Childhood Heroes

Everybody loves the occasional delve back into their childhood, and I am no exception!  I was recently shown a link to 26 Kids’ TV Shows We All Want Brought Back, in which I remembered - with some pleasure - the number of great characters that were written for us as children of the 1980s.  It made me realise that I grew up in a golden age for childhood, where animation gave children a good honest laugh, whilst at the same time teaching them a bit about society and the world around them.  With that in mind, here are five of my all-time favourites:

The Bash Street Kids

Specifically, the long-suffering Teacher, whose days of imparting knowledge are constantly interrupted by the dim-witted rabble that is Class 2B.  The nine tear-aways (and yes, I could name them all!) are the bane of poor Teacher's life, and regularly lead him to fits of rage and emotional distress.  Indeed, they are so bad that at one point they drive Teacher to take a new job, teaching jungle animals in Africa (to which he remarks that they are much easier to teach).  Surrounding class 2B is a colourful cast of other regulars - Cuthbert Cringeworthy (the class swot), a lazy Head Master, a cheeky janitor, the school cat Winston, and Olive, the world's worst cook, whose Christmas puddings are used by the kids as bowling balls.  It made - and still makes, for it has been running for over 50 years - for hilarious reading.

Dogtanian and the Three Muskerhounds

Of course anyone who knows me will recognise instantly that this is my favourite!  Based on Alexander Dumas' classic novel, Dogtanian leaves his rural home life and sets out on the quest to become one of the King's Guards - a Muskerhound.  Along the way he learns about chivalry, patriotism, love, and the overriding principle that a man always stands by his friends.  Coming from an age when programmes were both colourful and intellectually stimulating, Dogtanian marks a high-point in children's television, which I have always remembered with great fondness.  The programme also benefitted from a rather catchy theme tune, so all together now: "One for all and all for one, Muskerhounds are always ready..."

 

Donald Duck

 

You have to love this grumpy, aggressive, mean-spirited character, which Walt Disney reputedly based on all the things he didn't like about humanity.  Donald never learns, for all the comeuppances he receives from his bad deeds, he still regularly seeks out the opportunity to be evil, and to play the hard-luck card when he gets his just deserts.  Maybe he feels he's had a hard life - and who can blame him, for the grass is significantly greener on Mickey Mouse's side of the fence - but Donald's antics have kept me laughing for hours on end.

 

 

Sonic the Hedgehog

Sonic was invented by computer programmer Yuji Naka and artist Naoto Oshima, and arrived into the world in 1991, delighting children and adults across the globe with his mad-dash adventures to save the world. Sonic's enemy is the evil genius, Doctor Robotnik, whose sole aim is to rule the world by acquiring powerful "Chaos Emeralds". Sonic must stop him, at every turn, by destroying the Doctor's increasingly complex machinery. Along the way he won the hearts of millions, who took to the little blue hedgehog's speed, style, and sense of justice. Utterly absorbing to play as a child, I still have a great fondness for this little critter over twenty years later.

Tin Tin

My list wouldn't be complete without the great boy detective. Coming out of the stylish 1920s, Tin Tin was the creation of Georges Remi, who wrote under the pen name Herge. His character started life in comic book form, but became known to my generation through a series of brilliantly faithful television adaptations. Tin Tin is no stranger to danger, and has travelled the world in his career as a reporter, foiling plots of an international level, along the way making many friends, and even more enemies. His trusty sidekick Snowy (who you will find called Milou in the originals) is always on-hand to get the young journalist out of a sticky situation, and the two are surrounded by several intriguing and imaginatively-thought-out characters; Captain Haddock, Professor Calculus, Madam Castafiore, and Interpol's bumbling Thomson and Thompson (Dupont et Dupond in French) to name but a few. It's comic and television animation at its very best, completely unsurpassable in this blogger's opinion - Precisely, Tin Tin!

Somewhere, beyond the sea

For a relatively isolated corner of the country, we're remarkably well-connected here in South Devon.  We have two direct rail routes to London, a motorway connection to the national road network, and an international airport linking us to many far-flung corners of the world.  Furthermore, if you head down to southwest Devon, you'll find an international ferry port servicing us, in a few hours, with both France and Spain.

