Chapter 17A: When Brexit means Br(adley’s)-Exit

We went to the UK in May 2019 and in 35 days slept in 18 beds on a giant road trip through England’s green and pleasant land to visit multiple relatives and friends, on potentially my last trip to England – ever.  Brexit may have come to mean “Bradley’s Exit”.  Here’s the summary, and it may prove as exhausting as our journey.

We landed at Gatwick, after a drive to Bordeaux from Belves the previous day during which we dropped off our first Duster at Renault and stayed at an airport hotel.  Now victims of SixT, a new car rental company to us, we possessed our Kia Sportage and drove to The Barn in Ruislip, NW London, our home for the next four nights for Keith’s school reunion.

As we’d arrived one day early, we took the train up to London, aghast at the price of train tickets, to vote at Australia House.  This was fun and well-organised, a novel experience for us both.  We then wandered the city we love, had afternoon tea at The Savoy, visited Temple Bar and watched a civil case progress, then just ambled.

This is my fourth Pinner County Grammar School reunion, and I know it so well I feel as if I also attended that school along with the 72 year olds from the Class of ’58.  They certainly embrace me as one of their own;  I have genuine friendships with many of Keith’s school chums.

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As usual, we banqueted in the hotel, visited the school, had an outing, ate and drank some more, had another banquet, had another outing, and ate and drank some more.  Some four days later and four kilos fatter we drove north to Diseworth in Derbyshire to stay with my cousin.

Cousin Mike is my quirky, funny, loving, Mum’s cousin actually, but is turning 70 and feels like one of those school chums of Keith’s.  We are close to the Doyles having seen them on multiple trips to Oz and England.  Certainly with their love of all things aimed at the moon and landing upon it, Mike and Keith are “the Apollo Brothers” in their matching 50^th anniversary T shirts.

Mike was having a party in two weeks’ time to celebrate his 70^th but we had previously advised him we could not attend as I was judging in Sweden(?) on a previous commitment.  It was the first lie that popped into my head six months earlier in Australia when we resolved to surprise Mike at his 70^th party.  Now we were in England to see him and his beloved wife Julie on a pretence that we couldn’t attend in two weeks’ time.  It turned into a huge and successful subterfuge.

A couple of days spent here enabled us to see Cousin Hannah, partner Declan, and Toby their four legged Golden fur-child.  Mike and Julie introduced us to e-Bikes and we fell in love with the power and ease of conquering steep hills, while the gallant M & J laboured behind on pedal-driven machines.  How old-fashioned those seem – the bikes not the cousins.

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Bidding farewell with many cries of “Happy Birthday next week”, we next visited Mike and Lyn Johnson in Marton near Rugby.  Mike is a former PCGS school student with Keith and Lyn is a reunion ring-in like me, and my mate now.  It was another beautiful two days in another lovely home as we enjoyed a visit to Rugby and the playing fields thereof, Rugby school, walks around a big lake, lunches, eating, and talking fit to burst as we grew closer as friends.

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A day and night in Stratford Upon Avon followed as I renewed my acquaintance with this little gem of a town which Keith had never visited and we lucked into a performance of The Taming of the Shrew, female version, at the RSC theatre.  I am glad I saw Shrew this time with genders reversed.  The old version written by The Bard does not stand up to today’s social mores other than as a literary piece  – it is about violence to women, unfair imprisonment, wife abuse, financial torture, psychological manipulation and marital subjugation when you think about it.  Of course, NONE of that applied when PetruchiO was PetruchiA.

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From here, which was a day’s rest from talking and eating, we visited Irene and Nigel in Tring, one of the most beautiful towns in England.  This pair are old drinking buddies of Keith’s and the partying started afresh.  Irene is an unbelievable cook and hostess, and a thoroughly warm human being.  I love her to bits.  Nigel, a financier, is also Chairman of the Paraplegic Games Museum at the Stoke Mandeville Stadium in Aylesbury, of which we had a fascinating tour one afternoon.  It is a truly excellent and moving museum, generating vast admiration for the achievements of disabled athletes.

