Veterans Day/Remembrance Day

Today at work, at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the radio announced two minutes of silence. I work for a busy recruitment agency where the phones are always ringing, people are always talking, the printer is always going and it's never, ever quiet.

I have never lost a loved one to the spoils of war, I have never known the terror of battle. But in those two silent minutes in my office, watching my colleagues' faces sombre and feeling the whole country come to a standstill, I couldn't help but feel emotional. What a great deal we owe to those who have served these two great countries I love and call home.

In America, it's Veterans Day, and here in Great Britain, it's Remembrance Day. Back home, we fly our flags proudly outside our homes, offices and shopping areas. Here in Great Britain, we wear red poppies pinned to our shirts or coats and present poppy wreaths at various war memorials.

Poppies hold special significance on Remembrance Day due to a famous poem written by a Canadian Doctor, Lt Col John McCrae, who was inspired by the poppies that grew on the battlefields in France. (you can find out more about this at this website)

In Flanders' fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders' fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high,
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders' Fields.

Last year marked 100 years since the start of WWI and London showcased something amazing to commemorate this. Two artists made 888,246 porcelain poppies - 1 poppy for each British military fatality during the war - and covered the lawns of The Tower of London with them. It was all over the media and people could even buy a poppy to keep after the exhibit was taken down. London is always crazy busy, but I couldn't believe the crowds that gathered to see the poppies as they gradually went up from July through to November, when they gradually were taken down. We visited London a few times during this period, and we drove past the tower on more than one occasion. It was quite the sight to see and in my opinion, a truly moving and harrowing dedication. 888,246 lives given in just this one nation. Individuals with interests, hobbies, families and fears, just like any one of us. And yet when you put them all together like this, it simply paints a picture of blood and loss.

(images courtesy of google image search)

My grandparents were all WWII era adults. They grew up in the depression and saw what war really did to a country, and three of them served. My paternal grandfather served in the navy on ships, and I don't know a great deal about his time in the service, but my dad has told me that they never ate lamb in his house growing up, because Grandpa Bob had more than his fill of mutton on the ships!

My maternal grandmother was a first lieutenant nurse in the army, where she met my maternal grandfather. Grandpa was a Lieutenant Colonel and worked within army intelligence throughout an impressive military career. He served in WWII, the Korean War and had involvement with Vietnam. He was very high ranking and my mom has childhood memories of growing up on army bases all over the country, as well as Okinawa, where officer's houses normally said their rank and last name. Because Grandpa was involved in such secret business, the sign on their house only said "Mr. Miller" and didn't mention rank at all. My mom has also mentioned that she knew growing up that Grandpa had to carry cyanide tablets with him, just in case he was ever captured... He was awarded the Army Commendation Medal for Meritorious Service from 1963-65 and he was principally responsible for the counter-intelligence training of teams deployed in South East Asia. (shout out to my cousin Jen for all the info!)

Whether or not you know or love someone who is serving or has served, please take a moment today to appreciate what they've done.

Lest we forget. xo

A History Lesson: Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night

If you're like me, you love any opportunity to learn about the customs, traditions, and holidays of another culture. Now, American and English cultures may not hold as many differences as other cultures - we have the same language (nearly), most of the same Hollywood entertainment, most of the same music and similar clothing styles, but there are still a lot of major differences. I won't get into these differences today, but I do want to talk about a British Holiday that you're probably not too familiar with.

Bonfire Night, also called Guy Fawkes Night, is one of the smaller British Holidays. It is celebrated on different scales - small backyard gatherings all the way up to large organised events which take place at castles, village greens, or county showgrounds. Bonfire Night recognises the night that Guy Fawkes and his group of political activists attempted to blow up Parliament with barrels of gunpowder back in 1605.

You may be thinking of the popular movie V: For Vendetta. I did see this movie, but I don't remember anything apart from Natalie Portman shaving her head. But if I remember correctly, it wasn't about the events of 1605, and instead recreated a similar situation in the not-so-distant future. It was good for one thing though, because you're probably aware of this poem, which is a nursery rhyme about the activities of Guy Fawkes on November 5th, 1605.

