In the book of life, the answers aren’t in the back - Charlie Brown

Robbie is a fan of Charlie Brown, he particularly likes Linus. Linus always reminds me of my son, not just because of his attachment to his security blanket, because he is clever, spiritual and a deep thinker. He has his own view of the world and it doesn’t seem to bother him that other people see things differently. I guess there is a bit of Linus in Robbie too, but instead of a security blanket he has a rucksack!

The one thing that both Robbie and my son have in common is that they don’t always understand me. This week has been a bit of an uphill struggle for me, my asthma has been playing me up which makes everything so much more of an effort. It makes me feel scared, struggling to breathe is horrible. It felt as if I was plodding through the week with diving boots on! My son, who probably hasn’t noticed that I have been feeling off colour this week, added to my burden by breaking the habit of a lifetime and delivering all his washing to the washing machine without being asked  - how many clothes does that boy have!! Later on he saw me trying to compare an old photo with the present day image on Street View. He asked what I was doing and I explained that I was trying to work out exactly where the photo had been taken. He was quiet for a minute or two, then he posed a deceptively simple question, “why does history matter?” I think the answer to that could be a blog post all on it’s own, but it gave me plenty to think about.

Robbie did his best to cheer me up, he made me a lovely meal on Wednesday evening. Unfortunately his efforts to cheer me up tonight fell on stony ground. He sat at the side of me with his ipad, he wanted to show me train pictures. I thought it was quite sweet until I realised the grim story behind what he was showing me. He made a hasty retreat to the other side of the room with my words still ringing in his ears!

The only person who knew instantly without being told that I wasn’t feeling very well was my best friend – and we were only speaking on the phone. It made me realise how lucky I am to have her. It is the strangest thing, it was a very odd situation that brought us together and no one would have expected us to become friends because we are very different. I think it surprised us both, but there was an instant connection between us from the very first time we met. It feels as if we have been friends forever.

A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart & can sing it back to you when you've forgotten the words

If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts - Albert Einstein

If you asked Robbie he would tell you that I am pretty good at spotting clues and gathering evidence, as he has found to his cost in the past - I don't miss much! Unfortunately the detective work that I am engaged in at the moment is even more difficult than keeping tabs on Robbie, because the clues are old and there is no one left who can tell me if my conclusions are correct. It is like trying to complete a jigsaw when most of the pieces are missing. That is the 'joy' of family history research, reaching out to grasp detail that you know is there but it is tantalisingly out of reach.


Over the last few days I have been making renewed efforts to identify the people in my grandmothers photo album. There are lots of photos of my dad, poor chap, I thought I'd had some dodgy outfits in my time but you should see what my grandma dressed him in! I also recognise my grandfather, my grandma and some of her siblings but most of the other people are strangers to me. I don't know if I should be grateful to my grandma for preserving the photos or infuriated that she didn't label any of them. Even the few that have writing on the back have proved challenging. I was overjoyed when I eased a photo of a family group out of the album and found that it had writing on the back, but my pleasure was short lived. The writing wished my grandmother a happy Christmas wit love from "us all". There should be a law against such things, if I had my way people would be compelled to write first names and surnames on the back of each photo!

My advice to others is not to jump to conclusions and to ask lots of questions, however foolish they sound, because that will give you more chance of getting to the truth. Thanks to the good people on the Roots Chat forum I now know more about my great uncle Frank Buswell. He died in World War 1 and his obituary described him as 'Driver Frank Buswell of the Royal Field Artillary'. To me a driver is a person who sits in a vehicle behind a steering wheel so I wondered why his uniform included spurs and a riding crop. I assumed that it must be some sort of tradition, but today I plucked up the courage to ask why. One of the Roots Chat members patiently explained that As a driver he would have rode/Controlled teams of horses that pulled the guns and equipment of the Royal Field Artillery so he would have worn spurs etc. Another mystery solved and in the process I have gained a more accurate picture of his military service. 


When it comes to family history, finding answers is only part of the problem, the most difficult thing is finding the questions. There are things we do not know we don't know! 

