . I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!!
Fighting off that brief wave of panic, I reminded myself that I'm just beginning my quest and forced myself to cast the net out wide again. I grabbed a couple of general history books of Preston (one from 1883 and one from 1992) and began reading them. The earlier version, which I've perused before, gave me a lot of what happened, but didn't delve into the why so much. I moved to the 1992 book and found the whys. I also found a helpful bibliography (the first in close to a dozen books I've gone through since getting here) and notes that actually made sense.
Several pages of notes later and with blood sugar dropping (I forgot to pack a snack bar), I decided to make my way home. As I rode the bus home, I thought about some new and unexpected info I found. On the surface, it's not all that shocking. But as I thought about it, I realized it might fit into the puzzle I'm attempting to assemble. I have to do more research. but I must admit, I think it will probably lead to a dead end. Despite that, I'm not discouraged. Why? Because at some point during my research today, I quit thinking like a grad student writing a research paper and began thinking like an historian. And that was a pretty cool thing to discover.
The front of the Harris library and museum - this week's home away from home.
Not So Manic Monday
Monday was a bank holiday, so the library and archives were closed - extending my down time by one day. Tony and Jean took me to lunch in Southport, which was once a popular seaside resort. It's still a lovely town. I was going to take photos, but the weather was so miserable I opted against it. We'll be going again sometime. I'll take photos when we do.
After a nice meal at Wetherspoon's, we wandered around a large consignment shop full of all kinds of goodies from earrings to furniture to paintings to gollywogs. From there, we went to B&M's, which is a bargain store. I picked up some edible goodies for Steve's care package. I also stumbled upon a toy TARDIS that I just had to bring home.
Shortly after we returned home, Jackie and Nick (one of Steve's sisters and her husband) popped by with Nikki (their daughter) to visit. I then went with them to Tina and John's (another of Steve's sisters and her hubby) for a bit. We gals visited whilst the menfolk took the alternator off Tina's car. After that, Jackie and Nick treated me to KFC and then I came on home.
After an enjoyable and relaxing day, I Skyped with Steve for a bit as he drove home. Then I curled up with an episode of Lost on the computer and went to bed.
All in all, a very pleasant way to commence the week.
After a nice meal at Wetherspoon's, we wandered around a large consignment shop full of all kinds of goodies from earrings to furniture to paintings to gollywogs. From there, we went to B&M's, which is a bargain store. I picked up some edible goodies for Steve's care package. I also stumbled upon a toy TARDIS that I just had to bring home.
Shortly after we returned home, Jackie and Nick (one of Steve's sisters and her husband) popped by with Nikki (their daughter) to visit. I then went with them to Tina and John's (another of Steve's sisters and her hubby) for a bit. We gals visited whilst the menfolk took the alternator off Tina's car. After that, Jackie and Nick treated me to KFC and then I came on home.
After an enjoyable and relaxing day, I Skyped with Steve for a bit as he drove home. Then I curled up with an episode of Lost on the computer and went to bed.
All in all, a very pleasant way to commence the week.
03 May 2009
A Lazy Sunday
I went out to the pubs with Steve's brother, Chris, last night. We started off at the Lamb and Packet, where his wife, Dawn, works. We then went to the Sun, which was heaving with people so we stayed for just one drink, and finally Grey Friar's. This is a huge pub and, although pretty busy, big enough that the noise wasn't deafening. We sat near the quartet of stairs leading to the restrooms and had a nice time watching people navigate up and down them. One poor guy was so wasted he fell UP the stairs, and his jeans (which he was wearing too low in the first place) fell down. Too funny! There was also a table of young girls in short, tight skirts seated nearby. It was quite enjoyable watching all the lads watching them as they went by. The girls took no notice, despite some outrageous stunts by some of the guys.
So after having a late night out (I got home by 12:30 and was up until 2 a.m. Skyping with Steve), I opted to have a lazy Sunday. I woke up somewhere around 8:30, but lazed in bed for an hour. Then I poked around online for another hour or so before showering and heading downstairs for brunch.