Remember, remember!
    The fifth of November,
    The Gunpowder treason and plot;
    I know of no reason
    Why the Gunpowder treason
    Should ever be forgot!
    

Guy Fawkes and his companions
    Did the scheme contrive,
    To blow the King and Parliament
    All up alive.
   

 Threescore barrels, laid below,
    To prove old England's overthrow.
    But, by God's providence, him they catch,
    With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
 

   A stick and a stake
    For King James's sake!
    If you won't give me one,
    I'll take two,
    The better for me,
    And the worse for you.
   

 A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
    A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,
    A pint of beer to wash it down,
    And a jolly good fire to burn him.
   

 Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!
    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

There are various versions of the poem, so feel free to do some research on this website, (where I've found information to embellish the bits I already know of the story ) if you're interested. But if you just want the gist, I'll give you an overview. After the death of protestant Queen Elizabeth I, English Catholics who still remained even after the Reformation of Elizabeth's father, Henry VIII, were hoping that her successor and the new King, James I, would be more tolerant of the Catholic religion. It turned out that he wasn't, and an opposition decided that violent action was necessary. They came up with their plot to blow up Parliament by placing dozens of barrels of gun powder in the cellar so that they would kill the King, hopefully his heir, and other important members of the government. They hoped to then restore a Catholic monarchy.

But there's always a snitch. A member of this group wrote a letter to his friend, a member of Parliament, warning him to stay away from the famous building on this night. 

(courtesy of google images)

The plan was foiled as a result of this letter, and on the designated night, Guy Fawkes was found in the basement surrounded by 36 barrels of gun powder. As the news spread across the country on that very night, bonfires were lit to celebrate the safety of the King. Over the next few months, Fawkes was interrogated, tortured, and eventually hung for his crimes. 

Over 400 years later, the night is still recognised, and even still, every time Parliament and the Queen meet, guards traditionally search the cellar of the building. People observe the holiday with fireworks and a giant bonfire, burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes.

(image courtesy of http://www.hercampus.com)

 We normally attend Bonfire Night celebrations, and in past years we have gone to our old local village green (before we moved when we bought the new house) to watch fireworks and the bonfire. Another year we went to a larger organised event at a local family-day-out venue type place with some friends. There are usually some carnival rides and games if you go to large events, but the more local ones typically just have a bar for the grown ups, a couple games for the kids, and a booth selling warm sugar donuts for everyone, fried right before your eyes. Since I moved here, warm, freshly made sugar donuts have become synonymous with this time of year for me.

This year we didn't make any Bonfire Night plans, which is just as well, considering the awful wet weather. Oh, England.

Hope you learned something. xo

Lunch

Well, now all we can do is cross our fingers and hold our breath. Today, Mick and I went into Chichester to have passport photos taken and to send off my application for the marriage visa. I'm so tired of visa stuff already. I hope they approve it without any further inquiries. It's nerve wracking to go through this stuff- though the first visa was the one I had a really hard time with. I didn't even know if I'd be getting married until they approved it. But, like I said, held breath, crossed fingers and maybe some lit candles from you guys. And now we wait.

We spent the majority of the day wandering around Chichester, just the hubbind and myself. After we left the post office we stopped and got sandwiches and drinks from a drug store and sat down on a bench to people and architecture watch. This was the view we had while eating our simple sammiches:

That's one of the things I love so much about being in England. I get sit on a bench and eat a tuna and cucumber sandwich and take in the beauty of a 900 year old cathedral*. I looked at the thousands and thousands of bricks and thought about the people who laid them, what they must have been like and what techniques they used back in the 1100s. I thought about all the weddings and funerals and prayers that must have been said in this beautiful place. After we finished up our lunch, Mick and I wandered through the cloisters and past the St. Voldemort Statue (okay, it's really a statue of St. Richard, but it totally looks like Voldemort. With a nose). We lit a candle and I said a little prayer for a happy and healthy marriage.

And then we went on our way, and as we continued through Chichester, I swear I could hear the clippity-clop of ancient horses winding their way through the cobbled city.


Where did you eat your lunch today?




