“Dirty”

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We dashed into the Wirksworth Heritage Centre seconds before the heavens opened. The shrunken elderly woman eyed us and said “dirty weather”. Wirksworth is where the Gell family went to church. We had explored St Mary’s earlier to find Gell graves and found an entire corner devoted to this family – names and dates spanning centuries, but no Katherine or John Gell. However, we found two memorial plaques for two of their children Temperance and Philip. This gave us the names of all the Gell children – missing information.

Wirksworth is nestled into a valley surrounded by lush green hills. This is where many workers lived who worked in the lead mines. This is the town that George Eliot’s novel Adam Bede is based – her aunt and uncle lived here and they are the models for two of her characters. She uses different place names. I had this book sitting beside my bed to read for years and didn’t – I knew it would be sad and hard work at that point in my life, I was not in a place to deal with its contents – I am inspired to put it beside my bed once more. Who owned one of these mines? The Gell family – this is how the family acquired their wealth in the 1500s.

We visited Hopton Hall which is where Katherine and John moved as a young married couple in 1645. Katherine was aged twenty. She was a committed Christian and keen to be a godly wife and she gives birth to her first child Elizabeth at the end of this year. Her Father-in-law described the baby as a “pretty wench”. Two years earlier, this Hall had been plundered by King Charles Ist men as the Gell’s were strong Parliamentary supporters.

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It is a somewhat bleak place to live. The dirty weather gave us a taste of what the weather might be like – often. Behind the hall are steep hills which is where their mine was located. A cycle track leads up this hill now. Katherine was an intelligent sensitive woman who had mostly grown up in London and at her family’s estate in southern England. Imagine leaving that for this new home, and in a time of civil wars and much political unrest? John was a parliamentarian and would leave her on parliamentary business or to carry out errands for his father Sir John.

The Hall is now luxury holiday accommodation – too expensive for us to stay but the gardens are open to the public and have been lovingly restored and developed over the last fifteen years. They are beautiful and there are parts that look like they could have been what existed back in Katherine’s time – or I would like to think so – I would like to picture her discovering clumps of snowdrops in her walks around the gardens.

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Keith and I had a celebratory cup of tea in the newly constructed rose garden. We found the the restored well which could have been the family’s water source.

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We explored two tiny villages on either side of Hopton Hall and made two further discoveries. In Carsington stands a tiny school house built by Katherine’s daughter Temperance in 1716 for “This school was built and given by Mrs Temperance Gell of Hopton. For twenty poor children of Hopton an dCarson: To learn to read, write and other proper works. 1726.”

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In Hopton, on the other side of the Hall we found a hospital built by their son Philip to house two poor men and two poor women of Hopton and Carson.

Katherine was a dutiful Christian woman known for her acts of kindness in caring for the poor and the sick. Her children carried this legacy into their own lives and continued performing acts of kindness.

Despite the “dirty ” weather, it was a day of discovery. We were also delighted to discover a delightful cafe in Matlock called Peli Deli – very friendly, free wifi and wonderful interesting food.

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“Settled”

We asked our hosts of our wonderful accommodation if they had heard a weather forecast for the day. Her response was “settled”. To us it looked overcast and likely to rain so we packed our raincoats.

We are staying in a place called Wheatcroft, a mere dot on the map, about a ten minute drive from Matlock in Derbyshire. It is reached by driving along capilliary like laneways while holding your breath, hoping that a car won’t come towards you from the opposite direction as one of you will have to reverse – a long way.

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The barn is attached to the owner’s house and has oak beams dating from medieval times. We have a tiny balcony with an enormous view – “you can see five counties” our host proudly told us – back home, you would say “you can see for miles and miles”.

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Remember Oxford? We wanted to walk and I had trouble finding maps? Here, we have a box of maps and suggested walks – hundreds of walks that would take an entire lifetime to do. We now faced the dilemma – which walk? We only have a few days.

