Ashburnham

As I announced on Facebook we've just spent a couple of nights at Ashburnham Place, near the site of the Battle of Hastings - well, the nearest town is Battle in East Sussex. Neither of us has been there before, so we didn't know what to expect, though we had seen the brief comments on its website:

"For nearly eight hundred years Ashburnham Place was the home of the Ashburnham family. In 1953 the last member of this family, Lady Catherine, died and the inheritance passed to a young clergyman, John Bickersteth. Seven years later he gave the house and the surrounding parkland to the Ashburnham Christian Trust. The purpose of the new Trust was to promote the study of the Bible and the training of people in the principles of the Christian faith. Much of the original house had to be pulled down and new facilities have been added. The Trust continues, under new leadership, to work towards the same goal - encouraging people to come to a personal faith in Jesus Christ and to live their lives in the service of God....

Turner's sketch from the Tate Collection

"The centre is located in 220 acres of beautiful grounds landscaped by 'Capability' Brown, with three large lakes and much interesting wildlife; the area has been designated a site of special scientific interest (SSSI) by the Nature Conservancy Council. Four campsites are used in the summer months by church, family and youth groups. The grounds are not open to the public,  but we do consider requests for visits from local interest groups. Visitors are always welcome to the Ashburnham Parish Church, which is located in the grounds."

The artist, J M W Turner, sketched and then painted a watercolour of the Vale of Ashburnham in 1816, where you can see the three-storey Italianate stuccoed mansion in the centre distance. Later it was clad with fashionable brickwork. Sadly during it was damaged following a crash of a fully laden bomber nearby which to the start of dry rot, and the eventual removal of floors. 

Turner's watercolour from the British Museum

Well, Gill said she was looking forward to my reflections - so here goes. The first thing to admit is that we were not staying in the big house, but in Carpenter's Lodge where our son and his family have just settled. He's just started as one of two new directors there. 

We travelled down on Sunday afternoon and arrived in the sun. As you turn in at the imposing gates, you drive through old deciduous woods, past a lodge and then you round a corner and catch a view of the house across the lakes, which no doubt was the first vista Capability Brown wanted to greet you. The trees have now encroached on the panorama, which is a shame, though perhaps in these motorised times we might not linger to admire the view as we should.

That evening we joined the community for their Sunday evening celebration. There is something uplifting about joining an international group united in worshipping a God whom they clearly love. The community is international because it includes a good number of young volunteers from all round the world who come to improve their English and to serve God, which they do primarily in looking after the needs of the guests who come on retreat, for conferences or simply for rest and refreshment. From my point of view the worship led by four of the volunteers was refreshing and personal including as it did one of my favourite modern worship songs, "This is my prayer in the desert". 

On Monday I was loaned the house's mobility scooter (rather nice all-singing vehicle) and we toured the house and grounds. I must say it's all remarkably wheelchair friendly. The grounds and house are more accessible than any National Trust property I've visited - which is nice since the gardens and grounds are good places to find tranquillity as well as creation's beauty, both God- and man-made. I'm told that there are disabled-friendly rooms with wet-rooms to stay in, which is unusual. I'm hoping to find out more about these facilities since it seems to me that really disabled-friendly places to stay are few and far between. 

Andy and Paul, new directors,
with the old church behind

It is a remarkable estate, quite near the coast, with 200 acres of parkland and woodland, but it's more than that. I suspect it's one of those "thin" places, sites where the division between heaven and earth seems thinner than normal. Whether that's because of the house's recent history as a praying community, or because of a tradition of faith in the Ashburnham family, or whether because in the centre of the estate, cheek by jowl with house, stands the ancient village church, I don't know. My guess would be it was the last that broke the barrier - rather as T S Eliot describes Little Gidding in The Four Quartets: the "place where prayer has been valid", "the intersection of the timeless moment". I'm not much of a one for "sensing atmosphere". But Ashburnham was for me one place where hope seemed close and the spiritual seemed to matter -

"You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid."

I was sorry to have to leave.

(PS I apologise for the photos. I'd left the camera on the wrong setting. So my pictures were overexposed and don't give a true indication of the rich colours.)

Days at the Paralympics

The starting line

One of my family has observed my recent blogging black-out. One of my excuses was tiredness following last Friday and Saturday when we went to two of the Paralympic venues. So I thought a quick photo journal would be a jolly way to update this. Reflections might follow given inspiration. I have to say the opening ceremony of the Paralympics was a real disappointment after the class act of the Olympic equivalent, but the actual paralympic competitions I thought were more impressive than the able-bodied ones, and certainly more moving.

Anyway, our first visit was to Eton Dorney where the rowing events took place. It was a bright cool day.

