LE JOURNAL 3: HADRIAN’S WALL WITH AN ADDED SURPRISE

 

A series of essays….

HADRIAN’S WALL RUNS ALONG THE ORIGINAL
BOARDER BETWEEN SCOTLAND AND ENGLAND

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes 

Have you ever had mysterious sounding lyrics of a song hold tight in your imagination for as log as you can remember? The tune from it whistling through your head never to relinquish its power upon you? You played it for years on your parents’ electric keyboard/organ that sat against the paneled wall in the dining room. Ultimately, you find yourself standing along the shoreline of the song’s central character in the Scottish Highlands years later, surrounded by its mysteries and sheer beauty.

I deftly slipped a large stone from the cold, shallow waters of Loch Lomond on that trip five years ago to take home, bringing everything full circle. We stood on the banks of the loch in a small village called Luss after enjoying a beef pie at the Loch Lomond Arms for lunch.

ALONG THE BANKS OF LOCH LOMOND
IN THE VILLAGE OF LUSS

Driving north along the shoreline of this long, finger-like loch, we were looking for a spot to hike in the woods. The entire time we inhaled the beauty of the loch marveling at the sun’s ability to spray a coat of sparkles on its surface from east to west while we hummed (sang) the chorus to the song, Loch Lomond.

Chorus: O ye'll tak the high road an' I'll tak the low 

I'll be in Scotland afore ye 

For me and my true love will never meet again 

By the bonnie bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond 

Little did I know then how we would be affected by this catchy tune five years later on our recent trip to Wales and England.

This leg of our journey began with Dan’s humble desire to see, stand alongside, and touch Hadrian’s Wall located a few miles south of the present Scottish boarder and along the English countryside. Stretching from coast to coast at a length of 73 miles, it has been severely shortened of its original 12 foot height and 8 foot width by area farmers using the available stones to create houses and border fences throughout the centuries.

Hadrian’s Wall, its remains denoting the northern defensive fortifications of the Roman Emperor, Hadrian, in his quest to block the savages (Scots) living north of the wall from entering Britannia. Building began in 122 AD, beginning west of Carlisle and stretching east to New Castle upon Tyne near the North Sea.

Preparing for yet another long driving excursion several weeks ago from our base camp (little stone cottage) in the village of Llansilin, County Powys, Wales, Dan and I conducted a quick checklist of what we needed to bring with us for the day before getting into our Peugeot rental car and heading north. Dan’s anticipation was spreading joyfully across his face.

Leaving early, we caught up with the morning work commuters just northeast in the town of Wrexham—the place built (most recently) by Ryan Reynolds and his business partner, Rob McElhenney after their investment in the Wrexham Association Football Club. I hear the team has been doing very well these days!

Pushing through the Wrexham traffic, we drove by the city of Liverpool where (dare I say it) we crossed the (River) Mersey heading north to the Lake District following the M6. We were making good time on our journey up to Carlisle and Hadrian’s Wall as the sun rose in the sky, welcoming us with all of its warmth and glory! It was a beautiful morning.

We arrived in the town of Windermere in the heart of the Lake District, a stones throw from The World of Beatrix Potter Attraction, and enjoyed delicious coffee and breakfast in the center of the town as we comfortably people watched and sipped even more coffee. Leaving Windermere, the northern backroads took us through winding hilltops graced by tall, swaying grasses and honey-colored stone. It was one of the prettiest drives we’d taken, so far, north of Wales.

Making it back to the M6, we turned to the northeast and, while under the shadows of Carlisle Castle, headed towards the town of Brampton. Not being too far from the borderline between England and Scotland, we were invigorated by Scotland’s influence and kept an eye out for any references to it on road signs or other written aspects. 

Suddenly, my eyes honed in on the name of the roads we were intersecting.  To our left the sign read ‘High Row’ and, a short while later, the road sign read ‘Low Row’ to our right. Immediately looking-up the English definition of the word ‘row,’ I learned that it was often used as a substitute for the word road. My mind went racing back to the chorus of Loch Lomond and I wondered if we were in the middle of something, some memorable time in history, that songs were written about and legends were placed in musical form for all to be enlightened, as well as entertained.