After popping up to the Co-op (basically the neighborhood convenience store) to top up my mobile phone (I text Steve way too much), I went out for a walk. I walked through Middleforth Green, which is a lovely park where Steve used to play as a child a few blocks from the house. Then I roamed around the general neighborhood for awhile. It's quite chilly today (temp's probably in the upper 40s) and breezy, so my face was cold by the time I got back. At least it didn't rain (which it's been doing in weird 2-minute spurts interspersed with brilliant sunshine most of the day).
I took my camera with me to share some views of the area.
This is a house directly across the street from Steve's parent's house. I quite like this house. I'm not sure what it is about it that attracts me. I just like it. Though this picture doesn't really do it justice.
This is an old gnarled tree I encountered shortly after I entered the park. I don't know what kind of tree it is, but I guess either insects or some kind of infection did a number on its trunk.
This is a shot taken from a rise in Middleforth Green looking toward Preston. Steve's family lives in Penwortham, which is a Preston suburb. The church is St. Walburge's Catholic Church. It was built in the 1850s, during a Catholic revival in England and Preston's prosperity as a cotton town. It's spire is over 300 feet tall and is one of the tallest structures in Lancashire.
Magpies fascinate me. Again, I don't know why. I think it's because they look like crows that someone's partially painted white.
Finally, this is a shot along a street I crossed on the way home. It's a typical English residential street. I wanted to take a photo of New Lane, the home street, but there are a lot of big vans parked along it mucking up the view.
Amusing Odds and Sods
During my walk, a powder blue scooter came roaring to a stop at a cross road. The driver was wearing high heels, which I found kind of funny. As I got closer, I realized the driver was a little old lady who had to be about 80 years old! Eighty-years-old and she's roaring about on her powder blue scooter in high heels! Way to go, Granny!
It is amazing how many people are stupid drunk by 8:30 on a Saturday night. One guy was convulsing on the sidewalk - probably from alcohol poisoning - and it wasn't completely dark yet!
England and America are most definitely two countries separated by the same language. I prepared some pasta for dinner and my father-in-law asked me if I wanted a dish or a plate for it. I blinked and had to explain that to me, a dish and a plate are the same thing. Apparently, a dish is a bowl and a plate is a plate. At least I knew he meant a pot when he told me where the pans were.
The grass in England is incredibly soft. If it weren't muddy, I very well might have lied down in the grass when I was in Middleforth Green.
So after having a late night out (I got home by 12:30 and was up until 2 a.m. Skyping with Steve), I opted to have a lazy Sunday. I woke up somewhere around 8:30, but lazed in bed for an hour. Then I poked around online for another hour or so before showering and heading downstairs for brunch.
After popping up to the Co-op (basically the neighborhood convenience store) to top up my mobile phone (I text Steve way too much), I went out for a walk. I walked through Middleforth Green, which is a lovely park where Steve used to play as a child a few blocks from the house. Then I roamed around the general neighborhood for awhile. It's quite chilly today (temp's probably in the upper 40s) and breezy, so my face was cold by the time I got back. At least it didn't rain (which it's been doing in weird 2-minute spurts interspersed with brilliant sunshine most of the day).
I took my camera with me to share some views of the area.
This is a house directly across the street from Steve's parent's house. I quite like this house. I'm not sure what it is about it that attracts me. I just like it. Though this picture doesn't really do it justice.
This is an old gnarled tree I encountered shortly after I entered the park. I don't know what kind of tree it is, but I guess either insects or some kind of infection did a number on its trunk.
This is a shot taken from a rise in Middleforth Green looking toward Preston. Steve's family lives in Penwortham, which is a Preston suburb. The church is St. Walburge's Catholic Church. It was built in the 1850s, during a Catholic revival in England and Preston's prosperity as a cotton town. It's spire is over 300 feet tall and is one of the tallest structures in Lancashire.
Magpies fascinate me. Again, I don't know why. I think it's because they look like crows that someone's partially painted white.
Finally, this is a shot along a street I crossed on the way home. It's a typical English residential street. I wanted to take a photo of New Lane, the home street, but there are a lot of big vans parked along it mucking up the view.
