My last two weeks in the US and the first week in the UK
have certainly been busy. Apart from the business of packing up the house and
closing down the office, I had a splendid long weekend with a colleague in New
York, - which used of course to be called New Amsterdam. This included a very
long Amtrak ride from North Kingston, a car journey away from Newport. The railway station looked the ones in old Western movies like 'High Noon'. I did
the driving as my colleague was recovering from cataract surgery. It being
Veterans’ day weekend, the car park was absolutely packed but I managed
gingerly to mount the pavement in Snowflake III, my Toyota Camry hire car, and
park hopefully on the grass under some trees. When we got back we saw that many
others had followed my example. No parking ticket yet at any rate ! The train ride was very long and likewise
packed but all seats have to be reserved. The seats are so close to each other,
one’s knees touch those of the person sitting opposite, or even have to be
inter-leaved. It rained and was dark as we pulled into the station, but we got safely to the Yale Club. No tea-making equipment in the room to my dismay. What sort
of country is this, I wondered ?
The treat for the first night was 'Don Carlos' at the Met. Not
exactly a barrel of laughs and fiendishly expensive, but worth every cent.
Simply being there in good seats underlined the enormous difference there is between
listening to an opera on a CD and actually being there and watching it at the
same time. As it happened we sat next to two Scottish ladies who were obviously
regular opera buffs at the Met, who helped me at least really get into it. The
benefits of expertise. Mind you, I scored heavily in the first interval, by
being the only one who had ordered drinks for us in advance. Perhaps they don’t do
that in the US ?
The following day to the other Met where there was a superb collection of Tudor art, collected from all over the place. A big queue to get into the building but it was so vast that unlike pre-Covid London Art exhibitions, it wasn’t a question of seeing bits of paintings over someone’s shoulder. I recommend the café there too. Great cappuccino.
That evening to the New York Yacht Club for a dinner organised by the American friends of the Royal Navy Museum in Portsmouth and of the 1805 Club, dedicated to the memory of Nelson. The occasion was HMS Pickle night, commemorating the day when the sloop of that name reached Plymouth with the news of the Battle of Trafalgar. The Club house, predictably, was a grand affair with models of innumerable racing yachts and the like stuck on all the walls, and an enviable collection of silver. The speaker was our Second Sea Lord (who I didn’t know at all) minded by our naval attache over there who I had met the week before. Great food and by British standards an early end which was fine, after such a day.
Thereafter, as I said, the packing up and departure process.
Much less wearisome than usual because I was able to put all my stuff into a
cupboard there since I will be going back to the same place in late February.
Snowflake had to be returned as well, and college arrangements made. I left at
0300 on Monday and for once had a completely painless journey home. Getting
into Boston airport when it’s almost completely empty is well worth the awful
departure time. Two films to watch on the way back and I was surprised to be
given a whole bottle of good wine, as I was the only one who had chosen it and
the steward said otherwise they would only have to pour the rest down the drain
!
No disaster awaited me at home late that evening, and the water leak which had plagued me just before my departure in early October had not re-appeared. But sadly the string that held up my soaked paperbacks in the garage had broken and its burden, dumped on the floor which won’t help their recovery. Really sadly some of my 19th Century Wiltshire books won’t be the same again. Otherwise all was fine. The following day I rushed around unpacking and repacking for the next departure, getting some essentials from Devizes, dealing with a mountain of mostly surplus post, getting our first Christmas tree up from the garden. After such a day I treated myself to the first fire of the winter. While I was away, and bearing in mind the energy prices, the house was kept on a very low temperature and it was pretty chilly.
Next morning I was off early to the original (Old) Amsterdam on a combination of Eurostar and Thalys trains for a talk on the naval side of the Ukraine war to a Dutch naval group. This was fun. I was met at Amsterdam Centraal to my surprise and taken to a restaurant for the nicest steak I’ve had for many a long year. The following day was the talk in the old Stock Exchange, now turned into a conference venue.
I was one of four talking in a small room with perhaps 30 people while many more were watching via a screen in another room. It was an interesting experience and exchange. What I didn't realise was that candid photos were being taken of me, while in full flow or reflective mode. It's always sobering to see oneself as others do. I had always thought I looked like George Clooney. Apparently this is not so. The evidence for this fact is displayed below. I also realised, once again, that nearly all Dutch people are much taller than me !"
Otherwise Everything went well, and before I left for home, I managed to squeeze in a visit to ‘Our Lord in the Attic’ – a charming Catholic house church, so if anyone was tracking me and wondering what I was doing in the red-light district at my age, that’s the explanation and I have photos to prove it.
But of course the main event of this period was the big family event to mark Cherry’s passing, five years ago incredibly. On the Saturday, a fire, fish and chips and despite rain and wind a firework display plus the decoration for the Christmas tree we always put up for Cherry’ birthday on the 24th . She had always wanted to do a parachute jump for some bizarre reason and it was on the bucket list for our last six months back in 2017, but twice the weather defeated us and she never managed it.
It had seemed very cruel of fate at the time. So two heroines in the family jumped for her, again in pretty dicey weather and with great aplomb and success. Here they are rehearsing
not praying for deliverance. They were splendid. After that we went to a Mexican restaurant in Salisbury, opposite the pub I used to use when in the sixth form, which I had forgotten all about. And so dispersal, while for me Wiltshire life resumed its more normal path, for a few days at least.
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