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We were unprepared for the beauty of Matlock. It is nestled beside the Derwent River in a steep valley. The houses are made from a grey stone. On top of one of the hills stands Riber Castle. The river is lined with sheer cliffs that are steep and are a mountain goat’s paradise.

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We chose a walk that takes you from Matlock down the river towards Matlock Baths, another village and then a return on the other side of the river. The “settled” weather made the colours soft and muted, but the views were breathtakingly beautiful.

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We climbed up and up to the top of a sheer cliff face called High Tor. We could hear jazz music playing on the other side of the river and at times we didn’t want to look down – as it looked like a very long way to fall.

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We finished with a stroll along “Lover’s Walk” built in 1740 – surprisingly empty and very quiet. We emerged into Matlock Bath into a cacophany of colour and sound. This was the day for the bikies to visit in their hundreds – dressed in their leathers, covered in tatts wiith their bikes gleaming. They were parked everywhere and the pubs and cafes were filled with them – they were having a brilliant day out and proudly showing off their toys. Keith and I felt distinctly underdressed and under-tatted.

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After joining them for a quick lunch, we headed off and up and up to return to Matlock. The heavens opened and we were glad we had brought our raincoats.

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The corn has grown and it’s time to go

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A perfect summer day for our last day here. I would happily stay another three weeks, but Derbyshire beckons. I have been doing my walk/slow morning jog amongst this corn and it now towers over me. Harvest time must be near. Sadly, I won’t be here to see this. The pathway through this field was a bit like the yellow brick road – golden. But I am no Dorothy. I am sad to leave – it has been a wonderful home away from home.

The Olympics have been gripping and I have found myself sitting to watch boxing and synchronised swimming! The athletics were very exciting and Keith and I have done much cheering for Australia. We do keep looking at smh online to find out how Australia is going as the BBC often don’t have this included in their coverage. I have enjoyed no commercials and having a bit of choice on the different channels. I am sure I won’t be watching these sports until the next Olympic games.

Keith and I have managed to work on our marriage material – this is quite an achievement as our methods of working are completely different. I like to brainstorm, talk and work hard and fast. Keith likes time to think, read, think and not talk. Interesting, particularly given the topic – marriage. I have come to appreciate the way he works, as I am sure we would not be where we are without his wise thoughts and application.

Tomorrow we collect a hire car and head for the Peak district in Derbyshire. This is the home of the Gell family and we will spend a couple of days in the historical record offices looking at letters that Katherine Gell wrote to Richard Baxter back in the 1650s. There are other papers and documents we will see. I have found the place they have been buried – at a nearby church and we will visit Hopton Hall where they lived – this was plundered during the Civil Wars and was Katherine’s home soon after she married as a young woman of about twenty. The gardens are open to the public. This is my moment for collecting material so I “might” write something about Katherine Gell in my spare time – I also need to quell those noisy thoughts of self-doubt.

This is the start to our long service leave and we plan to cycle and walk, read and relax.

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A house of books

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Living in this house has been a bookworms delight as there are many bookshelves filled with books. Some are old friends while others are begging to be picked up and read. So much choice. My aunt made it easy and pointed out a new series she had recently read. She loves children’s books as much as me, and discovered the first while in Cambodia. She had enjoyed it so much that she “simply had to read the others”.

This series of books by Ann Kelley are about Gussie who has just turned twelve.  The Burying Beetle opens with her having moved with her Mum from London to an isolated cottage on the Cornwall coast. Gussie is living on borrowed time and is on the waiting list for a heart and lung transplant as she has a rare disease. The four books trace her journey from waiting, surgery and getting a new heart and lungs to recovery when she can run and play cricket. What a change for her, as she had been blue and struggled to climb a flight of stairs.

It is hard not to like Gussie – an astute observer of life who thinks deeply about things – what is it like to face dying at such a young age? what is it like to receive a new heart and lungs knowing that someone has died so that she might have a second chance at living?