The young toffs' boathouse

Two spectators in Grandstand 

We'd prebooked parking, which meant we were ushered to very near the entrance and security checks. We didn't actually have to take our shoes off, as in Twenty Twelve, but Jane and Rachel went through the electronic screening and I was frisked by a polite young soldier. All the time we we surrounded by hordes of volunteers offering advice and hoping we'd enjoy ourselves - which we did.

A minibus whisked us halfway down the course, where we paid our first visit to the abundant and super-duper loos. I don't where the 10,000 of them are going after the Games, but the disabled ones certainly should not be scrapped. They were something else!

Nick Beighton and Sam Scowen

The coxed fours

We ensconced ourselves in Grandstand 2, opposite the big screen, and where you could see both the start and the finish, though it's hard to judge who's in the lead because of the angle across the lake. We saw three sets of heats, in all of which Brits did well, the mixed double sculls, the men's single sculls and the coxed mixed fours - in which unusually the cox lies at the front of the boat. The GB 'four' (5 including Lily the cox) 

went on to win the gold in the final. Sadly for Tom Aggar, and Sam Scowen and Nick Beighton, they came fourth in their finals - which is a hard place to end up, especially when the media raise people's expectations about you. Tom Aggar, the favourite in the Arms and Shoulders Only sculls, just said he was gutted. (I must say it struck me there was a refreshing blunt honesty about the Paralympians in the post-event interviews.)

The gold-medal four

The one downer about the arrangements was the volume of loudspeakers bang in front of our seats, which fell quiet only at points in the races - otherwise they had excessively loud music or some cheerful charlie keeping up an entertaining (I suppose) chatter. As you can see, there were thousands in the crowd, merrily marshalled by helpers in the purple and orange uniforms (you can see one girl perched on her umpire's chair behind the departing mob). On the way out we were regaled by a band of the Marines, and a chap up another umpire's chair shouting, "God bless you!" As we drove home, we felt He had done so.

  

Lee Pearson on Gentleman

Jo Formosa on Worldwide PB

On the Saturday after a more leisurely start we set off for South East London. Had we relied on Sean the satnav we might have made it with more time to spare. However I knew better. Thus it was that we reached the south end of the equestrian arena in the nick of time to see the 1b Dressage tests begin - at the old naval college in Greenwich. I have to say I found watching those very disabled riders from all over the world controlling tons of horse with amazing accuracy very moving. I think it was that afternoon which really engaged my attention with the Paralympics.

Mutual support on the medal rostrum

Many of the riders had been paralysed after riding accidents. Some had cerebral palsy and other neurological conditions. Lee Pearson, riding for Great Britain, has the rare arthrogryposis but humour with it. He'd already won a gold medal with the GB team; this time he won the silver to add to his hoard of medals from previous games. The winner was Jo Formosa from Australia who persuaded her horse, Worldwide PB, to produce a beautiful performance, with instructions shouted from the sidelines above the roar of passing jets.

Lee Pearson acknowledging the fans

What was most moving was the medal ceremony. The riders' skill is such that you're hardly aware of how severe their disabilities are, but once they're off their horses you see the full extent. Also obvious is their obvious mutual respect and affection. That's a characteristic of the Paralympics which really struck me much more than in the able-bodied competition - the generosity to each other after competing, whether in victory or defeat. It seemed that all the Paralympians had empathy for each others' efforts, pain, achievements or disappointments. They, more than anyone, knew what it cost. Which, by the way, was what made the disabled commentators and analysts on TV so refreshing. What a change from those tired old chauvinistic regulars! 

The final capitulation - Team GB flags
on my wheelchair!

I'm glad we weren't successful in applying for the "real" Olympics. Impressive and exciting though those were, in my view they were outshone by the Paralympics, the parallel Olympics.                                                                                Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention the weather! I'd have thought a passing word of thanks to the Almighty would be in order, as certainly LOCOG wasn't responsible for arranging that. I was sorry that although the Olympic opening ceremony had reference to God, the final closing ceremony reverted to New Age paganism with its invocations of the spirits of the seasons. Really! Why on earth London (of all places!) 2012 should have been so blessed with so much sunshine in the midst of the wettest summer on record (etc etc), I have no idea. It seems Jesus was right, "Your Father who is in heaven... makes his sun rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust."

Sunny days in Devon

I have to apologise, not least to the friend who wondered whether my blogging silence meant something was wrong. I'm sorry to say it means approximately the opposite - that I've been having rather a good time, partly because I've been in the book-writing "zone" and partly because we went away for a long sunny weekend to South Devon coming back a week ago.