Reaching out to the Past

It's official - I am obsessed! This morning I bought a 1980 Model Railway Constructor magazine that I have wanted for ages. This is not something I have bought just to please Robbie, I haven't even told him about it because he would probably tell me to buy a magazine about Deltics instead!

I have been researching my family tree for a number of years and as many of my ancestors lived in and around Northampton I have become fascinated by old photos and old maps of the town. If only we could have street view on old maps, there so many places that I would like to see as they were when my grandparents and great grandparents knew the town. I would like to see where they lived, where they worked and the places that mattered in their lives. Most of all I would like to see the three railway stations in the town as they were then.

We think the world has progressed but in terms of public transport my grandmother's horizons were much wider than my own. She could travel to many towns and villages within the county by train and if she wanted to travel further, the train would take her; and for more local journeys she could rely on the tram. 

The first of our railway stations to close was the most convenient and most beautiful of the three. It was less than a five minute walk from St John's station to the market square. Clearly customer convenience was not a high priority even then - some things never change! Saint John's Station had opened in 1872, it was the northern terminus of the Midland Railway's Bedford to Northampton line. The station was built above street level on red brick arches which carried the line across the road and out of the town on the 21 mile journey to Bedford via Piddington (which in reality was much closer to Horton), Olney and Turvey. It was closed in July 1939 as a cost cutting measure and the services were re-routed to the much less convenient Castle Station.

Now it would take Sherlock Holmes to find any clue that a station ever stood on that spot, the station seems to have been erased from local memory and there are so few photos that you could almost suspect a cover up. So my reason for buying the old magazine was that it contains plans of St Johns and with the help of maps and old photos I can perhaps imagine the station in it's glory days.

From the Top of the Bus

A few weeks ago when I was writing about Robbie's passion for old buses I remembered catching the bus to town with my aunt when I was very young. Usually she would allow me to go up to the top deck and sit at the front. I liked this because I was high enough to see things that I couldn't possibly see from the pavement. If  we walked into town we would stop on the bridge close to the station and my aunt would support me as I scrambled up to look over the wall and down on the station below. I wanted to stay there to watch all the comings and goings at the station, but I was never allowed to. The top deck of the bus allowed me to take a longer look at the station below and if the bus drove slowly enough and had to queue at the junction, I could look across and get a glimpse of the goods yard. The station yard always fascinated me because I could hear the trains from my home. The noises seemed more noticeable when I went to bed at night and I often asked my mum what the trains were doing. Her answer was always the same, shunting, it was probably the only railway related word that she could think of. When I asked what shunting was I got a very sketchy answer, so I was always keen to see the goods yard and see this mysterious 'shunting' with my own eyes.

Thinking about those days so far back in my memory prompted me to look for pictures of the station back then. Oddly I remember the sounds and smells better than any visual memories of the station at that time. It was redeveloped in 1964/5 (vandalised would be a more accurate term) so it is hardly surprising that my memories are not so clear, I was only 4 in 1965! I can remember feeling very cross with them for what they were doing, I felt as if they were spoiling everything. When the new station was built I still loved to look down at the comings and goings on the platform but I disliked the unfriendly new building. To me it looked as if someone had dumped some ugly farm sheds in the middle of the town. It was probably the first building that I actively disliked.

Looking at the pictures I can see that my childhood instincts were surprisingly accurate. Taking away the old station building and replacing it with little more than a tin shack was an act of vandalism and deeply disrespectful to the town. I travelled by train many times during my childhood and teenage years, and the station was cold, ugly and unwelcoming, the sort of place that you would avoid if you possibly could. It is a little bit better theses days because they had to modernise it some years ago, but there is much truth in the old saying - you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. The only good thing I can say about Northampton Station is that the toilets are adequate and well looked after. 


Now plans are afoot to redevelop the station building and the surrounding area. West Northampton Development Corporation are working with Network Rail on the new development. It is hard to think of an organisation more disliked and distrusted than Network Rail, but West Northamptonshire Development Corporation is 'it', it is loathed and distrusted by locals because of it's high handed ways and the horrible things that it has done to our town. The plans for the new development are horrible, the buildings are ugly, soulless and impractical. They certainly haven't planned it with the needs of local people in mind. It only we could travel back to a time before the old station was demolished and start again, then perhaps we could get it right.


