By Christine Swan

The first six months of last year have been documented in my previous post on my travels. July saw the end of the academic year and time to travel further afield. I had a trip to Gloucester to look around the docks and antique market. It is well worth a visit as the City and its Cathedral are beautiful.

Historic Gloucester Docks

Baker’s the jewellers with its famous clock and statues

Even Costa Coffee is housed in a magnificent, historic building

I hadn’t visited my beloved France in four years, so was desperate to return to the place I love. However, as I stood on the railway station platform with my suitcase, I felt very sad. I was going a long way alone, as I have done many times. I was struck by the distance ahead and after losing three close family members, in a relatively short space of time, the solitude washed over me like a wave. I was called to mind of a quote from Samwise Gamgee in the Lord of the Rings film The Fellowship of the Ring: “If I take one more step, it’ll be the farthest from home I’ve ever been.” That’s how it felt, I was leaving the sanctuary of home and going far away.  But then, as suddenly as it had struck, it was gone and I boarded the train to London.

Setting out. The first step is sometimes the hardest

I had booked to watch Cabaret that evening which I enjoyed immensely and any reservations that I had that I may not enjoy this holiday, were quickly dispelled. I have wanted to see this show since its return to the West End and I was so lucky to get a single ticket for a cabaret table. I soon got chatting to the other person sharing my space, who was the companion to a gentleman in a wheelchair. By the end of the evening, we were firm friends. He had watched the show five times with different casts so was an expert in the production. I had a lovely evening and went back to my hotel wondering what on Earth had come over me on the station platform.

The following morning I left St Pancras on time but a speed restriction meant that we would be arriving at Paris Gare du Nord en retard. This was going to be a problem. The Eurostar website allocates about 90 minutes to cross Paris to Gare de Lyon. I know that I can walk the route in sixty minutes but, with a delay, that wasn’t going to be a viable option. The metro is usually my second option, or first if the weather is inclement, which it was. However, after arriving late and seeing the length of the queue for tickets, my worst fears were confirmed, option two was also DOA. Option three is to prends un taxi. I headed for the top of the queue and the driver reassured me that we would be away in no time. He just had to fill up with fuel from a plastic can. This was followed by a second plastic can. I told him that I was in a hurry and he asked how much time I had until my train: “Trente minutes”. He confidently puffed that we would be there in fifteen. I have seen the Mission Impossible film series, but had never considered living it. It was a wild and exciting ride across Paris which included much beeping of hooters to mask the muttered swearing and courteous conversation between myself and the driver about the awful weather, my origin and destination.  There were roadworks outside of Gare de Lyon so I quickly paid the fare and tip and ran into the station. I turned right instead of left in my confusion and ended up arriving with a few seconds before my train was due to leave. The gate staff were amazing and let me through just as the dispatch staff were ready to signal the TGV away. I found a spare seat in the end carriage and asked if I could sit down, in French. The answer came back in English tinged French that yes, I could. My fellow travellers were staying in a villa in Grasse and I advised them to catch the bus rather than the train – if you have climbed the steps on a hot day, you will know why. I talked about the Jasmine festival, which would have been taking place while they were there, about the perfume museums and stunning views.

View from the top – in Grasse

The conversation eventually stopped, the girls put their headphones in and eventually fell asleep. I knew that Lyon would be the first stop so watched the countryside whizzing past but the train didn’t slow down. That’s OK, I thought, I’ll swap carriages at Avignon. As the countryside changed again, the clouds had cleared and vegetation become more sparse. I quietly left my seat with my case and headed as far as I could to front of the half that I was in, to be able to switch halves when the train stopped to find my allocated seat. The train didn’t slow down.

Avignon seen from my TGV

The vestibule where I was waiting was very hot. Finally, the train did stop at Marseille St. Charles after I had been standing for about an hour in a lobby by the door. I swapped halves, found my carriage and my seat only to find somebody asleep in it. I gently woke them and explained my situation. “Go and sit somewhere else”, was the response. Unfortunately, there were no other seats, so, I persisted. I was feeling a bit rattled and eventually the young woman gathered her bags and shuffled off.