We stayed in Newton Poppleford for two reasons: a) it's near Jane's revered and lovely parents, and b) it's where I found a promising disabled friendly bed and breakfast. Brookfields proved to be better than I'd dared hope. It's run by a couple, David and Rosemary, who'd previously owned a nursing home and therefore understood my needs well. Our bedroom had a wetroom en suite which, of course, is ideal. There was plenty of room both sides of the bed. And the breakfasts were amazing. David and Rosemary seek out the best from every source, working on the principle that they give their guests what they themselves would like. And they are excellent and generous cooks. When we eating out with Jane's parents at midday, we had the continental option - well, you can't do much with that, can you? It was fine, but not as extraordinarily yummy as the full English.

I suppose what was best about Brookfields was the hospitality. It isn't the hotel-type B&B; it's a home. Even Axy, the dog, is friendly and welcoming.

Friday was Sport Relief day. We'd decided to make use of our National Trust card and visit Killerton House, just on the other side of the M5. It's an impressive house, built originally as a stop-gap, for the Acland family. Happily they decided to stick with it rather than build a grandiose permanent house on top of the hill. It's grand enough as it is, with beautiful grounds (not that wheelchair friendly) and an accessible ground floor. Jane indulged one of my vices at lunchtime with a packet of quavers, which was kind of her.

About midday there was an influx, a torrent of primary school children, 200 of them in blue, yellow, green and red tops. They were, we realised, marking Sport Relief, competing in ages round different distances, including a course of up to a mile. It was beautiful sunny afternoon; parents and peers shouted encouragement. What better way to end the week - pupils and for teachers! And for us it proved diverting entertainment.

St Luke's, Newton Poppleford

Our Italian evening was, I'd say, average, although the service was excellent - as were the quite different services we attended on the Sunday. The first was in St Luke's, Newton Poppleford, which Rosemary took us to in the morning. A delightful friendly relaxed yet reverent Communion service. It reminded somewhat of Stanford, which is quite high praise! After a cream tea in the afternoon we headed off to see the sea and then to join our friends at Christ Church, Exmouth. Here we had excellent worship music, and a memorable sermon on Psalm 1 and pee charts! On the way back we sampled Krispies' award-winning fish and chips, which I have to say were just as good as their reputation. Back at the B&B we were plied with sloe gin and red wine - "and so to bed" after a great day.

Christ Church, Exmouth

Jane returning with the clotted golden treasure!

Before coming home on Monday, we had to pick up some clotted cream for a member of our family (and ourselves, to be fair) from what is agreed to be the best supplier in Sidmouth. We spent another couple of mellow hours with Jane's parents, this time in Sidmouth Garden Centre's remarkably good and reasonably priced restaurant. Our progress was almost brought to a halt by an accident blocking both directions of the A303. However instead of following the official diversion we successfully circumvented it and were home in time to feed the dog. Although physically taxing, as all changes from routine inevitably are, with a disabled body to look after, we both returned stimulated and ready to enjoy the week of unbroken sunshine which followed. Breaks are physically tiring and take a bit of recovery time, but mentally they are essential for riding the stresses of disability - which is the reason why funding which makes them possible must not be cut. The alternative, carers being unable to carry on, would cost the tax-payer much more, with two casualties to deal with. I await with some trepidation the government's proposals for creating a viable care system.

In with the in-laws

After a few heavy posts it's time for something lighter. On Thursday we bade a fond farewell to Jane's parents after a short stay here. Her mum, you may recall, recently fell down six steps in their garden. She's clearly made of tougher stuff than me! She's back in one piece and going like a Duracell bunny.

One mealtime I asked her father whether he was on HMS Paladin when HMS Cornwall was sunk on 5th April 1942 in the Indian Ocean. My late uncle was on board the Cornwall as doctor. It was attacked by Japanese dive bombers and sunk within 12 minutes. My father-in-law was on the Paladin which was one of the boats which rescued the survivors. So there's the intriguing possibility that my future father-in-law met my uncle in the middle of the war, even fished him out of the sea. He told me that the Cornwall's captain had kept the men singing (mainly hymns) as they waited in the sea for rescue, hanging on to debris and floats for up to 30 hours. I imagine Uncle Paul was leading the singing.

Tuesday was warm and sunny, if you remember, and so we decided an expedition was in order, nothing too demanding - just the Oxford Botanic Gardens and then across the road to have lunch in the Old Kitchens in Magdalen College, which we thought they'd like. I think I was the most excited to find an episode of Lewis being filmed there (the fictional Morse's promoted side-kick, to be

distinguished from Magdalen's brilliant real life don, C S Lewis). Anyway there the crew were hard at work: "Let's do it again... and again..." The crime scene seemed to be on the banks or in the waters of the Cherwell. And there were the actors and extras looking extraordinarily unexcited! I got Jane to ask an assistant when the episode would be - probably no 4 or 6 in the new series. I'll obviously have to record the series.

