24. The English Communities

Since being here in the UK, I have been staying with family.  I am in a house that once belonged to my brother’s late mother-in-law.  It just a few steps away from where he and his family live, in the very quaint village called Melbourne.  

The 1100’s Church

It’s easy to be confused and think I was talking about Melbourne, Australia but I’ll have you know that the name originates from here in the UK.  

Essentially this village is so old, its origins are unknown but they at least know their Norman church was built in around 1120.  

The church also used to own the nearby Melbourne Hall and it gave its name to the Melbourne Viscount and thence indirectly to the city of Melbourne in Australia (and another city in Florida, USA). 

Melbourne Pool

The name of Melbourne originates from olde English “Myln Burna” which translates Mill Stream.  It flows south to north down the centre of the parish, but is now known as the Carr Brooke. 

Without going into too much more history, Melbourne Pool (a pretty generously-sized pond just beyond the church) was created to serve the four water mills in the region.  The exact date it was built is uncertain, however in the 1800’s the pool was much improved and on a sunny day, with the medieval church in the background, it looks like what you’d expect on an English tin of shortbread biscuits.  Pretty!

Melbourne Hall

Also of interest is the famous travel agency founder, Thomas Cook, who was born here in Melbourne in 1808, and some buildings remain here that he had built as investments; a street also bears his name.

There is plenty of history surrounding this place and the attractive Georgian market town is growing in popularity.  House prices have increased recently but you can still get a small attached brick home for £300K, although my brother tells me the demand for homes here is so high… you can’t get one.  

I remarked to my brother that the average summer temperature here was quite low at just 21oC.  I’ve been watching my European tan fade since being here.  

The latitude is 52oN… for Pete’s sake, my brother reminded me.  Of course it’s colder… because it’s so far north!  He stared at me, incredulous that I had commented on the weather here.  

He continued, explaining, Those jet-streams are still pushing the colder weather but…

Jet streams?  I interrupted.  From aeroplanes?

No… gawd sake!  Weather jet streams!  

Oh.  ?

Canal Boat

Still, the cooler summer temperatures and higher rainfall here means their gardens always look amazing.  

I have been learning a lot since being here, mostly about the public walkways that “are not on Google maps because Google maps suck”, my brother insisted.  

I am a member of the Ordinates Survey… 

Of what, I asked?

It’s an App, where we get up-to-date maps that show all the public footpaths!  My brother looked at me like I should know what he is talking about.  

Earlier when I had asked about some of the walks he pulled out a paper map which I photographed.  I later found out I couldn’t use it to save myself when I was on a blackberry hunt in the countryside.

I walked past King’s Newton and onto a converted railway pathway which went to Derby some eight miles along, however when it connected with the Trent River, I found a nearby path that meandered along a canal. 

I was busy picking blackberries and somehow found myself off the track and along a busy country road that led to Swarkestone.  Beyond the village was a very busy causeway with a sign saying not recommended to walk along. 

Can’t Read This!

Google maps wasn’t very helpful at this point so I called my brother.  

Hell… you can’t walk along there, he told me.  Some tosser will run into you!  Happens all the time.  Dumb distracted drivers!  There’s a public walkway nearby.  Look for a gate or sty.  Find it!

He hung up and I walked down the road that veered off to the right after crossing another bridge over the Trent River.  

It took a while but I eventually found it.  I essentially walked across a paddock parallel to the causeway.  I had to climb a locked fenced and kept going until I reached a small stream.  Where next?

Honey Bee

I called my brother again and he said look right.  Walk it, 200 or more metres.  Then cross the steam. 

I climbed another gate and found an over-grown path, with stinging nettle leaves touching my exposed legs as I walked past.

What the f**k?  Ouch!  That’s a first! I quickly spat on my hands and wiped my stinging legs… which didn’t help. They continued to annoy me for the next 24 hours!

I eventually found a small bridge over the stream and crossed into paddocks that had horses in them. Where next?  There was no obvious path.  I called my brother yet again.

I don’t know!  Do I?  Look for a sty or gate!  There should be a church up there.  

My brother certainly has a way with words, but it’s just been his way since as long as I can remember.   

As I walked up the paddock, past a rather large horse that was grazing, I recognised the small public walkway signage and went through the gate between two houses.   

The top of an old church came into view and finally Google Maps kicked in and gave me directions back to Melbourne.  

I discovered I was in the very quaint village of Stanton by Bridge.  Oh… I could live here, I thought.  