DAN’S “LITTLE BOY” ENTHUSIASM 
THRILLED ME TO PIECES!

Shortly afterward, Dan swung the car into a small parking area, said he was going to find the wall and come back for me after he did. Huffing and puffing at my car window several minutes  later, he beckoned me outside, locked the car, and we walked across the narrow road down a grassy path and he placed me in front of a nondescript stone wall. It wasn’t until I looked both ways that I saw it stretch out to the left and to the right as far as the eye could see. We made it! Dan was one with Hadrian’s Wall, at last! 

Standing approximately three feet high and double or triple this dimension in depth, the thrill of actually touching something this old, thinking about its historical impact on the area, and trying to imagine it at its full potential so long ago, was worth this trip to the northern parts of England. Besides, my husband was beaming with excitement and this was worth everything!

LITERALLY, A TOUCH OF HISTORY!

MAKING HIMSELF AT HOME

The day being sunny and gorgeous prompted us to head south to yet another destination on our ‘To Do’ list we compiled during the research for our adventure in Wales and England. How many of you watch Masterpiece on PBS about James Herriot’s adventures as a veterinarian in the 1930’s Yorkshire Dales leading up to England’s participation in WWII? With plenty of heart and a picturesque setting, All Creatures Great and Small has captured our attention for three seasons already. So, off to discover the village of Grassington in the brilliant Yorkshire Dales where this series is being filmed. 

As we reflect back on that busy day just a few short weeks ago, our hearts remain filled with the wonder of learning hands-on about the past and the present, while sharing our finds with everyone upon returning home. Did we stumble upon the grassroots beginnings of a dear and beloved song I’d grown-up playing and singing? Perhaps. After experiencing the signage (or often, lack thereof) of England’s intricate history and having to distinguish places and things on our own, at times…this conclusion becomes more and more feasible. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking with it, for now.

As I write more about our ‘Anniversary Trip Adventures,’ I find I often have as much research to do afterwards as I did prior to leaving on our trip. But, that’s okay by me; I enjoy doing research and learning in depth about the (unexpected) places we saw and experienced. I call this my scoping-out phase of any trip we take because gathering all of this knowledge and information will make our return visits there that much more enjoyable in the future.

MOVING ON…..2013 TO 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

Photos Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

MY AUNT JUNE: A RELATIONSHIP THAT ENLARGED MY LIFE

 

A series of essays….

TA DA…. MY AUNT JUNE!
HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY, SWEET LADY!

Photo courtesy Linda McWilliams

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

She’s a legend. She’s an icon. She is the Queen of the Purple Salad! She has helped to keep me sane for these past fifteen years by listening to me vent within my particular world of insanity. She is my aunt; my Dad’s only sister. Her name is June. And, this ‘special lady’ turns the venerable and brilliant age of 100 years on the twenty-third of this month! 

My Mother’s birthday is October 15th, and would be turning 100 years old, as well. Aunt June has told me that she used to play the game of Ha, ha. You are older than me, with Olga (my Mom) when October rolled around and, I will assume it was always in playful sister-in-law gest and good hearted ribbing. My Mom and Aunt deeply cared about one another and June once told me that she felt lost after my Mother passed away at the early age of sixty-two back in the mid 1980’s. She said,  I had lost a good friend who’d been a great part of my life since marrying my brother, Jack, in 1945. 

Uniquely, my three brothers and I mirror Aunt June’s position with her own siblings and I am her counterpart in the established rank and order. Jack, June Gerry, and Leonard formed her pack while Ronnie, Jackie, Larry, and Denny form mine, a generation later.

My cousin, Linda, is Aunt June and Uncle Louis’ only child. Growing up with Linda while attending family functions, watching her walk by our house coming home from school with her friends, always gave me a genuine thrill because I wanted to be just like her. Being a few years older than myself and seemingly very exotic, independent, and glamorous (Linda was wearing makeup and very stylish clothes), I wanted to be a part of her inner circle in every way.

