Lesson learned

I will have been home three weeks tomorrow. I think I'm finally settling back into being home. What I've not settled into is the notion that I'm back in school in less than a month. To me, summer vacation just began! How can it possibly be nearly time for classes to resume?

So I stress a bit when I think of the things I need to get done before school hits. And I stress more when I look at our weekends. Each one keeps getting booked with something, so it feels like time is moving along that much faster. Slow down already!

Tomorrow also marks the departure of our friends, Melanie and Will. They're moving to Virginia and will be sorely missed. Steve met Mel through work a couple of years ago and they became fast friends. The four of us got together when we could. Will travels a lot for work, so it wasn't as often as we would have liked. But we always had a great time, so there was quality time, if not a quantity of it. But Mel and I didn't spend any time together until after I got back from England. There was always the hope to, but she had work and I had school and we just never managed to coordinate our schedules. I even had a standing invitation to go to her house to decompress during a school day, because she lived only five minutes from campus. But I never took her up on it.

Then, shortly before I left for England, we found out Will was being transferred. Suddenly time was short and very precious. Steve hung with them at least once whilst I was away, but it was my return that really put a priority on it. Mel and I spent two afternoons together on the beach collecting sharks' teeth and shells. And she introduced me to the surprisingly enjoyable work of shell crafting (I find it very relaxing - much in the same way as constructing a quilt top). We had one last dinner out, and tomorrow they're gone.

Yes, we'll go see them in Virginia. So it's not like we'll never lay eyes upon them again. And we're all on Facebook, so we'll be in touch. But it's not the same. I truly regret not making more time to spend more time with Melanie. I allowed school to consume me. Yes, school is important, but so are friends. This situation has reminded me that the time we have together isn't going to last forever. There isn't always going to be a tomorrow. So, it's so very important that we make time to be with the people we care about. That's a big lesson and one I need to keep in mind.

This semester is going to be horrific on my time. I'm carrying 12 hours and teaching three Friday classes. If last year is any indicator, I'll be feeling the time crunch within a couple of weeks and my first inclination is going to be to push off any social interactions. I need to make a concerted effort to remember Melanie and Will, and not be so quick to decline spending time with friends. You just never know when you're going to say good-bye. And really, is a perfect grade or a spic-n-span house really worth more than time with friends? I have a learned, a bit too late in this case, that the answer is no.

Hard saying good-bye

I'm just back from spending a few hours at the Pear Tree pub with Jackie, Nick, Nikki, Tina, John, Joanne, and Tony. It was a nice evening and a pleasant way to spend my last night here in England. But each time I hugged someone good-bye, I had to fight back tears.

When Steve and I come here on holiday, it's always a bit sad saying good-bye. But this was different. Clearly, I got attached to everyone during my ten weeks' stay. I think I feel more a part of this family than I ever have because of the time I spent here. So, yes, it's quite hard to say good-bye.

At the same time, I am beyond excited to be heading home to Steve tomorrow. I can't imagine how good it's going to be to be back with him. But I'm fretting. The flight today was late enough arriving in Atlanta that if it happens again with my flight tomorrow, I'll miss my connection to Jacksonville. There are three more flights after mine, so I'm sure I'll get out that evening. But having to wait when I'm only an hour's flight away from Steve will be agonizing!

I'm also a bit fretful about the weather. Thunderstorms are forecast. I'm not a happy flyer under the best of conditions. Not having my security blanket with me (aka Steve) makes it that much harder. I'm not sure how well I'd do if we hit storm-related turbulence. Especially after Air France. No, my plane is not an Airbus, but my imagination doesn't really care about that.

And finally, I'm a bix anxious about handling my bags. They're close to their weight limit, but I think I'll be okay there. But I have two carry-ons - my rolling computer bag and a jute shopping bag packed full of goodies for Steve. These bags are heavy and unwieldy. You figure I have to take my computer out to go through security, and take off my shoes, so that will be a nightmare. And then I have to schlep them through two airports and on to two planes. Oh, and in Atlanta, I have to collect by two checked bags and recheck them after I clear customs. Talk about headache!!

I tell you, traveling alone SUCKS! If being away Steve for ten weeks hasn't made me appreciate him more (which it has), then my jaunt through the airports tomorrow will certainly do the trick!