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By Monday 20^th May we signalled on Facebook that we were departing England to drive to our new house in France, to cover our ruse for Cousin Mike’s 70^th six days hence.  Now we had to “disappear” from social media, and all our friends in on the plot assisted by posting nothing.  In fact we remained in England and drove to Carol Frampton’s in Amersham, a former work colleague of Keith’s from the bank days, via The Slaughters, for a generous roast and a night of chats and drinks. 

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The next day we visited Hughenden Manor near High Wycombe, the former home of Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli.  We became more interested in the man than his stately home from 1848-1880.  Disraeli was a flamboyant and controversial conservative politician who twice served as PM in 1868-1868, then 1874-1880.  He was a pioneer in dress and words, and fascinated Victorian Britain with his style and speeches.  One wonders if anything has changed today?

He used the press remarkably well, and wrote a number of novels.  When he was Leader of the Opposition and Chancellor of the Exchequer, the press often lampooned his clothes, looks and style.  He maintained a public feud with his rival William Gladstone that ran for many years in the press, and had the last word by refusing to return to Gladstone the robes of the Chancellor, as was customary, because Disraeli had personally paid for them.  The black silk damask robes reside under glass at Hughenden today.  He had one wife whom he adored and who pre-deceased him, but he requested an independent peerage for her before her death from stomach cancer. 

Disraeli maintained a close friendship with Queen Victoria, who initially detested this toadying Jew, but ultimately made him Earl of Beaconsfield when he legislated to make her “Empress of India”.  While forbidden for the monarch to attend a subject’s funeral, Victoria visited his gravesite some days after his death at 76 in 1880 and privately mourned for her friend. 

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Hughenden is a fabulous National Trust visit, made more fascinating by the fact that it was the source and site of the Air Force maps drawn for the RAF in WWII.  Hitler had Hughenden on his bombing list, code named “Operation Hillside”,  but could never pinpoint its exact location, while all the mapmakers and villagers, some 5,000 people, never spoke a word about the activities being undertaken there, and they remained undiscovered until 2004 when a chance remark by an aged visitor to a tour guide revealed this wartime secret.  That in itself is amazing.

Returning to Harrow to catch up with Keith’s cousins, we stayed in a hotel there while revisiting the past, refreshing the family tree with new names and old faces, and mourning the deaths of cousin Brendan and Auntie Joan and Uncle Tony, which had brought us together with these cousins.  They gave me some beautiful mementos of my/Keith’s beloved Auntie Joan and I cried some more.  It was lovely to make new friends with these delightful people, Christopher, Carol and Julie Gwillym originally, now Carol Williams, her daughter Sian, and Julie McCarthy.  They have since become wonderful followers on Facebook, but posted not a word about our hiding-out in England at the time.

Truly seeking a refuge, we went back into the countryside.  Harrow, apart from the magnificent and peaceful and expensive school, is way too busy.  Lower Basildon was our next destination, where we stayed for two days with the delightful Natasha Higman who gave us her own room!  This was beyond the pale.  We dined, talked and drank together.  She hid us well while delighting us with stories of her new love.  In this time, to throw Mike off our scent, we posted Facebook messages, ostensibly from France, with strategically taken pictures from some weeks earlier, including my new hair cut!

On the middle day, Keith and I went to Reading to meet up with more long-lost cousins, flushed out by the solicitors due to the death intestate of Cousin Brendan.  Cousin Gilly and husband Gary proved to be our kind of folks.  They had taken a train to Reading from Bromley to dine with us.  We look forward to visiting with them again and hosting them in Australia, or at their holiday house in Turkey.

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It was now time for a secret return to the Midlands to hide out in Loughborough and prepare for the party and surprise the next night in Diseworth.  Cousin Hannah, Declan and Toby, were our gracious hosts this time, and we took advantage of family familiarity to order Chinese takeaway and sit in, after walking the divine Toby along a canal and lock.  Saturday was ours as Hannah went running and Declan to the gym.  They are fantastic young people, and they are our friends now, not just the “kids of” my cousin.  It’s wonderful when you share a secret how close you become.

