Home at last

It's now Wednesday evening Oz time, and we have been home two and a half days. And this is my first few minutes on the computer. I have noted already that quite a few of you have emailed hoping we had a good journey home. Thank you for that. I will answer personally when I'm feeling a bit more on top of things.

It's good to be home, but we are so pleased we went. We had a ball.

Well, I'm sorry folks but your good wishes came to nought. Well, we did land safely, the flight was quick - half an hour early into Sydney - but arriving at 5 am meant that the airport staff who know what they are doing hadn't yet arrived for work. But more of that later.

I should have looked at my return ticket. We didn't come home via Singapore at all, rather Bangkok, which had its blessings (they are not as stringent with security as Singapore). It meant that whilst all the other passengers had to alight for 90 minutes, John and I were allowed to stay on the plane. Good thing, because we'd already had a horrendous transfer at Heathrow (yet again) with assistants who were very pleasant but completely untrained, no eagle lifter (unlike Sydney, Heathrow doesn't seem to have one) so they had to manually lift John. Also terminal four is designed without a lift to the tarmac from inside the security gate, so John couldn't stay in his own wheelchair.

Once on the flight, all proceeded well until two hours before reaching Sydney, when I (Margaret) had violent stomach pains and consequent vomiting which lasted 12 hours, and am only just coming right tonight. (Oddly enough, it was exactly the same as the bug that ruined my 60th birthday lunch last August at Manly). They had to cart me off the plane in a wheelchair. What a pretty sight we must have looked. But I didn't steal the limelight. There was a woman having a suspected heart attack on the flight. They called a quarantine officer in, checking I suppose that I didn't bring in SARS or equine flu (I was born on the horses' birthday after all), but she gave me the all clear.

Meanwhile, I was more concerned about John (being concerned about me, and fighting his own battles to get out of that damned airport chair). We (and I know that many of our wheelie friends have the same problem) cannot get it through their heads that sitting in chairs which don't suit, without a custom cushion, means skin problems and days or weeks in bed. Unlike our outward flight from Sydney, where all the equipment was available and the staff were superb, this time, they didn't even know what an eagle lifter was, let alone find it. And they nearly dropped John on the floor at the baggage carousel.

With all these disasters happening around us, we rang my sister and brother-in-law Kath and John and they came straight over and spent the rest of the day sorting us out (both car batteries were flat), bringing us essential items to keep us going, and visiting dad to let him know we were home. They were marvellous. We needed a new battery for the van. They had also kept our garden swept of leaves, tidied the garden and Kath even had the planter box at the front filled with pansies etc! So that was lovely.

But John's anxieties at the airport were justified. He has considerable skin problems and will need to spend a few days in bed, hopefully no more. We'll see.

So folks, this time next week, we will be back to work (me working on the ASCCA conference website), back to the computer club (both of us) and back to the same old, same old routine. But we are starting to laugh about the bad things - John keeps telling me he's planning to buy a motor home, and we'll need to lose half the front garden to accommodate it!

And the memories are just wonderful. John told his mate Ken, who he usually sees every Thursday that he has enough tales to tell for the next three months.

People will ask us what are the highlights, and we both say, meeting people who we've only known via the Internet to date. None disappointed us - quite the opposite. We were delighted to meet every one of them. We both met new cousins, some so distant that we'd have to say "cousins". Linda and Ange have become very special, and I got to know my cousin Ray and family much better too.

I will be putting up an album of all the people who made our trip so delightful, and will create a link from this blog. In the meantime, more photos will appear shortly. Keep looking for the next week or so at www.picasaweb.google.com/johnmoxon1

And apart from that? John would say our day in York. And I'd say stepping in the Cuckoo Inn at Hamptworth in Wiltshire where my Tuckers farmed and laboured, and going to the Cuckoo Festival at Downton with Linda and Peter. And seeing Bath.... and...

We've enjoyed sharing our travels with you, and receiving comments - you can still comment if you like! - and hope that some of you will consider doing the same whilst travelling.

Much love and warm wishes to you all.

Marg & John

Heathrow Airport

Our very last day in the UK. We are currently at Terminal 4, Heathrow Airport, where seemingly like every other airport in the world, lots of building activity is underway. Terminal 4 is very antiquated, with no lift to the plane from beyond the gates at the departure lounge, so John had difficulties with his wheelchair (yet again). We cannot go through into the secure area (with all the tempting shops and eating areas) until John is willing to give up his own chair, so we are stuck in the outside area with few facilities until an hour before departure.

We caught a taxi from the hotel at 3.15 pm, booked in at 5pm (when Qantas staff arrived) and our plane doesn't leave till 10.15 pm. This is the down side of travelling. Airports are tense places - will they mess up the wheelchair, will our luggage be overweight, how do we while away the hours....

Fortunately we have not been charged excess baggage fees, and were allowed to take a bigger bag than the prescribed size onto the plane. So that's been a relief.