*To learn more about Chichester Cathedral, visit their website.

Let's talk about Pubs

Everybody knows about pubs. Even if you've never been to the UK, Ireland or Australia, you know about pubs. Even my 8th grade students, when the topic of my British travels came up, would ask "did you go to any pubs?" I've mentioned on here a few times how much I love these homey establishments. They range in the quality of their beverages and food from sandwiches and chips (premade and microwaved) to gastro-pub quality. Some of the best meals I've had in this country were in pubs. Few meals can top the pork belly I had at The Bull Inn in Wrotham, Kent last summer. Let's talk about pubs in more detail. What are they, really? What does the word "pub" mean? And what is the history of the pub?

A public house, informally known as a pub, is a drinking establishment which is part of British, Irish, Australian, and New Zealand culture. There are approximately 53,500 public houses in the United Kingdom. This number has been declining every year, so that nearly half of the smaller villages no longer have a local pub. In many places, especially in villages, a pub can be the focal point of the community. The writings of Samuel Pepys describe the pub as the heart of England.

The inhabitants of Great Britain have been drinking ale since the Bronze Age, but it was with the arrival of the Romans and the establishment of the Roman road network that the first Inns called tabernae, in which the traveller could obtain refreshment, began to appear. After the departure of Roman authority and the fall of the Romano-British kingdoms, the Anglo-Saxons established alehouses that grew out of domestic dwellings. The Anglo-Saxon alewife would put a green bush up on a pole to let people know her brew was ready. These alehouses formed meeting houses for the locals to meet and gossip and arrange mutual help within their communities. Here lie the beginnings of the modern pub. They became so commonplace that in 965 King Edgar decreed that there should be no more than one alehouse per village.


Thanks, wikipedia. Though that law no longer holds up. There are multiple pubs in each village, though now many pubs are closing down. Some villages have no pubs at all.

Now, something else we need to discuss is how unusual pub names can be. I think the strangest one I've ever noticed was The Black Boy in Sevenoaks, Kent. Though the Scared Crow in West Malling, Kent was also unusual. Probably the most common I've seen is The George and Dragon. Just like the Irish have St. Patrick, the British have St. George who slayed a dragon. Here is a list of unusual pub names in England and their location, should any of my UK readers want to visit.

The Whole in the Wall (Dumfries)
The Bucket of Blood (Cornwall)
The Inn Next Door Burnt Down (Bedfordshire)
The Drunken Duck (Ambelside)
The Quiet Woman (York)
Who'd a Thowt It (Middelton)
Bull & Spectacles (Staffordshire)
The Duke Without a Head (Wateringbury- heeey, I've been here. Never seen that pub, though!)
The Leg of Mutton and Cauliflower (London)
World Turned Upside Down (London)
The Office (Sheffield- get it? I'm guessing this is so men could tell their wives "I'm going to the office" but really go out and get drunk, but not really tell a lie...)
Bull & Bladder (Brierley Hill)
Sir Loin of Beef (Southsea- haha, love that one!)
Plumber's Arms (London)
Man on the Moon (Birmingham)
Crooked Chimney (Hertfordshire)
Jolly Taxpayer (Portsmouth)

These are just a few, but there are thousands of pubs in England alone, so if you want to find some more, go ahead and do some research. For now, I'm going to leave you with some amusing pub signs.

There. Now you have your "Something I learned today." Cheerio! 

Another English Tradition

Something I noticed on my first trip to England as Mick and I walked around various towns and cities and villages was the fact that houses have names here. That's right, houses with names. Not like George and Bill. No, because that... would be... silly.

No, some British people are lofty enough to name their house. Why does a house need a name? A house doesn't have feelings. A house doesn't fetch. A house doesn't need to follow certain directions. You wouldn't walk into your house on a cold day after shuffling around quaint little English lanes and slam the door then bellow "HOUSE! Turn on the bloody 'eating, I'm frozen to the bone!" No, you simply would not.