My sister Trish had journeyed from Australia to attend this party, on the eve of a longer trip for her around Europe, so we knew Mike was safely occupied with her.  At the appointed hour, (after disrobing from the dress I had carefully chosen to wear to this party and lugged around with me since leaving Australia, instead choosing trousers and a blazer because 1).  It was not the weather it should have been, and 2).  I was too fat to fit comfortably into the dress after six months of cheese-eating, and 3).  My bunion-operated feet are still hurting and I cannot wear heels), we knocked at the front door and Mike answered.

A more perfect surprise reaction could not have been choreographed.  Having surprised people before, the initial face they make as realisation dawns is not one of joy or raised eyebrows or feigned delight as often poorly portrayed by less talented actors, it is one of shock; a face devoid of emotion, draining of colour and absence of persona as their minds race to register one’s presence.  At least, that’s what Mike’s was.  As he froze into place, we fervently hoped we hadn’t killed him.

While he kept repeating, “but you’re in Sweden”, we hugged him, and this was followed by endless hugs from him, while all the joy we hoped for sprang back into his personality.  Mike and family have surprised my Mum and my family in Australia many times, and this was our “gotcha” moment.  Having gotten through that moment, I was able to hug and kiss my beloved sister Trish at last, and meet many more new cousins and relatives on Mike’s side.

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In the following four days we moved into a hotel, took Trish out to see Keddleston Hall with us and converted her to English stately homes I think, ate, drank and talked with the family, played games, took photos and enjoyed a beautiful family time with the Doyles.  The day after the party we learned my brother, also a Michael, had suffered a burst brain aneurysm on the previous Tuesday and was near death, but Mum didn’t want to tell Trish or me “in case it spoiled the party”.  Mothers!  By Sunday, Michael Bradley was through his battle and lived on.

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Cousin Dr John, the family genius, and his wonderful wife Jane had decided to holiday in middle England on their way to Brighton while away from their home in Scotland for his Dad’s party.  They were going to visit Bletchley Park on the same Tuesday as we.  It was now 28 May. 

Our visit to Bletchley coincided with a catch up with an old mate from school of Keith’s called Barry Walden.  Barry is fun and we tried to persuade him to attend the school reunions in future.  Together with his wife Sheila we ate a splendid meal at The Birch at Woburn (near the Abbey) and stayed at one of the best BnBs we could remember, The White House.  Both are highly recommended for anyone visiting Bletchley.

Bletchley Park is a must-see if you want to learn more about cracking the Engima Code in WWII, building the first computer, Winston Churchill’s support of that, Alan Turing’s role in this secret place and his sad life afterwards when he finally took cyanide and killed himself unable to bear the public disgrace of being proven in a court to have committed “indecent acts” as a homosexual man.  This war-time code-breaking facility employed over 10,000 people but no one outside ever knew what was happening inside except it was “government business”.  The breaking of the encrypted codes transmitted by German “Enigma” machines, turned the war around and shortened it by three years, yet employees working there were often accused by outsiders of being “cowards” who didn’t enlist.

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One of my neighbour’s Mum worked there as a linguist for five years in the war.  Later she became Lady Elizabeth Reed, but was then a Cambridge Honours Graduate in three languages, except in 1938 Cambridge did not confer Honours degrees on women!  She worked translating the myriad messages that came through in German and French.  I carried some of her letters with me to show them, but in any event, she is known to the historians and we were given further insights by the Manager about her work.  A great day and I highly recommend it. I have to add I spent a long time with the BIG computer trying to “break the code” myself and in the end I got the hang of the problem, gaining a huge understanding why a human could not crack the code – only a computer was able to calculate the millions of combinations available – Lotto-like numbers – because the Enigma machines were re-keyed each day.

As this is my 2500 word limit, I’m afraid the second part of our visit to the UK will be written in Chapter 17B.  Standby for another little while please – I am happy to have recorded this much up to 29 May 2019.

In conclusion of Chapter 17A, I comment that we are so lucky to be surrounded by all those generous family members and friends in England.  We love them for their humour, warmth and generosity.  They are universally delighted to see us – we are equally fascinated with their lives.  They are so much FUN, living in England in these very anxious times.  More on that in Chapter 17B and thoughts about Bradley’s Exit.