A camel is a horse designed by committee. - Alec Issigonis.

The Time Travellers Wife

No, I have not started writing film reviews, the title of this post refers to me. On Sunday afternoon we decided to stop to buy an ice lolly from the ice cream van on the way to my mum's house. I asked Robbie to get me a banana lolly, our local ice cream firm Gallone's makes fantastic banana lollies, their ice cream is really good too. As I opened the lolly I commented that they are not like they used to be, they still taste good but they are a slightly different shape and texture and the packaging is different. Robbie said that it was a shame that he couldn't travel back in time to get one for me. As we continued our journey I was quietly contemplating time travel, thinking of all the other things that tasted better in the past, opal mints, spangles and Texan bars, to name just a few. 


For once Robbie's mind was not on food, but he was also contemplating time travel. He announced that if he was able to travel back in time he would make sure that the Blue Pullman and the Baby Deltic was saved for preservation. It came as no surprise that even his flights of fantasy involve diesel trains but it left me wondering what I would do if I could travel back in time. My first thought was to go back and warn my first husband and my dad to take better care of their health as both died of as a result of 'silent killers' by the time the symptoms were evident it was too late to do very much about it. Somehow I know that would be cheating, you can't change the past so , I think I would just like to go back and meet my great grandparents and find out what sort of people they were. I know a lot about them from researching my family tree, but it would be nice to know what they thought, what they did, what their homes were like, I know about some of the things that made them sad, illness, loss, poverty and war, but it would be so nice to know about the things that made them happy and the things that made them laugh. 

X Marks the Spot

I have been sick and tired of the election hype for weeks. I tend to think that the desire to hold high public office generally means that the person is totally unsuitable. I have been lied to by experts (have you met Robbie?) I am not easily persuaded that any of them deserve to be trusted with the care of a goldfish, let alone trusted with the running of the country! However jaded I feel about those standing for election there is one thing I am absolutely sure about, I must vote. We often forget that the right to vote was hard won and in the case of women it was not until 2nd July 1928 that the right for all women to vote on the same terms as men became law. It is a right that was hard won at great cost to many.

Family History - Expect The Unexpected

I have been busy working on my family tree, it really can become addictive. I had hit a brick wall with one person but finally I managed to find the missing information and within a day I had gone back another two generations.

Tracing your family tree is an absorbing and rewarding pastime and with so many online resources it has never been easier to trace your ancestors. There will almost certainly be some sad stories and you should be prepared for some surprises including some that may take a lot of getting used to.

Read the full article here

Pancake Day!

The Tradition of The Shrove Tuesday Pancake Race at Olney

The pretty little English town of Olney in Buckinghamshire holds a pancake race each year on Shrove Tuesday. It is believed that the first race was held as long ago as 1445 so pancakes have been associated with Shrove Tuesday for a very long time.

Read the full story here http://trifter.com/europe/united-kingdom/the-tradition-of-the-shrove-tuesday-pancake-race-at-olney/

Victory at Last 10.05.07

This should be a day that goes down in history, finally the wilful determination of the British people to think in English has forced the EU to back down! It was announced today that we will not be forced to weigh loose goods in 'foreign nonsense' and we can continue to display prices in Imperial measurements as well as metric.
I began my education at a time of change. I remember the change to decimal currency and the confusion it created for many adults. I learned to manage money in both imperial and decimal with no problems at all, but even at my tender age I recognised that the change of currency was a license to inflate prices!
Length and weight simply has to be measured the English in order to make sense. Just as my grandma used to convert all the prices back to old money in her head, I have to perform mental gymnastics to work out what a metre or a litre is in 'old money'. I can visualise a pint or a foot, I have some idea how heavy an ounce or a pound is but I can't cope with the new weights and measures as it means nothing to me. Imagine popping to the pub for a quick 'half litre', its nonsense! The only possible use I have found for kilograms is when I have to be weighed - it prevents me dying from shock because I have no idea what it means!!
I have no problem with what other countries choose to do in the privacy of their own borders, but when they start telling us how to think it brings our my stubborn side and it seems I'm not the only one! Nobody, not even a Brussels bureaucrat can overcome the determination of the British people.