Coincidentally, the following day I went to a BBQ there that was hosted by a friend of my brother and his wife.  I instantly recognised the road as the one down from the church and her place overlooked the paddocks that ran down to the stream.  Very pretty!

My brother told me it’s a very sought after village and the homes are very expensive there.  Of course it is, I reflected. I have always been attracted to expensive.  

Needless to say I found my way back and managed to collect half a bag of blackberries along the way without being run over by inattentive fast drivers. 

Since being in Melbourne I’ve been fortunate to  participate in quite a few activities and dinner parties.  

The first one was a wedding anniversary that was just up the street.  The food was extraordinary, as was the pretty garden setting.

Social Melbourne

The second one was an event celebrating the first of ten episodes going to air that night.  A local auctioneer goes to people’s homes who want to sell their collectible items at auction. 

Turned out my brother helped her with driving and collecting the house-hold goods.  He featured on the TV show a few times, which was funny to watch.  I actually felt really proud and I know our mother would be proud too if she watched it.

So your brother never told you he was doing this? the auctioneer asked me at the event. 

Nope!  I said as I looked at my red-faced brother. 

It’s nothing, he said later, obviously embarrassed.  

I’d love to do something like that, I thought.  Such fun!

The third event was my niece’s birthday, and preceding that I had met with some of the local art gallery members.  They might be looking for volunteers for the upcoming Art and Architectural Trail in mid September, a very popular annual event.  

You should extend your stay, my brother stated.  It’s a wonderful event.  

Then there was the fourth event at the BBQ where I was asked to say the word, decorations.

DICK-ORATIONS… is what they heard, and after the locals laughed, I realised that I had forgotten to swap my E with an A.  DACK-ORATIONS.  

Argh.  That old chestnut, to use an English expression. I forgot I have an obvious accent.  

What is amazing is that the people here are so polite… I mean, really polite!

On my walks around the village, every single person I walk past acknowledges me with a greeting.  Even people in the garden look up and say hello as I walk past.  

I see their perplexed expression wash over their face when I reply, HILL…LOW.  

Are you from Australia, some ask?

No.

Oh, a Kiwi then.  

Yis, I mean Yas.  All too confusing!

My brother rings me most days to keep me part of his family activities but I’m also quite comfortable having the odd quiet day alone to read, sketch, or write this blog.    

Occasionally my mind lands on the responsibilities that face me once back home.  

Do you miss New Zealand, I am asked often.  

My mate and me

No.  I don’t.  I mean, I miss my kids and family but not the country.  Well, I miss the country, just not my life there.  It’s complicated, I add.  

I went to Stratford-upon-Avon to rendezvous with an old friend who was also on holiday from NZ.  I had been away for so long, it was good to catch up with another kiwi.  

We enjoyed a beer and pizza at a pub alongside the Avon.  Avon means river, my friend told me.  It’s a Welsh word for “Afon” so it’s the River Avon.  River River?

Stratford-upon-Avon

My brother and his son took turns driving there and although I had been there 30 years ago, I remembered nothing.  What a pretty place!  Of course it’s the birthplace of William Shakespeare and his Tudor-styled childhood home is a popular tourist attraction. 

Shakespeare’s Birthplace

The amazing thing about living in the UK is the proximity to so many historical places.  Stratford felt very medieval with its many Tudor buildings.  

Around Melbourne, the villages are almost touching, I told my brother.  

Yeah, well… what do you expect, he replied.  There are 65 million people here!  It’s a small island the size of New Zealand. 

Pretty Walks

I have been reading his book, Rare Earth by Ward&Brownlee.  It’s a distraction from the other book I have been reading called Enlightenment Now by Steven Pinker, a book recommended by someone at the first dinner party.  

Neither are books I’d usually read but provide some balance to what I’d normally read. 

Life is tough and to have a view that when we die, that’s it… well, I’d prefer to have a faith that there is more than that.  Regardless, I accept that there is a truth out there, and it is what it is.  

In the meantime, I’ll press on and live day-to-day because I can’t take anything with me when I go;  which got me thinking… where did humour evolve from and why is it so important to human beings?  

Is there a scientific answer to that?

I must ask my brother, and brace myself for his reply, as there is likely to be an informed, intelligent and perfectly obvious reason. 

He and his wife have lived in Melbourne for 20 years or so, raising their two children.  Over the years my mother has gone over many times to stay, often joining them on their summer holidays, just as I had done. 

I know she would love to be here if she could.  I think about this often. 

With all this said, I can understand why one would choose to live here.  

Melbourne, UK seems to have it all, and I have settled into life here quite well.