Since Mick and I don't have a car, we find ourselves walking a lot (ie I find myself walking a lot because I've been designated gopher of the house) and I tend to check for houses with names. Some are really good. The most common names for houses you see involve the word cottage. The Cottage is the single most popular name for a house in England. I've seen Amnesia Cottage which I found to be a bit unusual. There was also Trees. Not The Trees or Green Trees or Leafy Trees or Trees in Autumn. No, just Trees. Here is a brief history and explanation of house naming in England.

Naming ones House is an old British custom which began with the gentry naming their manors, halls, and castles. The custom gradually spread to the masses and everyday folk began naming their homes as well. Traditionally the house name is based on who the house was 'tied' to or located at. For instance, the Lord of  'Evesham Manor' would have several properties tied to the estate. You might reasonably find Evesham Hall, Evesham Lodge, Evesham Cottages, The Gate House, The Dairy, The Barn, The Forge etc within walking distance of the Manor House.

Tradesmen and merchants also started naming their properties - Mill House, Forge Cottage, Wool Hall etc. Once the convention of house naming became the norm many other property owners followed suit by naming their house after distinguishing features within the boundaries of the house - Oak Cottage, Rose Cottage, The Pines, Orchard House, Meadow View etc.

Nowadays people name their homes from all kinds of inspirations. - The previous usage of the building inspires house names like The Barn, The Old Schoolhouse, The Old Rectory whilst some home owners name their house after well known beauty spots or   places they have had happy holidays at like Ambleside, Windermere, Broadstairs, Sorrento, Santorini or Vermont. Other house owners choose features of their home like Red Gables, Two Chimneys or Grey Tiles. Sometimes the view from the property is used like River View, Mountain View, Vista Montenasa etc. Some home owners name their residence with  terms like Serenity, Nirvana, Madhouse etc. Naming your home after animals usually seen around the property is also very popular - Badgers Cottage, Cuckoo Cottage, Curlew Cottage, Dolphin Cottage, Fox Hollow, Kestrels, Magpies, Mole End, Nightingale Cottage, Robins Nest, Rookery Nook, Squirrels Leap, Swallow Barn, The Jays and Two Hoots are all  favourites.

Properties throughout the British mainland had just house names until 1765 when an act of Parliament decreed that all new properties must also have a house number and street name for better identification of properties and boundaries.

Thanks to the site where I found that information.

Also, from the same site, is a list of the most popular house names in England.

  1. The Cottage                         

  2. Rose Cottage                    

  3. The Bungalow                   

  4. The Coach House               

  5. Orchard House                    

  6. The Lodge                            

  7. Woodlands                              

  8. The Old School House        

  9. Ivy Cottage                            

10. The Willows                             

11. The Barn                                 

12. The Old Rectory         

13. Hillside                       

14. Hillcrest                     

15. The Croft                  

   

So, this ridiculous tradition has captured my eye and what do I have to say about it?

I CAN'T FRIGGEN WAIT TO HAVE A HOUSE TO NAME! Mick wants to name it The White House because his (almost our) last name is White. And he fancies himself the President of Bognor or something, I don't know. I hesitate to name it something so vanilla (haha, white, vanilla, get it?) when there is a plethora of interesting names out there. I do like the idea of using the word White in it, though. White Glen? White Willows? White Sands? The possibilities are endless and I look forward to the day when I've acquired an English accent and have been scrambling about on the wintry lanes in town and can come home and bellow after slamming the door "Oiiii! White Willows, turn on the bloody 'eating, I'm frozen to the bone!" And then you get to go out and select a cute little plaque or sign with your house's name that you can proudly hang next to the house number.  So many styles!

What would you name your house?