She loves birds and cats and insects and describes them beautifully. Being in England I am unfamiliar with the tiny birds who live in the gardens here – Gussie introduced me to many birds including blackbirds and the robin. I learnt about badgers and bees, beetles and inchworms. Gussie reads widely and intelligently and she reminded me of books I had read at her age such as Paul Gallico’s Jenny and Tomasina.

Gussie rarely feels sorry for herself and I was struck by her optimism and ability to live each day to the fullest – even with limited capacity. As if dealing with her health is not enough, her parent’s marriage has ended and a year earlier her grandparents both died suddenly while she was in hospital. She grieves for them openly and we get an insight into the beautiful relationship she had with them. Coping with loss is a theme through all these books.

A tough editor might have pruned these books down to one long or two books, but I enjoyed reading them. I felt as if I lived through this intense time with Gussie and gained many insights into her world. I was quite happy to stay with her and was in no hurry to say good bye.

Interestingly, the author, Ann Kelley had a son who had this rare disease who died at the age of 22. If you have a reader in your family, who loves animals, birds and insects and is quite content to read a slow moving story, this will be a hit. But be warned that deep issues of life and death are not swept under the carpet. The other titles: The Bower Bird, Inchworm and A Snail’s Broken Shell
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Old churches in little villages

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We spent a day with an ex-College student and his family who have been working at a three church parish based in a small village just north of London. They have been there for five years and it was good to hear how God has used them over this time.
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Dub took us to see each of the three church buildings – one in Elsenham recently celebrated its 900th birthday – that is some age. Keith climbed the tower – steep and precarious and we had a go ringing the bells – you could make a tune as each bell has a different sound. There is a “peep hole” that the congregation used to look through during services.
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Dub and Deanne’s two children were much taken with Keith and they were keen for him to stay. We enjoyed their chatter and sense of fun.
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On Sunday we visited St Mary’s church – just down the road – almost next door to the Cathedral. This is where Mary Tudor is buried. She was Henry VIII’s favourite sister and Lady Jane Grey’s grandmother. She eventually made her home in Suffolk and used to visit Bury St Edmunds often. She was originally buried in the Abbey, but her remains were later moved to St Mary’s.
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This church more recently has seen the funerals of three British soldiers who were killed during their time in Afganistan. Each time there is a parade through the town. Each man was young and left bereaved family behind. This church has a morning service that is filled with families and lots of children.

Again, I was enamoured by the hollyhocks outside the church – they dance so happily in the sunshine.
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A little bit of stitching


I have to confess, we are watching the Olympic games with no commercials and enjoying it. The coverage is biased towards Team GB and we often have to look at SMH online to find out how the Aussies are going. Last night was particularly thrilling for Team GB and it was exciting watching them win three gold medals in an hour. We still cheer very loudly for the Aussies though and watched our gold medal being won by the swimming team earlier this week.

This means that I am getting some sewing done. I bought a kit at the Craft Fair in Sydney last year and for six months I received a package in the mail each month containing the instructions and bits I needed to make each panel. I have been saving them to do on this trip. This week I finished the first panel. I am not good at embroidery, and have had to draw the designs onto the fabric myself as I don’t have a lightbox to help with tracing. I have almost finished the second panel. I chose this design as I loved the soft muted colours and I thought I would learn different techniques constructing the different squares.

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Pink houses of Suffolk


Bury St Edmunds is in Suffolk. It is characterised by tiny villages filled with little pink houses with gardens filled with hollyhocks. We recently visited two such villages – Lavenham and Long Melford.

Some of the houses are old and very crooked. They remind me of that nursery rhyme:

“There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile
He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked cat
and they all lived together in a little crooked house.”

Would you believe that the origin of these words is from early English Stuart history of King Charles 1. The crooked man is the general Sir Alexander Leslie who signed a covenant securing political and religious freedom for Scotland. The crooked stile refers to the border between England and Scotland. The reference to a little crooked house refers to the fact that at last England and Scotland have reached an agreement. Fancy that, and I was just thinking about cute crooked pink houses. I have decided that all things lead back to this time in England’s history.