Last Saturday, Lizzie and I made the short drive down to Plymouth and hopped aboard Brittany Ferries' vessel, the Armorique, bound for the little French fishing port of Roscoff.  The Armorique is a lovely ferry, full of amenities - a bar, a restaurant, two shops, a cinema, a games room - a floating city of entertainment.  First stop for us; a sweet treat at the ferry's restaurant, followed by a stroll out on the breezy deck, to watch the old naval port slowly disappear from view.

Next morning, and a significant amount of cloud greets our arrival into Roscoff.  Passport control is a luxury compared to the harrowing routine of airport security, and we are let into the French Republic in ten minutes flat.  Time is brief, so we immediately make for the town centre, only a short walk from the ferry port, where the small fishing boats lay motionless in the low tide.  It turns out there isn't much to do on a Sunday morning in the town, so we take a Continental breakfast, then explore the town's principle church - Notre Dame de Croaz Batz - whose stained glass windows illuminate the grand old interior.  It is easy to feel the importance of this place to the townspeople, and I fancy I can hear the sermons, prayers and remembrance services for fishermen out on the dangerous seas, some of whom would never see land again.

The architecture of Roscoff is lovely, and the town is very pretty, clean and well-presented, the stone buildings providing a very natural backdrop to the blue-grey sea, as well as providing at least a little buffer from the punishing wind, hitting us straight off the endless expanse of water at alarming strength.  Down on the sea front, there are a few people milling around, dressed in hats and raincoats, disguising the fact that this is supposed to be a summer's day; indeed, coming off the back of a stunning Saturday, Lizzie and I are dressed only for summer weather, our short sleeves and sun hats utterly useless against this cruel twist of weather.

Following lunch at an excellent little bistro, which included sampling the local Brittany cola, we leave the town and walk out into the French countryside.  It's amazing to see how light the traffic is in-and-out of Roscoff, and we're very quickly strolling at the side of a road, surrounded by fields.  In various patches of land, totally open and unprotected, artichoke plants grow happily in their hundreds, almost as if having accidentally sprouted in the scrub land.  

Our destination is the exotic gardens of Roscoff, where for a nine euro fee, we are treated to one of the most well-planted gardens I have come across.  The gardens, which hint at a far balmier climate than we have witnessed today, are a kaleidoscope of colour, stunning even under the cloudy sky, and with an oceanic backdrop reminiscent of South Pacific.  At the centre of the gardens, a rocky outcrop with views across the Brittany countryside, the beach, and the Armorique, cleaned and ready for our departure.  The gardens were, in my opinion, the undoubted highlight of the day.

 

It's amazing how quickly five hours can pass when you're exploring a brand new place, and all-too-soon we are boarding our vessel again, and watching the French coast fade into the shroud of sea mist.  Our crossing back is a much faster affair - we will arrive back at Plymouth by 9.30pm, which gives us just enough time to take dinner on board.  A delicious chicken in tarragon sauce follows, then a visit to the bar, a wander around the top decks and some shopping in the boutiques.  Some five hours later, Plymouth comes into view and our adventure draws to a close.  

Passport control cleared, a great deal more slowly due to the staffing policies of the UK Border Agency.  Eventually, we make our way out of Plymouth, with only one wrong turning along the way, and half an hour later, we are driving through Teigngrace, our journey complete.  As we make the final turn into our countrified little road, it seems hard to believe that another country, with a different language and culture, can exist so close to our winding Devon lanes.  Yes, we're remarkably well-connected down here!

 

The Family History Project

Meet William Bridges.   William was born in 1825 in south Hampshire.  His brother, Peter, was one of my great-great-great grandfathers.  William is one of the latest additions to the enormous family history project I have taken on.

My great-great-great grandfather's brother, William Bridges, born c.1825

It started reasonably enough, a few questions to parents and grandparents, as I was after a simple tree diagram of my great, and maybe great-great, grandparents.  Instead, the project ballooned as I found my appetite becoming more and more insatiable for new information.  I wanted to know where, exactly, I fitted in to all these illustrious ancestors.  The answer is still clear as mud, but it is slowly revealing itself through families of railway workers, farmers, shoe makers and plumbers, a family history traced back, on some lines, to the reign of Henry VIII.


