On our travels again

A week or two before we left on our latest jolly jaunt, I was literally tidying my sock drawer and found my late mother's University of London BA hood.  A bit of research established that it was in the colours for the whole Arts faculty.  It then took several days for the penny to drop that my cousin Frances not only graduated at London, and indeed from the college with which Ma's college had merged meanwhile, but in the Arts faculty.  One hood thus re-homed, to reported satisfaction of new owner.

Just as we begin to get some gardening weather, we're into the travelling season as well.  As I start this entry, we are in Yorkshire visiting Annie, who is showing us round the sights of Hull and its surroundings.  We have come by train, having booked in advance with the excellent Hull Trains at a fare lower than that for getting us the 40 miles to St Pancras.  The journey involved three trains and a change at London Bridge to the line through the tunnel under Snow Hill.  With a connection to make at King's Cross, it was faintly alarming that train 2 was over 10 minutes late.  We made it with ample time to spare, but one can't help feeling anxious - well maybe one can, but I can't.  More of the visit anon.

Here in Hull, we have been sampling fine architecture, lovely gardens, art, history, cinema and the pleasures of the table.  The Ferens art gallery in town has a nice piece by a distant cousin of Martyn's, Harry Percy Clifford, but on enquiring at the desk, we were told it was not currently on display.  We were told we could apply to to see it by appointment with the curator, who was currently away.  Martyn filled in  the appropriate form, saying that we were in town for another 48 hours, and we went on into their current open show to have a look round.  About ten minutes in, one of the staff came and nabbed us, saying they had sent for a curator from the museum next door, who would take us down into the stack to show the painting to us.  Pleasant piece, of a flock of geese feeding in dappled light, well composed and drawn, with striking economy of brush strokes.  We were charmed not only by the painting, but by the kindness and enthusiasm of the museum staff.  This is what one finds oop north, of course.

Thence to the Guildhall to see the Hull Tapestries, an interesting document of the history, industry and cultural life of the city, which I wasn't in the best frame of mind to appreciate -  v. infra.

Bishop Burton College gardens and greenhouses next morning.  Good experience, spoiled a little by a biting wind.  But lots of interesting subjects growing in excellent conditions.  I'd like to return when the summer subjects are up.  They have countless varieties of hosta, for example, and borders full of roses and flowering shrubs. 

Concert of pieces for piano, oboe and flute, singly and in concert, raging from Quantz (almost contemporary with JSB) through to Thea Musgrave, all beautifully performed by a group of wonderfully skilled musicians called Ellipsis.  Seek them out!  This was at Hull University, which also houses a pretty impressive collection of art from the 20th century, with somewhat of a predilection for the Bloomsbury and Camden Town sets, though also with some later stuff by Keith Vaughan and David Hockney.   

After that I was marched off to a shoe shop to find replacements for the boots, the flapping soles of which had probably led to a fall in the street the day before.  We were crossing the road to the Guildhall when I somehow tripped and subsided gently to a hand and to an already troublesome knee.  Not a drop had crossed my lips at the time, I hasten to add.  I got away with a graze or two, fortunately, but was left feeling rather shaky, and wondering if this sort of thing is what the future has in store.  Anyway, having found suitable replacement boots, I was ganged up on to bin the old ones rather than attempt repairs.  Embarrassing, incidentally, that for the second day running I had put on a certain pair of socks for the last time.  The assistant sportingly demonstrated that she too had put a toe through her socks that morning.

Saturday:  Home again in Disgustedville after a pretty good journey, if long.  The flat landscape through much of the journey made for fine views of dramatic skies.  We were chasing a violent hailstorm down through South Yorks, Lincs and Notts, including a quite wintry landscape at one point.  Indeed, there had been snow or hail at Hull overnight.

Visual memories: lightning, deep purple clouds over sunlit young lime-green crops; a white curtain of hail a mile or so away, rich pink sunset colours as we approached the Smoke, skeletal trees against dramatic skies. 

All legs of the journey interleaved nicely, but the stopping stage of the ride down to our little country halt was rather tedious.  But the various trains got us there and back pretty economically, and the car was still in the station car park, unscathed, un-ticketed and un-clamped, starting on the first turn of the key as always.

More reflections anon, perhaps.