The gardens themselves gave me plenty of opportunities to use the camera Jane gave me for my birthday, with its zoom and  close-ups. Had a bit of trouble getting into the disabled loo but am happy to report it is a good one.

Then it was over to Magdalen. For wheelchair users they have to open the main wooden doors ("otherwise reserved for the Queen" - and anyone else who needs it!). The Old Kitchens are a good place for an economical lunch in congenial surroundings (e.g. £2 for a bowl of soup, croutons and a roll). Then we wandered through the grounds (herbaceous borders better than over the road, according to one gardener amongst us) and into the chapel with its remarkable copy of Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper, before home.

Otherwise our time was spent together talking, puzzling over codewords and crosswords, and neglecting the TV - which I gather we in the UK watch for an average of 4.3 hours per day, to the detriment of our longevity. We should be out walking regularly instead enjoying the beautiful world we've been born into. And I reckon enjoying plenty of good company such as we've just had - and of course in the picture!

Disabled in Blackpool

A prom carriage, with Dave's cousin (?)

Or "handicapped", as it's known in the States, so I learned yesterday. This post, I guess, will be of most interest to others who are disabled like me, although it gives me another chance to go on about our fab weekend in Blackpool, before the magic wears off completely! One quarter of Blackpool residents have a limiting long-term illness, and so one would expect it to be a good place for disabled holiday makers. On VisitLancashire's website, there are 84 listings under 'Disabled', including one attraction and 12 hotels in Blackpool, but no events and no restaurants there. I know that such sites rely on people submitting listings, and so this is no criticism of the Tourist Board who, as I've said, did us proud. But come on, you Blackpuddlians, we'd like to know more!

At Tiggis, No 1 for eating

Of course there are a lot of things in a resort like this that being wheelchair-bound makes impracticable, like riding in the carriages on the Prom and, I imagine, in the trams. I suspect the Pleasure Beach rides are also out. But there's plenty one can enjoy in a wheelchair - as we discovered - and, from the friendliness we experienced, I'd guess there'd be no lack of help, for example for a child wanting a donkey-ride. The Winter Gardens were very accessible (with three rather cramped disabled toilets). Frankie & Benny's was accessible and, of course, McDonalds, but, as you'll have gathered, Tiggis in Lytham St Annes was the runaway winner in the restaurant stakes. As I've mentioned toilets, there seemed to be an adequate supply. We found one locked up, in Lytham, but within 100 yards was St Annes' Pier with its redeeming feature, the disabled loo, which is a good size, well-equipped, clean and even smelling nice. I surmise that someone takes a pride in looking after it. So that takes the coveted loo award.

The Ashley Victoria Hotel, No 1 accommodation

As for hotels, clearly we didn't have different experiences to compare ours by, except by location and external appearance. Blackpool, exposed as it is to the westerly winds off the Irish Sea, must be a fiendishly difficult place in which to maintain the outside of buildings. Many hotels and b&bs near the front looked decidedly sorry for themselves. The Ashley Victoria facing north/south and quite newly painted outside and in was at the smart end of the spectrum. Its location, in a street leading on to the Promenade midway between South and North Beaches, suited us admirably. The facilities worked well for me in my wheelchair and with my rollator.

Our wetroom

The ensuite wetroom speaks for itself. Plenty of grab rails, high pedestal, right-height hand basin, shower chair and non-slip floor.
Well done.

Our bedroom

There was just room between the double and single beds for my narrow wheelchair. The decor was tasteful; our room had all the facilities we could want.

Looking seawards

If you sat in the bay-window, you got a glimpse of the sea.

I suppose it would be technically accurate to call it a guesthouse, as it doesn't do full-board, but the breakfasts (to music) make up for it ("Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, dine like a pauper"). Its own website describes it as "family accommodation" and specifies no stag/hen/single-sex parties. Indeed it was very quiet, and we slept unusually well.

I have to say that our stay there was made by the hospitality of Diana and Wally who run it. They were welcoming and sorted out our needs cheerfully. Sadly I have a great photo of them, but promised Diana I wouldn't post it, as she hadn't done her hair! It looked fine to me, I have to say. You'll just have to take it from me that they're lovely people. (And I'll post one of the ballroom couples instead!)

So, you may be relieved to read, my Blackpool saga nears its end, but not before I thank the people involved in arranging it:
Caeshia St Paul - of Classic FM
David Gore - of the Winter Gardens, Blackpool
Kate Campbell - of Visit England
Nikki Duckworth - of Visit Lancashire
Diana and Wally Ogunbiyi - of the Ashley Victoria Hotel
Jane - my lovely driver and wheelchair pusher.

"Without whom all this would not have been possible"

I am really a blessed man.