So as I conclude this, my final blog from England, I do so with mixed feelings. I look forward to seeing Steve again, but I truly despair in saying good-bye. Parting really is such sweet sorrow - which makes me glad we're coming back here in May.

By Jove, I think I've got it!

Today was my last day of research, and it was also the day I finally made a break through. Throughout my time here in England, I have been trying to figure out how Preston went from an aristocratic town known for its posh gentility in the 18th century to an overpopulated mill town mired in pollution and poverty just a century later.

In broad strokes, the answer is simple: The Industrial Revolution happened. More specifically, King Cotton happened. But mine is a social history, so I wanted to see when and how society shifted away from the high brow. But I wasn't finding anything definitive. Even when the poor working class outnumbered the middle class and landed gentry by a staggering amount, and pollution left the River Ribble a cesspool, Preston maintained its upper class air (no pun intended).

So, with the guidance of Dr. Furdell, I decided to narrow my focus and look at the amusements in Preston - primarily Preston North End (PNE) Football Club. I got the idea when I visited the National Football Museum with Steve and read a blurb on one of the exhibits that said the football league was a popular diversion for the Victorian working poor, who saw the games as a way to get their minds off their miserable lives.

I would use the history of PNE and the Preston Guild as what Dr. Furdell called "the meat" of my research. The Guild, which dates back to the 11th century, occurs every 20 years. Because it became more of a pageant than a merchant guild in the 19th century, it was a good source of social attitudes.

I read all of the programs and write-ups of each of the guilds from the 19th century. I could see where small activities began for the poor and I saw the introduction of football to the festivities. What I didn't see was any gains by the working class as far as status went. Other than a token few who appeared in the trades processional, the working class was barely even acknowledged.

Today, I decided to extend my research one more guild. I pulled all the records from the 1902 event and began reading. It didn't take me long to discover that I had found what I had been looking for! Not only were there more events geared for the working class, with PNE as a prominent participant, but there were souvenir books of the Guild clearly designed for the working class. The "Official Record," which was dedicated to that year's Guild Mayor, the Earl of Derby, still boasted the flowerly, high-faluting language I had grown accustomed to reading in the Guild literature. But other books were clearly aimed at the everyday man; with articles about PNE, funny stories, and tongue-in-cheek songs. More workers participated in the processional, and they even had a ribald Torchlight processional that would easily have disturbed the sensibilities of the aristocratic Prestonian.

On what was going to be my last day of research, regardless of what I found, I finally found the proof I've been looking for. And for the first time, I know where I'm going with my paper. It's both exciting and a major relief.

Three more get-ups

And by get-ups, I don't mean outfits or costumes. I mean mornings - as in when I awaken in the morning, I get up. After three more get-ups, I am heading home. Emotionally I am beyond ready to go home. I've enjoyed my time here and I love being around the family. I will miss England. But my home I keenly miss Steve, so I am very happy to be going home.

Of course, now that I'm down to my last few days, I am very aware of the number of things I wanted to do, but didn't. The biggie is the Preston church tour. There are many churches here dating back to the 18th and 19th centuries. I wanted to finally go see them, inside and out. Especially St. Walburge's. But I will not have time. I need to hit the Lancashire Records Office one more time, because I thought of some more info to look for. So I need a day for that, which leaves me Tuesday for packing and saying good-bye to the family.

Jackie and Nick told me that the interior of St. Wilfrid's (the church I stumbled upon in that alley and in which I didn't feel comfortable going) cannot be missed. I should have enough time to duck in there when I'm done at the LRO. So at least one Preston church will get my attention this trip. I'll just have to visit them next year when Steve and I return.

Another thing I may not be doing is having a final Indian meal. Indian food here in England is very different that in America and I much prefer to what I can get back home. I've only had a few Indian meals since I've been here and really wanted one more for the road, but I don't know if I'll be able to.

I also wanted to get to the Lamb and Packet one last time. It's the pub where Steve's sister-in-law works on the weekends. It's not that I love the pub or anything - though it is nice and I do like people watching there. I wanted to see if I could convince the owner or manager to sell me one of their Foster pint glasses, so I could take it home to Steve. Steve doesn't like Fosters, but the glass is really cool. And Steve has taken to collecting English pub glasses, so it would have been a nice addition.