Celebrating Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa’s house was the icing on the cake (the whipped cream and cherry atop a chocolate sundae). Not only did we get to feast on Grandma’s wonderful cooking, but everyone I loved was sequestered in my grandparent’s big, white house and we mingled together on the three-season porch where the giant Christmas tree lived. The brightly wrapped presents spilled out from under its low hanging branches like a colorful lava flow into the sea of grey painted wood flooring.

Pretty Aunt June was there with Uncle Louis, Mom and Dad had smiles on their faces, Uncle Gerry and Aunt Joyce held hands, and Uncle Leonard and Aunt Phyl leaned into one another as Grandpa Marion said grace before our meal. Did I say meal? I meant to say…feast! Grandma could have fed an army with the steaming bowls and platters of goodies on display down the center of the long, wooden table. For one day, differences set aside, everyone rejoiced in joy and goodwill. 

(So much capitalization. So many loved individuals.)

My parents moved often due to my Father’s job with Sinclair Oil Corporation and subsequently with Quaker State Motor Oil and for several years of our nomadic lifestyle, we lived in South Bend and about a mile from my Aunt June’s house. I shared a very widespread paper route with my older brother, Ronnie, that happened to include my Aunt’s house. June would invite me in for a little snack, small talk, collect her newspaper and then see me off on my bike laden with rolled South Bend Tribunes waiting to be read by my customers that evening.

I would never have allowed my daughters to take on a paper route at age eleven. Stop it. What were my parents thinking? We can say that times were different then. Perhaps our way of thinking was, as well. But nobody thought twice about a little gal slinging the daily paper up onto their porch before dinner time rolled around.

Aunt June never learned to drive a car. My Mother tried to back in the late ‘60’s, did receive her license, but never pursued full-time driving after that. I believe my two favorite ladies were part of the ‘rule’ and not the ‘exception’ back then. If the man was there to drive you around, what good reason would you have to get your own driver’s license? Certainly there was fear of the road and lots of anxiety swirling in the mix, too.  I can’t even imagine not allowing this huge slice of independence to become a part of my life. Again, this was the sign of the times; a grand flaw in our society and the history of the world.

Another yearly fête I looked forward to, annually, was my Dad’s family reunion! Oh, the genuine anticipation of food, cans of pop bobbing up and down in large ice-filled coolers and galvanized tubs, playing softball with cousins, watching the men sling horseshoes and hearing them ping against sunken metal rods in the dirt pits. The younger kids would anticipate the penny pirate treasure game and egg relay that often proved to be messy but lots of fun.

Sitting with my own family at picnic tables placed end-to-end to eat after standing in line to fill plates with heaps of potato salad, my Mother’s coleslaw (never creamy but with oil, vinegar, and spices folded neatly into the shredded cabbage the night before), Grandma’s thick baked beans laced with pork belly bacon, crispy fried chicken, and, of course, the infamous Purple Salad made each year by Aunt June. The food table would never be the same without it. 

The color purple can dominate most things: clothing, bedding, a mountain sunset, and….food! After Aunt June and I reconnected down in Florida over fourteen years ago with Dan and I living and working in Orlando and she and Uncle Louis vacationing in Winter Haven, she offered me her priceless Purple Salad recipe after all of these years. You bet I felt honored. I believe it was her way of sanctioning our reconnection with love, trust, and many wonderful memories.

This heavenly bowl of fluff, tinted with the juices of sweet, dark cherries and blended with cool whip, cream cheese, pineapple tidbits, nuts, and copious amounts of miniature marshmallows, represented my youth; lulled me back into a world of feeling safe and protected while sharing good times. 

The color purple is often used to symbolize femininity, spirituality, royalty, and creativity. Aunt June epitomizes the feminine touch with her softness of speech and genuine kindness. Her spirit and mindfulness reaches out to everyone who knows her. Soon to become a member of the ‘100 Year Old Club’, she has surly earned royal status within her lifetime! After all…she is the Queen of the Purple Salad! Having created her famous Purple Salad for those she loves throughout the years symbolizes the great joy and passion she finds from life. Happy Birthday, Aunt June, with all of my Love!!

Author’s Note: Warm 100th Birthday Greetings being sent ‘upstairs’ to my Beautiful Mother. I miss you so much and think of you, often.

OLGA MOSHAK GRUBBS—
HAPPY HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY!

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved