The Decision to Move to Kilchoan

We kept going up to Kilchoan for our holidays as often as we possibly could and decided to take another look at the shop. It wasn't in any better condition but we thought it had potential, so in 1996 made an offer for it, which was accepted.

Looking back, I really wonder how much we thought logically about the decision. In Maldon I had a steady job, Gill ran a healthy business in Sunflower, the two children who were still at home were happy - but the draw of another adventure, a chance to run a business the way we wanted to do, and the idea of making a new life in a stunning, if challenging part of the world were all too much.

We put the house on the market and it sold much more quickly than we expected so, since we would be moving into a much smaller house in Kilchoan, Gill set about selling and otherwise disposing of large amounts of our possessions after which most of the remainder went into storage. Then, during the summer holidays, we had to move into rented accommodation, a small Victorian semi-detached house at the top of Fambridge Road which was damp and cold.

The move would be tough on both David and Rachael. Although David was at boarding school in Essex he came home most weekends. The only carrot for him was that his holidays would be in Scotland, in a place which he had come to like. For Rachael it meant leaving her school, where she was settled, and moving to the unknown of a tiny primary with half-a-dozen pupils and one teacher.

Adnams Brewery

We recently visited Adnams brewery in Southwold, home to some of the finest beers ever brewed; and beer is important to me just now because it was one of the things I looked forward to enjoying again when we moved south from Scotland, for the Scots are, in my humble opinion and in general, light years behind the English in their beers.

I enjoyed the tour; it was slick, informative and we weren't hurried - not even when we came to sampling the beers at the end of the two hours. Yet when we left I felt deeply disappointed for, as the sign says in this pictures, a modern brewery is a place where engineers tinker, where art seems to have quit the process. Strangely, good as the beers still taste, I wish I didn't know that they are the product of chemistry.

Nor was it possible to find any sense of English pride. While the water came from England - out of the tap, and after it had been cleansed of chemicals in a process called burtonisation - and the single yeast they use came from another, English, brewery, of the other essential ingredients, the malted barleys and hops, most came from abroad.

I had been to Southwold once before, at a time when I was badly in need of a change of job. I applied for the post of deputy head in what seemed at the time to be a very pleasant little comprehensive school in a very pleasant little seaside town. Having returned to the place, I'm a little relieved that I didn't get the job.

Cecil Goes to Work

Early in Cecil's life, after Ernest became master of his own Scruttons ship, the family moved from Leytonstone to a much bigger house, 57 Belgrave Road in Wansted. This is where he grew up and spent the years of the First World War - he remembered Zeppelins coming over the house at night.

Frank, Cecil and Kenneth were all in the choir of St. Katherine's, Leytonstone. They attended three services on Sundays and choir practice twice a week, and an intercession service on Wednesdays. They were paid and spent their money on sweets. Cecil and Kenneth were sacked from the choir when they were caught by the vicar sliding down the aisle on hassocks.

Cecil went for holidays at Broadstairs with his friend Charlie Mackenzie's family. Family holidays, which he loved, were at Caister with his grandparents. There were young cousins for company, particularly Bertie Stroger, and they went fishing with the uncles. Edith spent all her time in the kitchen, and Ernest sat outside the house with his minor bird in a cage beside him.

Cecil left school when he was fourteen, before he took matriculation, so he had no formal qualifications. His first job was in London's west end working for a small firm which imported things like laces, flounces, and paillettes - a spangle used to ornament a dress or costume - from Paris. His job was to tidy the stock and take the cardboard boxes of these expensive items round to the big shops. He found the goods interesting, but the boss and his wife were very difficult.

Ernest felt this was not the right place for Cecil and got him a job with Scruttons, the company for whom he had worked before their ships were taken over by Harrisons. Scruttons ships plied to the West Indies and Ernest had been a master with them - he's one of the three men pictured swimming off a Caribbean beach. When Cecil joined them they were stevedores - that is, they were contracted to load and unload ships in port - but Cecil worked in the office.

Fred Scrutton was a member of Surrey County Cricket Club and when he didn't want to use his ticket he handed it to Cecil and sent him off for a day at the Oval. I have the feeling that his job wasn't very demanding.

The Cape Wrath Trail

Congratulations to Mark who completed the Cape Wrath Trail yesterday sixteen days after leaving Fort William. The trail has the reputation of being one of Britain's toughest as well as most scenic.

Those of us safe at home were able to follow his progress by a satellite transponder which he carried, which pinpointed him every half hour. It was also able to send a limited number of messages - for example, the tick at Spot 44 was a message to say that he was okay.

Mark has promised to write up his experiences and, through his photographs, give us some idea of the specacular scenery through which he walked but, with his permission, here is a taster of what is to come. It shows his camp by the banks of Loch Cluanie.

Cranham Close

This painting of Cranham Close, seen from the front garden, hangs in our bedroom. It was the house that Gill moved to when she was 14 or 15, before her father became Chief Executive of Gloucestershire County Council. It stood on the scarp of the Oolitic limestones on the A46 between Stroud and Cheltenham, and was built of the local Cotswold stone.

It was a beautiful house, with a large sitting room - extended by the Rogers while they were there - a snug, a dining room, a large kitchen with a big solid fuel Esse, a pantry which had a stillage on which the butter and other diary produce lived, and five bedrooms upstairs. Gill's room was the one on the end at the left.

The house stood in large grounds on the corner where a lane off the A46 led to the pretty little Cotswold village of Cranham. A little further down the A46, on the other side of the road, a drive went down to Prinknash Abbey where the monks made a living by producing pottery.

The area in the foreground of this picture was a tennis court which Gill and her sister Pauline used but when they began to leave home their father Don turned it into an extension of the garden. Before they sold Cranham Close it, and some of the land between it and the Cranham road, were sold as a building plot.

Be Prepared

I set off this afternoon with my trusty Lumix camera to walk to the King's Fleet and on to the Wilderness to see if any new dragon- or damselflies had emerged. It was warm in sunshine tempered by a light breeze, on a walk which takes just half an hour.

I found two male azure damselflies in a dyke close to the fleet, took out my camera and then spotted....

....what I took to be a chaser, a dragonfly which I haven't seen in two years. I turned the camera on, for it to announce it had a low battery, after which it died.

I have a spare battery, so went to the pocket in the camera case to find it, to discover it wasn't there. The spare was at home. I had taken it out of the camera this morning to charge and forgotten to put it into the case; and the flat battery which was in the camera must have been one which died on a previous walk and which I had omitted to re-charge.

Meanwhile, the chaser had landed on a nearby reed and was posing perfectly.

I hurried home, which took 25 minutes. I rushed back to the dyke. This took 22 minutes. By this time the breeze had risen and there was no sign of any dragon- or damselflies. At the King's Fleet I glimpsed what might have been a hawker. The only other things of any interest were the hoards of tadpoles feeding off the scum which has collected overwinter on the fleet.

I hurried on to the Wilderness to see what was there, passing a hare which was hiding amongst the heifers.

The Wilderness provided half-a-dozen male azure damselflies.

I used to be a boy scout. I pride myself in being as prepared as possible - for example, I make extensive lists of things to take and do before I go away on holiday. Yet I still make mistakes.

The photo of the chaser was taken two years ago.

Damselflies

We went out this afternoon looking for more signs of this year's very late arrival of the dragon- and damselflies. Several of last year's best sites have been ruined by the dredging of fleets and ditches over the winter but the site which has until now always produced good sightings - the Wilderness, above - once again came up trumps, despite the cool breeze and some prolonged cloudy intervals.

We found the first red damselfly of the year, almost certainly a large red, sitting on a leaf in the company of a bluebottle.

I'm fairly certain that, from the black 'spur' on its thorax, this is a male azure damselfly while....

....this is very probably the female.

This one has a rather darker abdomen and I can't see the side of the thorax to check for the characteristic spur, but this may also be a female azure damselfly.

The Wilderness had no dragonflies in flight but, at a nearby pond, we did see a couple of dragonflies but too far away for either a picture or any hope of identification - though it's good to know they're around.

Portraits

It is rarely that one is asked to sit for a portrait but this happened twice in the years I was at The Plume. On the first occasion, an artist who was visiting the school's art department - I think from Spain or Portugal - asked if I would sit for him and from the session he produced this picture.

I suppose it's only natural that a subject will like a portrait if it flatters, but I like this picture immensely because it doesn't flatter - look at my teeth! - and because I think it's a very honest picture.

I wish I could remember the name of the photographer was but I do know that....

....it was Bernard Kerr who produced this cartoon of me. Again, I love it, for the contours that show I was a geography teacher, for the look of slightly tired resignation, and for the tie, for one of the things I most enjoyed was turning up at school in bright, interesting ties.

This isn't exactly a portrait but it does illustrate the advantages of working in schools where there is a good art department. This cartoon was by colleague Kevin Flower and reminds me that I was, for a time, in charge of a staff syndicate which bought tickets in the National Lottery, all of us hoping that we would have a huge win and be able to give up teaching.

Visit to Ernest's Grave

Today Katy took us to the City of London cemetery to see if we could find Ernest Haylett's grave. The cemetery is huge but ordered, well-kept and peaceful - except for the cars, some of which were being driven far too fast; and there was plenty of wildlife, including birds singing - and parakeets squawking - squirrels, and resident foxes which the public are urged not to feed.

Knowing that Ernest's grave was in square 253, and having checked the shape of the monument on her iPhone, meant that Katy found it very quickly.

It's virtually unchanged from....

....how it was when this picture was taken except that the marble has dirtied, some of the lead lettering has come away, the grass and weeds have grown, and....

 ....Edith has joined her husband. Her inscription reads, "Also Edith Elizabeth his beloved wife who passed away 4th June 1955 aged 78 years. For they shall see God."

The Haylett grave backs on to another grave which holds a William Alfred Ward Hore who was also a Master Mariner, who died in March 1928 aged 57, also at sea. One does wonder whether the proximity of the two graves is coincidence or whether the two families knew each other.

Having tidied my grandparents' grave - in retrospect we should have brought some gardening tools - we spent the rest of our time in the cemetery wandering round a looking at the many graves and, thanks to the wonders of the mobile 'phone. learning about some of the symbols on them.

As we were in the car leaving Gill spotted another Haylett grave near the exit, a Robert Charles Haylett who died on 14th April 1936. This Robert isn't on our branch of the family tree.

Thank you to Katy for organising our day out.

Cecil's Early Years

Cecil was born on the 26th November, 1902, at the family home in Leytonstone, about the time that Ernest became a captain. Cecil may have been one of twins: his mother, soon after she became pregnant, fell down stairs and miscarried one. While Cecil maintained this story was untrue, Dorothy, Gill and Audrey were all pregnant with twins, which they lost.

Cecil - second from right in the picture - had an elder brother, Frank, and a younger brother, Kenneth, and two younger sisters, Dorothy (on Edith's knee) and Hilda. Cecil got on well with Frank, feared Kenneth, and was closest to Hilda.

Cecil's primary school was Kirkdale School. In the picture he is third from left in the third row, in front of the master, Mr Collett. I can count 51 boys in the picture all, presumably, in Mr Collett's class.

Cecil moved on to Leyton County High School where his footballing skills were so good that, on arrival, he was immediately picked for the first XI. He wasn't really interested in lessons though he did do well in botany, his passion being for sports, particularly soccer and cricket. He had lessons on the piano and on the violin and played in the school orchestra. While he was never as accomplished as his older brother, Frank, who became a Fellow of the Royal College of Organists, Cecil developed a talent for accompanying singers on the piano.

Ipswich Town Football Club

For several years while we lived in Maldon we supported Ipswich Town, the nearest top-flight football team. I first started going when a small group of teachers at The Plume, including Bob Barnes, Dave Ford and I, decided to buy season tickets and travel to all home matches and some away ones.

Bob had a particular interest in Ipswich: as a PE teacher at the school he had coached a lad, Mick Stockwell, above, who was by then in the Ipswich first team, a very likeable young man who was a fine footballer, a good sportsman, and someone particularly useful to the team as he was willing to play in any position - I think he once had to take the place of the goalkeeper.

David showed a keen interest in coming to matches so, whenever one of my colleague's season tickets was available, he joined us - and he proved to be very knowledgable about the team. Gill also came when she could.

It was a great day out as, if the team was at home on a Saturday, we would start our enjoyment with lunch and a couple of beers at the Steamboat pub in Ipswich and then walk across the river to Portman Road, joining the thousands of fans as they converged on the stadium. We saw some great games, particularly the one at which Ipswich, at that time briefly in the Premiership, beat Manchester United at home 1-0. Manchester accused Ipswich of cheating: our sponsor was the chemical firm Fisons and they looked after the pitches, so had grown the grass a little longer for the match.

This ticket is for the last game I attended, shortly before we left Maldon. It was a present from Bob.

A Continuing Spring Chill

Spring is still held back by a steady northeaster which has kept top temperatures down to a very unMay-like 14C. Some butterflies are active, the most common at the moment being the orange tip which is out in far larger numbers than last year, along with peacocks and some tortoiseshells and blues.

Sightings of swallows and martins have been few, and then only in ones or twos, until today when we saw eight or ten swallows flying low across a wheat field, but still only the occasional house martin.

We've been searching for dragon- and damselflies since late March without any success but today, at last, we saw some. While the two dragonflies - judging by their sizes, one possibly a hawker, the other a darter - were too distant to photograph....

....the single damselfly was rather more co-operative. However, I have found it impossible to identify, which is frustrating.

Further research suggests it's a female azure damselfly.

Casuarina

My perfect beach isn't an immaculately clean beach; it has to have some rubbish and flotsam and jetsam, amongst which interesting things are washed up; and, ideally, it has to be a working beach, with a few fishing boats pulled up along its sands. It also has to be backed by two types of tree, high coconut palms and casuarinas.

I had always thought that casuarinas, with their wispy evergreen leaves and their habit of whispering as they filter the sea breeze, were native to the coast of East Africa, with which I most associate them, but they're not, they're an invasive species from southeastern Asia and the western Pacific.

Like coconut palms, casuarinas seem to be able to survive on the brackish groundwater of coastal locations, so they're often found framing beachside houses. This sort of house, with its makuti palm thatch and open sides, is the perfect house to go with a perfect beach. It's cooled by the trade winds, and faces east, across the Indian Ocean, so....

....one wakes to sunrises across the sea, framed by the drooping leaves of the casuarina.

I suppose, if I were very rich, I might have a swimming pool to go with my perfect house and my perfect beach and with the coconut palms and the casuarinas, perhaps one of those infinity pools.

All pictures taken on the coast of Tanzania.

Ernest's Grave

We've decided to see if we can find Ernest Haylett's grave. According to my memory, it was in Wanstead cemetery but this either never, or no longer exists. However, the City of London cemetery - link here - has a way of finding old graves through an online search - and this turned up Ernest's grave.

Ernest was buried on October 4th 1930 having died aged 58 on board the MV Highland Princess.

The City of London cemetery is huge - about a square kilometre - but it's divided into squares, and Ernest's grave is in square 253....

....not too far from the main gate and between 'Central Avenue' and 'The Little Road'.

We hope to find it this weekend.