I am enjoying looking at these houses and stopping to take copious photos. I have a very patient husband.

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Cambridge colleges

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Our friends Ed and Joc are former students from Moore College and we also know them from when they came to Barneys as uni students. Joc and I used to run Barniccles together – our program for 3-5 year olds. Joc was living at Women’s College and our neighbour. On Monday, Ed took us into Cambridge and we did the Colleges crawl.
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Ed is enrolled in a Ph D at King’s College and has been here for almost a year. We soaked up the history of the place. Entering into each college is an amazing experience. I am sure it is a bit like entering Narnia through the cupboard door. From the outside, all you see is a door in a wall, but once you pass through them you are in a completely different world. The sounds change – it becomes quiet and this world opens up before your eyes that you had no idea existed on the other side of the world.
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Emmanuel College was the “nursery” for many Puritan ministers. Keith and Ed had fun looking for the names of people they knew – I soaked up the gardens, the flowers, the vibrant greens and lush colours.
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There was one College that held a particular interest for me, as this is where my father studied – Corpus Christi. Its Old Court dates from the 1350s, and is the oldest enclosed medieval court in Oxford or Cambridge and became a prototype which set the pattern for subsequent college courts. It is particularly beautiful. I managed to get in for free here, as Ed told the Porter that my father was a former student.
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Ed took us to lunch at King’s – his College. We had turkey for lunch, which made me laugh as my friend Rhonda had Christmas in July last week and still has turkey coming out her ears and is trying to creatively use up the remnants.
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The prettiest College is Queens’.
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Little Shelford

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There is Great Shelford and then there is little Shelford. In Little Shelford you will find a library, an allotment, a church, a school and 800 people. We visited some friends who live there last weekend, went to church there and had a wonderful time catching up. The church at Little Shelford has grown as an evangelical church since Christopher Ash’s time there. Families come from neighbouring villages – showing that good things often come from little places.

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Our friends have four children and I had fun playing with them, reading books, being read to and chatting with Ed and Joc over lunch and dinner and numerous cups of tea. We watched the Olympics and waved our Aussie flags – it was fun. I especially loved their library. Anyone can join, you just contribute a book and then you can borrow!

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Village living certainly has its attractions!

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A tale of two squirrels

I think they are very cute, but say that to my aunt or to anyone from England and they will tell you they are rats with a furry tail. I kind of get that, as this is how I feel about pigeons. To me they are rats with wings.

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The English love to feed their birds and every garden seems to have bird feeders which they fill with fat balls and every kind of seed imaginable. Someone is profiting from their interest.

My Aunt has a bird feeder filled with fat balls. Tiny birds such as red robins, finches and blue tits come and feed – they are wonderful to watch and quite tame. They only problem is that the squirrels adore fat balls too. Two tiny squirrels who we nicknamed “the terrible twins” were growing very fat as they had figured how how to get into the bird feeder – when there is a free feed on offer they are determined and persistent.

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The feeder is supposedly squirrel proof, but the makers of this one have never met our twin baby squirrels. They get into this feeder with remarkable ease. My Uncle devised a shield from an old flower pot which he attached below the feeder to stop the squirrels – or so we thought. At first we watched them try to jump to the feeder from the walls and edge of the house – and then they chomped right through the plastic flower pot making a hole large enough for them to climb through. They were most entertaining.

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We were determined to thwart their efforts. We covered the pot with duct tape as a temporary measure and then visited every garden centre in town looking for a squirrel proof screen. We found a laminated shield that was too small – they would just jump over it, a metal pot – too heavy and everyone we spoke to showed us the feeder we had and assured us it was squirrel proof – it’s not.

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Much to our surprise and delight we have discovered the squirrels and duct tape don’t get along too well and they have given up. The top of the pot is now covered in duct tape – it is not ascetically pleasing, but who cares. Gold to the Condie’s!

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