It's kind of funny. When I arrived here nearly ten weeks ago, I had a long To Do list and thought I had plenty of time to get to every section. Now that I'm gearing up for the trip home, I see ten weeks simply wasn't enough. But that's how it always is, isn't it? You never quite have enough time to get everything done. It's a regrettable state of affairs.

But then, after three more get-ups (and over half a day of travel) I will be back in Steve's arms with nary a thought for any regrets.

Carlisle churches

I wanted to post all of my cathedral photos here. But I quickly realized that I took too many to do that. And that's with me not taking as many photos as I would have liked. In reading the book I picked up on the cathedral after-the-fact, I discovered a number of things I missed. (Guess who's going back next year!)

So I was forced to post my photos on Facebook again. Click here to have a look at them.

The cathedral was a beautiful place. It left me feeling serene and comfortable - the way a church should. St. Cuthbert's was just a few minutes' walk up the road from the cathedral, but it was a world away. I didn't go inside this church, because it's outside left me feeling cold and uncomfortable.

If you haven't done so, yet, click on the link above and take a look at Carlisle Cathedral. Then come back here and take a look at St. Cuthbert's.

As I was strolling around the cathedral grounds on the hunt for historical treasure, I spotted a sign that indicated a St. Cuthbert's Church off to the southwest. I followed the sign and could see what appeared to be a church tucked back behind a hotel, but I saw no way to actually get to it. So I left the cathedral grounds, walked down the street a bit, and hunted for another sign of the church. Down one alley, I saw its roof and headed toward it.

The church sits square to the old Roman road and is believed to be built on a foundation that predates Cuthbert's visit to Carlisle in 685 AD. This is the fourth church to be built on this site and dates to 1778.



The church didn't look like much. The hotel next to it had a heavy-duty iron gate across its carpark access. The convertible in the photo had stopped, because the driver needed to close the gate. That was pretty intense security for what seemed a nice little neighborhood.

The sign announcing St. Cuthbert's indicated it was both Anglican and Methodist. Later research revealed that when the local Methodist church lost its hall, St. Cuthbert's offered the congregation use of its tithebarn. So both congregations reside on the same property.

As I entered the church grounds, I spotted another sign. This one warned me that use of the footpath was at my own risk. I initially thought it was because the stones were loose and/or uneven, but it was a perfectly good path. And then I saw the barbed wire.



Barbed wire topped the entire wall around the church. Not only that, but broken glass was strewn along the wall, as well. What I couldn't decide was if the glass was part of the deterent, or left from those the church was trying to keep out. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant.



Both the cathedral and St. Cuthbert's grounds attracted people having lunch on the grass or sitting under a tree reading. The difference was that the cathedral had families and even business people enjoying the grounds, but St. Cuthbert's attracted clumps of rough-looking teenagers. That put me on my guard, especially when a great number of them watched me enter. But what really gave me the creeps was the grave stones. They were lined up along all the walls. It didn't take me long to realize that they weren't marking actual graves. They were just the headstones.



The movie "Poltergeist" immediately spring to mind: You didn't move the cemetary! You just moved the headstones! (I paraphrase.) It was unsettling to me.



Now I know the bodies are meaningless. But when I visit a cemetary or churchyard, I always take care not to step on the grave. It's disrespectful to me to do so. And to have headstones without the actual graves was just wrong somehow. Couple that with the barbed wire and glass, and the rough crowd attracted to what was actually a lovely area and you had an atmosphere a world apart from the serenity and comfort of Carlisle Cathedral.

The church was open and I did make it to the door. But I could not go inside. It wasn't because I didn't want to disturb anyone within. It was because I didn't want to get close to whatever it was that attracted such negativity.

I walked quickly away from St. Cuthbert's Church and I did not look back.

Carlisle photos

It's easier to upload photos on Facebook, so I've put a bunch of Carlisle photos there. Pictures from the wonderful Cathedral and St. Cuthbert's Church will be posted here soon. In the meantime, check out the photos of the castle and other spots in Carlisle here.