Animals with Attitude

Yesterday was Mick's sister's birthday. She and her boyfriend came to the house ( the house in Kent is Mick's gradfather's house. His step-dad is working in Kent right now, so they stay there a lot) to open her gifts. She loved all the pink stuff for the kitchen she'll have in the flat she and her boyfriend are about to move into. Then we all (me, Mick, Laura, Russ, mum and step-dad) piled into two different cars and drove about 40 minutes to Port Lympne Zoo.
The weather was very indecisive. We sat on a safari truck in the sunshine. Mick was near the window and seemed a bit bewildered because he was getting wet and he couldn't figure out why. As it turns out, folks, it can rain even when it's sunny. As we stopped for lunch and looked at meerkats, it really started to feel stormy. There was a charge in the air as black clouds came rolling in and we could hear thunder and see lightning. After a few minutes of this the rain came, so we went and checked out the reptile and insect house. Then it cleared up for a bit and we got back on a safari bus to head up to look at the carnivores. The rain started coming down really hard so we all had to rush for cover, but thankfully, it only held up for a few minutes so we could move on. BUT THEN! The sun came out and it warmed up and was disgustingly humid. I can deal with heat- I hate it, but I lived in it for 14 years, I deal. But when it comes to humidity I am a giant baby. Giant.
Either way, it was a fun day and I enjoyed being out with everybody very much. There was a strange moment when I ordered lunch for Mick and myself. The girl noticed my accent and said "are you here on holiday?" Mick piped up and answered "she is, I'm from here." I turned and looked at him and said "no, actually. I moved here. Remember, Mick?" You know, to like, marry you? Men. It is weird though, because, as I've said, it just feels like I'm here on vacation.

The animals at this zoo were really funny. They seemed very British to me in that they didn't give a crap.

We saw giraffes that didn't care if we wanted out the gate, they did too, so they were going to wait. The safari truck driver said that they tend to do this in hopes of escaping.

There was a Black Rhino drinking happily from his trough. He, too, didn't care if the truck wanted to get by. He wanted his water and took his sweet time in moving to the field to the left. But that's okay, it provided a great photo opportunity.

Mick was very into the snakes and lizards in the Reptile House. I refused to stop and look at the spiders. 

But my favorite part of the day was the amazing view. The zoo is built on a hill and provides an amazing panorama of Kent and the sea in the distance (if it's not cloudy).

See the hills between the trees?

A bit dreary, but still beautiful, don't you think?

After the zoo we went back to the house and got ready to go out to dinner with Mick's dad and his girlfriend to finish up Laura's birthday celebration. We went to a really chic pub in Eynesford, Kent where they actually have a ford. A ford is where a river or stream is shallow enough to wade or drive across (remember Fording the River in Oregon Trail with your oxen in front of your conestoga wagon? Yes.) Anyways, it's a gorgeous little village. Here's a shot of the ford

(image from geograph.org.uk) This is the ford. You can either drive through it or use the bridge.

Mick and I both had lamb and tomato soup and Eton Mess in The Plough. Eton Mess! I haven't told you about Eton Mess! More history lessons! It's a really good dessert made up of cream, meringue bits and strawberries. The story goes that there was some big to-do at Eton, which is a very prestigious boy's college (ages 13-18) and the person who was carrying the dessert (which probably looked something like this):

image from bbcgoodfood.com

Well, they dropped it. And they had no choice but to scoop it up and serve it anyway, so it ended up looking like this:

image also from bbcgoodfood.com

So, now they just make the messy version anyway. Viola! Eton Mess. I had it last summer for the first time and loved it.

Right, so. Back to the story....
Mick's dad dropped us back at the house. We had been directed by Mick's mom to be very quiet when we entered because both she and Mick's step-dad would be sleeping. It was about 11:00. We got in, flipped on a light switch and blew a fuse. We had no flashlight, so we used the light from the screen of my phone to search for the fuse box. Mick seemed fairly sure that it was in the cupboard under the stairs (yes! It's so Harry Potter!) and sure enough there was a metal box. We both tried to pry it open but realized you needed a screwdriver to open it. I thought that was kind of stupid, and I should have listened to myself when I thought "that really makes no sense. If you blow a fuse, and you're in the dark, you shouldn't have to search for a screwdriver..." So I unscrewed the panel and as soon as I did an annoying ring came from the house alarm. Mick looked in the box and began to curse. We'd opened the alarm control box which was just filled with wires. When we went back into the hallway and saw the alarm display, it said "tamper" and continued to let out one, long, never-ending beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. We decided we'd have to go out into the garage and search for the fuse box there. So, armed only with determination and the illumination from my phone, we found it and Mick flipped the switch and all was well. And thankfully closing the bedroom door drowned out the sound of said beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep because we didn't know how to stop it and didn't want to wake his mum or step-dad to do it for us. When we woke up this morning it was taken care of by his step-dad. And we didn't wake anyone up. Phew.
This morning we came back to Bognor with Mick's mum before she went to work. Early. We left the house at 6am and got here at about 8am. I took a nap and watched some television, then we went down to Tesco to get some stuff for dinner and lunch. We came back and ate and I worked on unpacking one of my suitcases, but I can't really finish until Mick clears some space for my underwear and jeans and stuff for me in his room (GIANT HINT, BABE!). I've got wardrobe space in the guestroom to hang stuff but no drawer space.