A very quick change at Marseille St Charles – the only station that I have visited that has trees growing inside!

I settled down and enjoyed the final leg of my journey. When I arrived at my station, I trundled off with my bag in the still baking hot, early evening. I arrived at the apartment block and there were a few people ahead of my waiting for the lift. One lady turned around and I saw the wry smile of the very same person I had recently roused from their sleep and ousted from their seat. The lift journey was mercifully short!

I travelled to some favourite spots during my stay and had a wonderful, relaxing week. The weather was glorious as usual, and I felt that I had a much-needed break.

A perfect first evening spent on the beach with my book

Sunset over Frejus from my balcony

St Tropez comes into view

A race round the bay of Nice to meet my son from the airport

End of holiday fireworks

August brought another theatre trip to the Gillian Lynne Theatre for the musical Crazy for You followed by a trip to Dover to scatter my parents’ ashes. I have already written about this particular day in more detail here.

In Brunswick Square Gardens. It was a hot day and I decided to spend a few minutes here in this delightful little park

On my return journey, I took in Canterbury to visit the Huguenot chapel in the magnificent cathedral and other sites associated with the French protestant settlers. The chapel is not usually open but can be upon request. It is a special place and I imagined the relief but also trepidation, of those who had left everything behind to travel by boat to a country where they probably did not speak the language. Services were conducted in French, and still are, in this chapel. Parish records were also written in the mother tongue. I continued my journey up the line to Rochester and Chatham. I visited the historic dockyard looking for artifacts relating to the prison hulks. Unfortunately, at the time I arrived, I had very little time to look at the exhibits. It was interesting to look around a World War II era destroyer, of the type that my dad would have been posted on, working as a stoker.

I also thought of Daniel Crudgington who had been incarcerated on a hulk at Chatham Docks before he was taken to Sheerness Point to be transferred to the Lady Nugent for transportation to New South Wales. Rochester Museum has an interesting display depicting life onboard a prison hulk that occupies an entire floor. For those of us with convict ancestry, it made for a very stimulating visit.

Ozzy the bull saw me off to London

Covent Garden in summer sunshine

Magnificent Canterbury Cathedral

Huguenot Chapel in the crypt of Canterbury Cathedral

On board the destroyer HMS Cavalier at Chatham Historic Dockyard

A bath on board a destroyer class vessel? Don’t be ridiculous!

The rules of engagement regarding rum rations

Rum barrel aboard HMS Cavalier

Prison hulk exhibition at Rochester Guildhall Museum

Illustration of a prison hulk

My final major journey of the summer was to Amsterdam at the end of the month, again, entirely on the rails from London. The weather was rather mixed but the final day of our trip was beautiful as a last gasp of summer.

Sunny Amsterdam

Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

In September, I attended a lecture in the oldest church in London, St Bartholomew’s, followed by a hectic day visiting as many Open House sites as I could in one day. I managed the Guildhall Museum and Roman Amphitheatre, the Museum of the Order of St John, the magnificent Hoxton Hall and 195 Mare Street. The Open House Festival is a great event to get involved with and certainly made for a very interesting and busy weekend.

Leaving St Bartholomew’s Church

The Guildhall Museum and Art Gallery has a surprise in the basement

The Roman amphitheatre in the basement

The Order of St John, Clerkenwell

At Hoxton Hall enjoying a performance from Pollock’s Toy Theatre

195 Mare St, Hackney

The end of October saw me visiting Dennis Sever’s House again, this time for Simon’s Story, a solo performance documenting the life of Simon Pettet during his time at the house and his relationship with both Dennis and Paddy Handscombe. Simon died of AIDS aged just 28 in 1993 and yet he left a legacy of such extraordinary talent in the form of his handcrafted delftware ceramics, created with a modern twist. The one-man performance, delivered so expertly and compassionately, as Paddy Handscombe, detailing their life and love, and the tragedy of Simon’s untimely passing. Having lost somebody who I loved dearly that same year, I thought of young lives lost and the pain of those left behind. I walked back through Spitalfields on a clear, moonlit night, with my tears the only precipitation. As a postscript, in the times when immersive theatre is popular, Simon’s Story is intimate and you are part of the story. You cannot stand aside, you are involved. If it is repeated, I would urge you to make every effort to catch a performance. How many begin with a cup of tea in a cosy kitchen? I can think of no other.

