Chapter 4 Back to our Roots

We signed off our last update suggesting our finance problems would mean an early exit home to Australia. Thankfully, the last seven weeks have been prosperous, however, we have now run into another problem that is very close to forcing us out of England... the cricket! Should the unthinkable happen and England win The Ashes we will be sending our own ashes home with the Australian cricket team because the English will be simply too hard to live with.

After learning that our New Zealand housemates had decided to extend for a further month (they finally departed on August 26th) we planned on keeping ourselves busy on the weekends. We visited the city of Liverpool, the home of the Beatles and the Ferry Across the Mersey (made famous by Gerry and the Pacemakers) but unfortunately not much else. The night before we arrived, a "well educated, devout Christian" black teenager was found in a park with an axe in his head as a result of a race-hate crime, maybe that influenced our opinion of the city.

Our New Zealand friends purchased a 1991 BMW while they were in Manchester for their transport on their return trips to England. They were kind enough to allow us to go on their insurance policy for the remainder of our stay in England. Given that the first weekend following their departure was a bank holiday (long weekend) we took full advantage of the BMW and set off on a 7 hour trip to the south of England and origin of the "Stancombe" family, Devon. Apparently the bank holiday weekend is the busiest time on the roads in England, so we arose at 4am on Saturday morning with the plan of escaping the traffic, yet we still managed to get stuck in a traffic jam for 40 minutes through Bristol on a 4 lane motorway.

Our destination was a small village called Slapton in England’s far south-west, where Kris had traced the Stancombe family during her time in Salt Lake. England's huge motorways quickly turned into amazingly narrow eight-foot high hedge-lined roads, which intertwined and linked Slapton's neighbouring villages. Slapton village itself contained quaint thatched cottages, narrow winding streets that would barely fit a horse and cart in the old days, and an impressive ancient old church that was built in the 1000's, surrounded by leaning and crumbling old head stones, none of which bore the name Stancombe. Therefore we set off on an expedition touring the neighbouring village churches and their graveyards by night in search of the illusive Stancombe. We came to a tiny village called Sherford, home to a church (still in operation) and about 5 houses. We were advised by a local elderly couple that were in the graveyard (possibly picking out their plots) that inside the church was some history of the local area. They were right, inside was a book titled "1000 Years of Sherford" and as I flicked through the pages I came across a section on a near-by "Stancombe Manor", once occupied by a Norman named Roger, who took the title "Roger of Stancombe" from the Manor which is the origin of the surname - meaning 'stony valley'. The following day we visited Stancombe Manor. Built in approximately 1086, the Manor has been converted into a ritzy lodge accommodation, and we strolled uninvited around the gardens and farms trying to think of some way we could lay claim to the land via native title. We found out the 85 year-old author of 1000 years of Sherford lived close by, and as we wanted to find out more about the history of the Stancombe's, we contacted him and were promptly invited around by his wife for morning tea. Well-known in the Devon County as "Benny" Goodman, he was a classic old Englishman with a wealth of knowledge. He gave us a signed copy of his book and has been in touch with us constantly ever since forwarding us additional information on the Stancombes. Slapton and the surrounding areas (known as the English Riviera) with long pebble beaches, blue water and rugged cliffs, a far cry from some of the big cities we have been in. We camped in a tent on a local's farm in the rolling hills and beat the traffic home, the journey taking a swift 5 hours.

After discovering the origins of the Stancombes, the following weekend (the first weekend in September) we flew to Holland to visit the old stomping ground of Kris' Mum and get acquainted with our Dutch relatives. We were hosted by our second cousins Cor and Anje Zomer, their son Martijn and daughter Mijke who lived 15 minutes from Amsterdam. We were blessed with fantastic weather and wonderful tour guides and I was lucky enough to be chauffeured in a BMW Z3. Given Holland has a smaller land area then Tasmania (but the population of Australia) we were able to see much of the country in a short time. On Saturday we visited the city of Delft (famous Delft Blue pottery) containing narrow, canal-lined streets and remarkable old buildings. Delft, founded in 1100, was the epitome of what we perceived of Holland, tightly packed houses, cobble-stoned roads, windmills, people on bikes and a giant clog.

Martijn and Mijke took us into the infamous Amsterdam on Saturday night. We took a canal ride through the city, which showed the often-neglected side of a beautiful place. We visited the much talked about red-light district, buzzing with Brit's and the fresh smell of pot, with window upon window of women on offer. It certainly is everything it is made out to be. The following day we stopped by the house where Kris' mum was born and grew up, in a city called Haarlem (the famous district in NYC derives its name from this place) until she sailed with her family to Australia in 1953. Holland is a unique country, it was once a giant lake, and we still can't believe the person who thought to build a country there. Apparently the Dutch took it as a challenge, and went about pumping all the water into man-made canals to create dry land. They succeeded, and as a result the country lies below sea level, with massive floodgates to protect the nation from a rising North Sea and completely flooding the entire country. This poses a problem for the ships entering the main port in Amsterdam, as there are two different water levels, and on our final stop to see just how they do this, we travelled to the coast (Rotterdam) and bordering North Sea.

During the last seven weeks, Kris surprised me with a ticket to a Bad Religion concert, we caught a theatre performance of Grease and Kris began working as a PA with the NHS (England's public health system) immediately following the end of her contract with her previous employer. She also had the time to stroll into a dental surgery on a Saturday morning and walk out 15 minutes later minutes later minus a big tooth, all for just £7.68 (she had been suffering with a bad tooth ache).

We have four weeks left in Manchester before leaving for Egypt and then Europe.