My grandfather Derek and great-grandfather Cecil Major at Major's Garage, Newton Abbot, 1920s

Over the past three months I have discovered things that I never thought I'd know.  The family history of my late grandfather, who was left in an orphanage when he was only ten, and who's history nobody knew anything about; a great-great-great-grandfather who shot a woman dead after mistaking her for a deer; an accident-prone Dartmoor farmer who appeared many times in the local newspaper with broken bones and bruised limbs; a great-grandfather who was stung by a scorpion during the First World War.  The stories are endless and more fascinating that anything we could ever invent.

Walter H A Sillence, First World War soldier and scorpion sting victim 

As it turns out, this project is merely getting started, and there are still many places to visit, maps to examine, newspapers to read through, and records to decipher before I begin to get a proper insight into the lives and times of all the people who went into making me.  In the meantime, feel free to look at my evolving family history photo album:

https://picasaweb.google.com/Nichgull/FamilyHistoryProject?authkey=Gv1sRgCJCWvLb6j-fGGg

This is the single most absorbing project I've ever taken on.  I'm looking forward to sharing some of it with you over the coming months!

Beauty on the doorstep

I think that sometimes things lie so much on our doorstep, that we never take the time to appreciate them.  Here in South Devon, we're blessed with some of the most beautiful countryside in the world, yet how many of us watch it zoom by on our daily drive to work, or brush it aside to concentrate on booking that important and relaxing holiday abroad?  Enter a bank holiday, and a five-mile drive to the beautiful Canonteign Falls.

The Canonteign Falls estate incorporates lovely woodland, numerous lakes and abundant wildlife, the perfect escape for a sunny morning.  Its crowning glory is the 67-foot-high waterfall, created in 1890 and the tallest in England.  The waterfall was the idea of the third Lady Exmouth, who instructed that water from the above leat should be allowed to cascade over the rock formation.  The result is a stunning, haunting, misty sight, gallons of water gushing over the cliff top, crashing into the pool below, and shifting with some speed down the hill to its final destination, the lowland lakes.

The lakes were looking picture-perfect tranquil as me made our way away from the fast-flowing falls.  Out of reach of the crashing cascade, the water settles serenely, the sunshine shimmering off the still water's surface.  We bought some duck food, and spent a delightful half hour tempting the variety of waterfowl that call this place home.  A gaggle of Canada geese soon found us, surrounded by seven or eight goslings, chirping away in the sunshine.  After a little hesitation, they made a beeline for our food and, although not quite allowing themselves to be hand-fed, they weren't far off.

The beauty of nature is hard to beat, and when it's already in your neck-of-the-woods, it's definitely worth exploring.  So get those muddy boots on, take a trip to a nearby woodland, and enjoy an hour in the company of your local wildlife.  We were certainly glad we did!

A Sunny Bank Holiday at Petworth House

I love the National Trust!  Two months ago I finally got around to joining the organisation, and since my ubiquitous orange-backed card arrived in the post, I've already recouped more than half my money.  If you're a history fan, an architecture buff, or you just like a good nose around, you really can't lose!

Bank Holiday Monday saw us in the fine surroundings of Petworth House, West Sussex.  Billed as one of Britain's finest stately homes, set within a beautiful deer-park, landscaped by none other than 'Capability' Brown, the building houses paintings by world-famous artists such as Turner, Van Dyck and Blake.

Our tour started in the kitchens, where hundreds of pots, pans and other utensils were lined up and ready for use.  Every shelf was full of curiosities - herbs, spices, mustards, an indication of the strong-smelling preservatives of the past.  Next door, in the ice house, a pre-electric refrigerator and old ice cream makers hinted that the aristocracy of the past certainly had their luxuries.  Just watch out for the pesky tart thief, up to her usual tricks.

In the main house, pleasantly cool in the hot May day, several comfy and well-decorated rooms were a pleasure to explore.  The galleries contained a great number of paintings, but I picked out this one as my moody favourite.  A JMW Turner of a scene not too far from where I live.  Answers on a postcard please...

Our tour of the house finished in grand style, being watched over by the great Tudor king, Henry VIII.  Looking out the windows, the open landscape rolled off into the distance, down to a lake, where many people had gathered to enjoy the sunshine.  Inside, it wasn't difficult to drift off into a world where the house was all mine, where I could pace the galleries and admire the artwork, whilst a team of servants cooked dinner in the kitchen, and the afternoon would be spent riding a horse across the enormous landscaped garden.  To dream is a wonderful thing, and so easy to do in a house such as this.  Thanks, National Trust, for a lovely morning out!