Anyway, it's nice to be back in Bognor. It's a boring town, but the weather is much nicer since it's on the sea.
Just to let you know, I'm doing more research for the second volume of Out of the Mouths of Brits. Hope to have that up for you in a couple days. Take care, everyone :)

Shop til you drop!

Just a short update... too tired to say much today!
We went shopping today at Bluewater, one of the UK's biggest malls. When it was built in 1997, it was the biggest mall in all of Europe, but apparently the mainland got it's butt in gear and built some bigger ones. (I'll be giving you little lessons on England and its history from time to time!) Today Mick's mum told me that it's built in the bottom of a quarry. And sure enough when I looked around as we left the mall, there are sheer cliffs surrounding the mall to prove her point correct. I've been here a few times on my various visits to England, and always end up leaving exhausted and satisfied. I can't wait until my mom and sister come to visit, because they will LOVE this place. It's a gorgeous mall. I picked up a few necessities like body wash and shampoo, and Mick and I got gifts for his sister's birthday.

Bluewater (from wikipedia.org)

 

Interior of the mall (from tonbridgesearch.com)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 While at the mall we got a sim card for my phone so that I can have a UK number and access to internet/email on my phone like I do at home, 300 minutes, and 3,000 texts a month. This is only going to cost me ₤10, which is about $15 a month. To my fellow Americans- we get SCREWED in the states when it comes to mobile phones. I suggest you all revolt.
We spent last night in Wrotham, where Mick's dad lives and visited with that part of the family. Wrotham is an adorable little village in Kent where you can still get your milk delivered to your doorstep in glass bottles by a milkman who drives the truck and everything! The first time I saw this I about had a quaint little heart attack of cuteness on the pavement (sidewalk).

Here's a shot of Wrotham (from geograph.org.uk). Excuse the scaffolding- old buildings means lots of upkeep, which means lots of scaffolding in England!

Sleeping patterns are still out of whack. Our first night here, Mick and I slept nearly 12 hours. Then last night we couldn't fall asleep until past 3am and had to get up at 9:30am, but I was awake around 8:30 and I'm still awake and it's 11:20pm! I hope things will get normal soon!

Also- just to keep you in the loop, we will be starting to plan the wedding very soon. I have to live in the UK for 9 days before we can give our Intent to Marry at the registry office. Apparently this comes from an old tradition called Banns of Marriage. Another history lesson! Basically, they post your names in the office (back in the day I assume it was the town hall or something) for a little over two weeks. This way, people see it as they come and go and if, by chance, you shouldn't get married because you're related, already married, sworn to celibacy (that one made me laugh!) etc, passersby who know this information can inform the right people and the marriage will be prevented. So, after our Intent is registered, we have to wait 16 days then we can get married. Next week we will register our Intent, wait the given period, and find a date when we can do all this. This will just be the little legal wedding, and next spring we'll do the big to-do.
I got to talk to my dad tonight- haven't spoken to anyone back home since I arrived because I've been too tired or busy. My mom was out (boo!) but I got to catch up with dad. I miss everyone lots. I'm okay during the day when I'm busy and surrounded by people, but at night when I get in bed and have the quiet surrounding me I start to get kind of worried and sad and miss everyone. Needless to say, I'm not too fond of nighttime for this reason. 
Okay, that's all for now, I'm beyond tired and need a bath. Hopefully I'll be doing some exciting things this coming week and will have some good posts for you!
This was supposed to be a short post!