At Dennis Sever’s House

I decided to take a walk around old Blackfriars on my way home. I wanted to trace the footsteps of James Cooke, the Victorian Carman and my great great grandfather. It is not an area of London that I know terribly well but I traced the Thames path looking for buildings and landmarks that he may have known. The area around St Bride’s Church gave me a feel for the historic area, although elsewhere is much changed. I tried to visualise Victorian carmen gathering around Blackfriars station, waiting to take passengers to their destinations, and to hear the hooves over the thundering modern traffic by Blackfriars Bridge.

In old Blackfriars

November saw two more theatre visits, the first to see Southwark Playhouse’s Phantasmagoria, their offering for the spooky season. There are no bad seats at the Southwark, so you can be fully engaged with the actors. I enjoyed the performance, complete with jump scares and twists and turns, but, my companion had reservations. The following evening, Rebecca, the musical, at the Charing Cross Theatre was the subject of the evening. I love the 1940 Hitchcock film and, although I did have reservations as to how effectively the original story would translate to musical format, it was beautiful, dramatic and captivating in equal proportions.

A rainy evening dash to the Charing Cross Theatre

December bought lots of work and a late end to the academic term resulted in the festive season galloping towards me with little warning. I did not travel in December, apart for work purposes. London is too busy close to Christmas. I am often quite at home in a crowd but, when everyone is meant to be happy, and you are not, you are expected to fake it. I couldn’t do that. I felt sad and wanted to spend the season quietly, which I did. I also had two colds in succession which encouraged me to stay away from others lest I infect them too. In truth, I wanted the year to be over. Soon enough it was. A time to turn the page and plan 2024’s adventures, a new chapter for a new year.

Further Information

Here are links to find out more about the places that I visited.

Visit Gloucester https://www.visitgloucester.co.uk/

Cote d’Azur Tourisme https://cotedazurfrance.fr/en/

Tourisme de Grasse https://provence-alpes-cotedazur.com/en/get-inspired/towns/alpes-maritimes/grasse/

Tourisme de St Tropez https://www.sainttropeztourisme.com/en/

Excellent self-catering apartments in Frejus and St Raphael hosted by the wonderful Chantal and Joel Crochet. I cannot recommend them highly enough https://www.portdefrejus.fr/

Tourisme de Nice https://www.explorenicecotedazur.com/en/

Visit Canterbury Cathedral https://www.canterbury-cathedral.org/visit/

The French Church in Canterbury http://frenchchurchcanterbury.org.uk/history/strangers-in-canterbury.html

Visit Rochester https://www.visit-rochester.com/

Huguenot Museum in Rochester – sadly closed when I visited https://huguenotmuseum.org/

Rochester Guildhall Museum, with the excellent prison hulk exhibition https://www.visitmedway.org/attractions/rochester-guildhall-museum-2132/

Historic Dockyard Chatham https://thedockyard.co.uk/

Amsterdam tourism https://www.iamsterdam.com/en

Many events are listed on the Gentle Author’s inspirational blog https://spitalfieldslife.com/

Bartholomew Fair https://www.thecityofldn.com/bartholomew-fair/

The excellent Open House London festival. Learn more about hidden London and prepare to be amazed https://programme.openhouse.org.uk/ (This is last year’s programme)

A fantastic blog and post about Blackfriars’ history by Metro Girl https://memoirsofametrogirl.com/2019/09/12/blackfriars-london-history-priory-norman-castles-shakespeare-home/

All photos by the Author