THE OLD CORONATION STONE – 1000 years old –
………Meanwhile…..back on the plane headed to the UK…
Take it from me, when flying any long haul, the seats in business class are well worth the upgrade. Instead of sitting in a row of uncomfortable people, feeling like a bratwurst in a packet of hotdogs, I got to stretch out languidly, curl into a horizontal fetal position and cover myself with a real blanket. And then I promptly passed into a drug induced sleep for about two hours.
.…until I was rudely awoken by a sudden strong shuddering vibration that went on and on…… I groaned and sat up, ready to admonish Gump for eating one too many helpings of red beans when I realized it wasn’t him….. he was back in the colonies doing a happy dance because I was gone, and I was somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.
It was just turbulence. My typing ‘Just turbulence’, should convey a tone of panic equivalent to that of you reading ‘ there’s an asteroid hurtling towards my house and we’re all gonna die’.
And that, dear reader, is because turbulence to a person with a manic phobia of flying, means utter and certain death……my body rattled in fear, my heart rate escalated to the rhythm of ‘Wipeout’, and inwardly I wailed in abject terror!
I should never have come on this bloody trip!!!!!!!!…..All the planning, all the money spent….only for me to die over a massive body of water that does NOT resemble a pond, never to be found again….
Nervously I peeked out over the top of my lush blanket and observed the flight attendants. They were going about their business without any outward signs of concern. I looked around the cabin, most of the other passengers close by were sleeping or reading peacefully. Sighing, I gave myself a stern talking to…look, I told myself….there’s nothing I can do to change this situation. I can sit up, and really focus on how frightened I am and wait for a certain heart attack, or I can lay back down, cover my head with the blanket and tell myself that if I am going to die, then I can choose to do so while sleeping.
And I’ll be damned if that didn’t actually work! I awoke 2 hours later as the lights came on and the attendants announced we were an hour away from Heathrow and that it was time for breakfast…..hallelujah!
It was however, a crushing blow to discover that the bacon rolls being served for breakfast (along with a properly made cuppa) had cheese on them. I was devastated….another traditional British fare gone all American……why does everything have to have cheese on it? Fortunately, my new friend, the Welsh flight attendant ‘Cyril’ was very sympathetic to my plight (I HATE cheese). He brought me a third cup of tea and four small Cadbury chocolate bars……I immediately cheered up.
It’s odd, but as terrified as I am about flying, I must say I do love a good landing. As we made our descent, I didn’t mind the wings wobbling, even the bumpy clouds. I suppose because we were getting closer to the ground, if we crashed I wouldn’t be broken into quite as many bits? I know, I’m really bonkers right? But we touched down safely, and I practically pranced off the plane, resisting the urge to kiss the attendants, pilots and anyone else who played a role in getting me safely to the UK alive.
I joined the throng of multi-nations that snaked their way through Immigration and on towards baggage claim, marveling to myself how airports manage to move thousands of people every day – In 2016 Heathrow Airport handled 75,711,130 passengers. I wonder if they were all as scared as me?
I was so relieved when my suitcases plopped onto the carousel, phew….and grabbed them heading towards Customs, where I strolled through without incident (I truly look like a boring old fart nowadays). After a mile-long trek past shops selling things only Megan Markle can afford, I arrived at the big swing doors that stated they were the EXIT.
I burst through onto what might have been easily mistaken for the set of Love Actually! There was a throng of people of all colours, shapes, and sizes – each wearing the same happy grins of excitement as they anticipated the first glimpse of a loved one.
And one of those faces was looking for me! There she was – my cousin Katie. My eyes filled, and we hugged.
I felt emotional, because even though I’ve come home many times, it’s been seventeen years since I had someone waiting on the other side of that barrier. In the beginning, it used to be my dad. I can’t explain how wonderful it used to feel going through the last set of doors at Arrivals, seeing my mum and dad waiting to spot me in the crowd. Feeling that silly feeling you get even as an adult, that once you’re with your mum and dad nothing can harm you.
In 2000, my dad was dying, and I remember so well how very sad I felt looking in that crowd, where I knew there would be no one waiting for me.
After dad passed away, whenever I visited the UK I didn’t like the idea of my mum navigating the two-hour drive to the airport, so instead I would make my own way to her home, juggling heavy cases and jet-lag. But this time it was different, I’d lost her too, and this was my first time home as an orphan.
And after many years of arriving without any fanfare there was finally someone here to meet me! My cousin Katie ran up to me and gave me a big hug, grabbed one of my cases, welcomed me home, and led me out into the British air!
Katie is about five years older than me, and although she’s been in the Royal Air Force, and raised two children, she doesn’t drive or own a car. It was actually quite refreshing to do things in a far different way than I do in the USA. Under her guidance, we plopped onto a bus (single-decker), and headed to Kingston-Upon-Thames, which is where she lives, and where my family all come from.
Wow, my ears were in overdrive as I listened to all the variety of accents of the people on the bus, so many different languages in comparison to Oklahoma! The scenery we passed all looked so different to what I normally see most days, and I drank it all in, the lovely gardens, and the green, green grass.
My senses buzzed in pleasure as we wound through curvy streets, dodging cyclists, pedestrians, motorbikes and thousands of red buses (okay quite a few), all navigating their way through streets that only appeared wide enough for one vehicle.
I was home! Not the home I live in each day, but the place that used to be my place. A town that I spent many happy years going to school, getting expelled, going on first dates, getting my ears pierced, throwing up after drinking Cider, and more importantly, eating fish and chips.
Fast forward a couple of hours, and my mouth was chomping away on the most delectable, freshly fried, non-greasy and never frozen Atlantic Cod….then a forkful of good old King Edward spuds, fried perfectly WITHOUT SKIN or SEASONED SALT, as fat as your fingers and absolutely bloody delicious. The word content pretty much captured that moment.
A quick hike (I was going to have to get used to walking) and we were back at Katie’s flat (that’s an apartment in American speak) and we settled in for a nice cuppa and of course, some chocolate (Cadbury’s that is)…..
I slept so happily that night (no turbulence) with the windows open, and the voices of people chattering and cars driving by. It seemed so loud! All I ever hear at my house is the occasional TV helicopter going over, or coyotes at night – I hadn’t thought about the sounds of a big city. Kingston is a town, but basically a suburb of London, so the population is massive in comparison to where I live in Oklahoma. I lay there quite fascinated, mulling over the differences between a life that I had where this had been normal, and the life I had now in the USA.
A new day dawned, and although I was in a six-hour time lag, I felt pretty darn good. The day ahead was going to be an easy one. Full of pastries and British treats, and a good look around the shops. Love British shops, because they sell clothes I can’t ever find in Dillards.
Kingston is known as an ancient market town where seven Saxon kings were crowned in the tenth century – which is before I lived there 😊 There is a large stone (see picture at the beginning) which was used for the coronations – it is cleverly known as the Coronation Stone. In fact, my Junior School (Elementary School) was named King Athelstan, after one of those Saxon Kings, whose name is on the stone.
Kingston lay on the boundary between Wessex and Mercia, until King Athelstan united the two places to become the Kingdom of England. Cool huh? Several scenes of Monty Python were filmed in Kingston, and Eric Clapton used to busk there too – he also went to my Secondary School (High School) – Hollyfield….although I didn’t know him as he was a few years ahead of me. I have told my oldest child that he is the illegitimate son of Eric, based upon the fact that it sounds cool and also as my son was in school with me (although undetected as he was inside my tummy) for six months. I still maintain that the kid is smart because of the subliminal education he received until I (we) was expelled.
I do love Kingston, the site of my teenage years. I spent many happy days there getting in trouble, and fast forward forty years, and I was walking the same streets and going into some of the same shops. It’s such a pretty town, with the Apple Marketplace still there, the Hogsmill River running through, and of course the majestic Thames that looks like a postcard with the weeping willows and swans gracing the water. It felt so good to be back. My camera and I stayed busy for several hours.
I had missed this place. From sticky iced buns and sausage rolls, to Cornish pasties and bacon butties (no cheese)……it didn’t take long for me to forget about Oklahoma and Gump.
I also got to see my mum’s sister Betty, Katie’s mum. My mum died in 2014 – Bet is two years younger than my mum, but they should have been twins. She is one of the reasons I wanted to come home for a visit, as she is 85 and has some issues with her memory.
I call Bet regularly, and I had told her I was coming home. I wondered if she was really grasping that, and Katie said that she knew I was coming, but got confused about when I would be there. Time is hard for her to compute.
I was so looking forward to seeing her. Katie took me up to Bet’s flat, where I was welcomed in with a big smile and a hug, and the proverbial cuppa. Sitting in her warm living room (she won’t open the windows) I looked at Bet and said, “Do you know who I am?”
She grinned and said “No.”
Later that evening, we got the bus back to Katie’s flat. I realised that I had not actually spoken to the Gumpster since I’d arrived-I’d just sent him a quick text to let him know I hadn’t crashed.
I pulled out the iPad and Facetimed him. Once he angled the camera so I wasn’t looking up his nose, I introduced him to Katie. Well that was all she wrote, because as soon as his southern drawl voice said ‘Hi Kaydee’ and then when he grinned, flashing his white American teeth, she was a goner. I’d lost her to the bumpkin side……bugger.
But it was cool seeing the Gumpster on a screen in real-time, technology is pretty amazing really. It was odd though, we both looked radiantly happy, and I couldn’t decide if it was because we were finally seeing one another, or because there were thousands of miles between us?
There was no time to dwell upon that! I needed a good night’s sleep, the next morning I was off on a train to Portsmouth, and then to the Isle of Wight!