Amusing Odds and Sods
During my walk, a powder blue scooter came roaring to a stop at a cross road. The driver was wearing high heels, which I found kind of funny. As I got closer, I realized the driver was a little old lady who had to be about 80 years old! Eighty-years-old and she's roaring about on her powder blue scooter in high heels! Way to go, Granny!
It is amazing how many people are stupid drunk by 8:30 on a Saturday night. One guy was convulsing on the sidewalk - probably from alcohol poisoning - and it wasn't completely dark yet!
England and America are most definitely two countries separated by the same language. I prepared some pasta for dinner and my father-in-law asked me if I wanted a dish or a plate for it. I blinked and had to explain that to me, a dish and a plate are the same thing. Apparently, a dish is a bowl and a plate is a plate. At least I knew he meant a pot when he told me where the pans were.
The grass in England is incredibly soft. If it weren't muddy, I very well might have lied down in the grass when I was in Middleforth Green.
02 May 2009
Harris Library and Museum
One of Steve's sisters, Janet, was kind enough to offer to ride the bus into Preston with me today and show me the ropes. I know now that the bus anxiety I felt was unfounded, because I recognized the stop I needed right away.
The economy is pretty hard hit here in England, so naturally everyone was in the city center shopping. We made our way to the Harris Museum and Library. We went to the library first, and I checked out a few books. Then we went to the Reference Library where they keep their local history collection. OMG . . . I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. The books! The maps! The parish directories! I drooled over the very large collection of material for a bit and decided that next week, that's my second home. It's a bank holiday weekend, so it's only opened Tuesday through Friday. I'll need at least that many days to make a dent.
As I poured (or is that pored?) over history books dating to 1821 (1821! Can you imagine?!), I thought of Carmen. I can well imagine how she'd react to being in this grand old library surrounded by all the old tomes and maps. :-)
After I pulled myself away from the library, Janet and I checked out the museum exhibit, The Story of Preston. It was a nice exhibit and had quite a bit of stuff related to my thesis. As I mentioned before, a key mover and shaker (which I spelt movers and shakers before - no idea why) in Preston's industrialization was John Horrocks and his mills. There were quite a few Horrocks items on display.
One was the date stone from his first mill:
Even though Horrocks died young (at age 36), the company he founded thrived until the 1960s. He started off spinning thread, but the company expanded into weaving and became a global name in quality fabrics. One machine on display was one of the looms used to create sample fabrics. It has nothing really to do with my thesis, as it comes later in the time line. But it was still neat to see it.
The museum had another exhibit about Friargate, which is one of the main shopping streets of Preston and one of city's oldest. One thing Janet pointed out to me was a photo of a coffee shop on the street. The building was once owned by Benjamin Franklin! So we swung by the coffee shop after we finished at the museum, and I snapped a photo of the blue plaque on the building.
Small world, eh?
We ended the afternoon with a fabulous meal at a Chinese buffet. At home, I avoid such buffets, because the quality is usually questionable. But this place was great! The food was delicious and they cycled the trays regularly. I even enjoyed several veggie samosas and some really tasty veggie spring rolls. Mmmmm. I'm sure that will become a regular lunch place for me when I'm doing research. Not everyday, lunch is 6 quid, but I think I can swing eating there at least once each week.
The weather was beautiful today. It's been bright and sunny all day. It's cool, but the sun was bright enough that I actually had to take off my fleece, because I was too warm. We're in for spotty rain tomorrow (Sunday) and then rain on the holiday Monday. But I don't mind that too much. I've got half a dozen books to read . . . including a "fun" read of a book noting where people are buried in England. Does that make me weird? Or just an historian?
Skype has proven a lifesaver. I miss Steve something fierce, but at least I get to see him and chat with him. It makes it a little bit easier to deal with the distance.
All in all, a good day. Here's to more like them!
The economy is pretty hard hit here in England, so naturally everyone was in the city center shopping. We made our way to the Harris Museum and Library. We went to the library first, and I checked out a few books. Then we went to the Reference Library where they keep their local history collection. OMG . . . I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. The books! The maps! The parish directories! I drooled over the very large collection of material for a bit and decided that next week, that's my second home. It's a bank holiday weekend, so it's only opened Tuesday through Friday. I'll need at least that many days to make a dent.