Railway Memories

The girls have been ganging up on me - nothing unusual there! They claim that I am being unfair to Robbie on the blog. No, I haven't exaggerated his idiosyncrasies, he really is like that, what I have apparently failed to admit is that I am weird to - according to them! Well, I suppose I need to be a bit unusual to fit in to this family.

When, I asked what they would like me to own up to, the first item on their list was my peculiar taste in men - but since I can't see what the problem is someone else will have to write about that. The next item on their list was watching train DVD's and I freely admit to that. I am interested in history, so I particularly enjoy watching old film footage. I like watching footage of routes that I am interested in too, and I find railway buildings fascinating.

Since Robbie and I have been together we have found that his passion for trains fits very well with my interest in history and photography. My own liking for trains began in childhood, long before I met Robbie. I spent my first six years as an only child living close enough to Castle Station to hear the trains. At night when I went to bed I listened to the familiar railway sounds and like so many other children I enjoyed the Rev Awdry's railway stories. I loved to go to the park with my grandma and my favourite spot was not the playground or the stream, it was the special high bench in the far corner of the park. It enabled me to look across the river to the railway line, and I would sit there for hours watching trains. In those days there was much more traffic on the line, a child doing the same thing today would die of boredom! Steam was already a rarity, I did see a few and I was just as happy to watch what my grandma called the 'smelly old diesels'. I liked them, and even as a little girl I loved the freight trains. I used to walk across Westbridge a couple of times each week on the way to my aunt's house. She would let me scramble up and look down over the wall at the station below, there was always something to see, I loved the sounds and the smells of the railway. I miss that, the smells have more or less gone and the sounds are different now.

When I went to college in London I found myself living right opposite a station and the sound of the railway became as familiar as my own heartbeat, and travelling by train and tube was an ordinary part of life. So it is not really surprising that Robbie's obsession with all things railway has rekindled my own interest in trains.

Burning Bradshaws

This morning we were cuddled up in bed when the subject of Robbie's large collection of railway books arose. He has shelves of them close to his side of the bed so that his bedtime reading is close at hand. Robbie mainly reads railway books, railway magazines, and other assorted magazines. His favourite non railway magazine is Stuff, full of information about every gadget imaginable. He doesn't read fiction at all - except the Guardian, but you already know my opinion on that!

He often looks at his Quail Maps in bed. I don't really see the attraction, it is interesting to see the precise details of local lines, but I really don't think I could become engrossed in a a Quail Map for hours! Anyway getting back to this morning, I made the mistake of suggesting that we could get rid of some of his out of date maps and timetables. He almost leapt out of bed to stand between me and his precious books. He yelled, "you can't do that, it would be like burning Bradshaw’s".

I knew that I was in for a long explanation. Robbie painstakingly explained that Bradshaw’s was an independently produced timetable covering all the railway companies in pre nationalisation days. Not surprisingly he took rather more than one sentence to explain that! He went on to say that his huge tomes were more modern but absolutely indispensable. They are apparently an essential work of reference and must be kept forever. I was far from convinced, but if he needs a security blanket who am I to deprive him of it!
It crossed my mind that if Hercule Poirot managed to catch a serial killer using the ABC Railway Guide, who knows what Robbie could achieve with his National Railway Timetables!
A similar principle apparently applies to Quail maps and therefore we are compelled to keep the past version as well as the present ones. Oh well, it will soon be standing room only in our bedroom, but if it makes him happy I will live with it. Come to think of it, it sounds just like his journey home on Central Trains, when they decide to actually provide the service as advertised it is always full and standing!

Discussion of Quail Maps led Robbie somehow to Exeter and a landmark called Red Cow level crossing on the approach to the station. I'm not sure of the relevance but my knowledge of agriculture was sufficient for me to tell him that it was almost certainly named after the Devon Red breed of cattle. Life with Robbie is certainly an education!