As I poured (or is that pored?) over history books dating to 1821 (1821! Can you imagine?!), I thought of Carmen. I can well imagine how she'd react to being in this grand old library surrounded by all the old tomes and maps. :-)
After I pulled myself away from the library, Janet and I checked out the museum exhibit, The Story of Preston. It was a nice exhibit and had quite a bit of stuff related to my thesis. As I mentioned before, a key mover and shaker (which I spelt movers and shakers before - no idea why) in Preston's industrialization was John Horrocks and his mills. There were quite a few Horrocks items on display.
One was the date stone from his first mill:
Even though Horrocks died young (at age 36), the company he founded thrived until the 1960s. He started off spinning thread, but the company expanded into weaving and became a global name in quality fabrics. One machine on display was one of the looms used to create sample fabrics. It has nothing really to do with my thesis, as it comes later in the time line. But it was still neat to see it.
The museum had another exhibit about Friargate, which is one of the main shopping streets of Preston and one of city's oldest. One thing Janet pointed out to me was a photo of a coffee shop on the street. The building was once owned by Benjamin Franklin! So we swung by the coffee shop after we finished at the museum, and I snapped a photo of the blue plaque on the building.
Small world, eh?
We ended the afternoon with a fabulous meal at a Chinese buffet. At home, I avoid such buffets, because the quality is usually questionable. But this place was great! The food was delicious and they cycled the trays regularly. I even enjoyed several veggie samosas and some really tasty veggie spring rolls. Mmmmm. I'm sure that will become a regular lunch place for me when I'm doing research. Not everyday, lunch is 6 quid, but I think I can swing eating there at least once each week.
The weather was beautiful today. It's been bright and sunny all day. It's cool, but the sun was bright enough that I actually had to take off my fleece, because I was too warm. We're in for spotty rain tomorrow (Sunday) and then rain on the holiday Monday. But I don't mind that too much. I've got half a dozen books to read . . . including a "fun" read of a book noting where people are buried in England. Does that make me weird? Or just an historian?
Skype has proven a lifesaver. I miss Steve something fierce, but at least I get to see him and chat with him. It makes it a little bit easier to deal with the distance.
All in all, a good day. Here's to more like them!
01 May 2009
Venturing forth
I went out today. I didn't go into Preston on my own, but I did wander to the Penwortham Library, which is a few blocks away. After going grocery shopping with my in-laws and then out to lunch at a pub in Eccleston (the Original Farmers' Arms), I just wasn't in the mood to trapse into downtown Preston. Plus it was raining again (after it being beautiful and blue all morning), so I figured the local library was sufficient.
I picked up a few books on local history, which are providing me leads to other sources. So that's a good start. I also discovered there was a reason why my cheap brolly (aka umbrella) was so cheap - it hyperextended whenever a breeze blew. I've added brolly to my shopping list.
One thing of interest:
One of the key movers and shakers responsible for bringing cotton mills to Preston, and thus changing its face forever, was John Horrocks. As it turns out, his manor house is just a few doors down from Steve's childhood home. It's been converted into flats for old age pensioners now. I snapped a photo of it as I walked by.
The three-story main house is the original Penwortham Hall, built circa 1801. Other buildings have been added in the intervening years.I suppose it doesn't look all that grand. Oh well.
Tomorrow, which the forecasters claim is going to be sunny, I head into Preston.
I picked up a few books on local history, which are providing me leads to other sources. So that's a good start. I also discovered there was a reason why my cheap brolly (aka umbrella) was so cheap - it hyperextended whenever a breeze blew. I've added brolly to my shopping list.
One thing of interest:
One of the key movers and shakers responsible for bringing cotton mills to Preston, and thus changing its face forever, was John Horrocks. As it turns out, his manor house is just a few doors down from Steve's childhood home. It's been converted into flats for old age pensioners now. I snapped a photo of it as I walked by.
The three-story main house is the original Penwortham Hall, built circa 1801. Other buildings have been added in the intervening years.I suppose it doesn't look all that grand. Oh well.
Tomorrow, which the forecasters claim is going to be sunny, I head into Preston.
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