I attempted to log into open access wireless broadband at the airport - it works at railway stations - but was not successful at Terminal 4. I imagine Terminal 5 has it, seeing that it is brand new. Never mind, our 3 broadband still works.

We are not looking forward to the flight home. We travel via Singapore, and many long distance travellers take the opportunity for a couple of days stopover, but we do not want to risk another opportunity for either wheelchairs (John's power chair and the commode) being damaged by yet another baggage off-load.

John just said "An hour till the next battle". They promised him just 10 minutes in a manual chair without his cushion, but we figure that with us having to meet the customer service staff for a transfer into the manual chair at 8.30 pm and the plane not leaving until 10.15pm they must be kidding!

We will be looking at our mail when we get home, and shutting our eyes to the state of our front garden, but after that SLEEP for a couple of days. Then we hope to meet our new neighbour - a new baby boy for Carmel and Ray - and give dad a belated birthday treat.

When we get home, we will still be adding some albums to the photo gallery, so keep looking.

It's been great to know that so many of our friends and family have been looking at the blogs and the albums. It has certainly been a way of keeping my dad in touch with us. He was 94 this week. My sister Kath prints off the blog and takes it over to him in his nursing home.

Demolishing the family Irish yarns

Today is our last full day in the UK, and we've spent it well, travelling by bus to Kew to the National Archives for some more family history research, and being treated to a pub dinner (very nice pub too) by a former girlfriend of one of John's sons when she was an English backpacker in Oz in 1990. She has fond memories of baked dinners at John's old place at Dundas, and has since learned to cook and like baked pumpkin.

John was looking for his gg grandfather George Fitzpatrick's record in the Irish Constabulary. He had to laugh, ruefully when he finally found it. On his great grandfather's death certificate in 1913, it stated that George was a superintendent of police. Far from it. He was a constable for 15 years, before he was dismissed!

So lesson number one. Never treat a death certificate as gospel!

I also found about 15 pages of my grandfather's World War 1 records. He was badly injured in France at the end of 1917 and spent the next 12 months in hospital in the Isle of Wight, and catching rheumatic fever whilst there. He didn't see active service again and died in April 1919.

This backed up my father's memory of going to visit him at the Isle of Wight in hospital as a small child. I thought he had confused the hospital with his final hospitalisation at Netley (the Military Hospital) before he died, but it seems not.

The quicker way to get to the National Archives - another modern and very efficient building - would have been by Tube, but we had to catch the bus instead, because they are wheelchair accessible. We've found London buses very easy to use.

We spent all day there, and could have spent much longer. We now have readers' tickets which last for three years, but I doubt we will have the chance to use them again.

We now have the worry of working out whether our bags will be overweight for the trip home. That's for another day. We don't have to check out of the hotel until 2 pm tomorrow, so that's a relief. Our flight is at 10 pm. Not looking forward to it.

Luxury at last

Yesterday, we delivered the motor home back to the depot near Derby, without drama and caught a train to London where they nearly left us on the train. A cleaner rescued us by phoning through to the customer service staff. The latter were most apologetic - they hadn't been informed by Derby station staff. However, this is the first problem we've had on the rail network - the InterCity trains are exceptional - customer service is far better than Sydney's urban link. However, Sydney is still better than the Tube. We can't catch any trains on the underground, because they have no ramps.

After arriving by taxi (30 pounds from St Pancras) at our hotel in Hammersmith and freshening up, we walked down to the Thames and across the Victorian (1889) Hammersmith Bridge. A beautiful bridge John A - you'd love it.

Then back to King Street Hammersmith for a British Beef Ale pie (delicious) at the pub next to the hotel and early to bed. (I was still looking for the ladder...)

This morning we waited in because Peter - bless his heart - drove up from Horsham with two of our bags. It would have been too difficult to take them up to Derby and back on the train. He stayed for a coffee, and then we caught a No 10 bus to Kensington Gardens, where John wanted to see the Albert Memorial.

Why the Albert Memorial? It is rather gross after all. The very worst of Victorian London taste. However, there is some folklore in John's family that his ancestor Joshua Middleton Moxon (1840-1894), a mason got into trouble for chipping off the nose of Albert and trying to cover it up. The story goes that he was advised to get lost or get into huge trouble with the Palace. So he emigrated to Australia with his wife Louisa and eldest son George. This was 1867. All the research we've done both about the family and about the building of the Albert Memorial suggests that this could have been true, but we've yet to see a written record. So who knows?

After posing for photos and taking some - especially of Albert's nose! - we wandered across Kensington Gardens to the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain - very pleasant - and then had some lunch on the banks of the Serpentine in Hyde Park where surprise surprise there was a planter box full of Australian natives.

Then back to our hotel because there is a storm coming. We've been lucky enough to have had a week of sunshine from Southampton, Horsham and up north.

Saying our farewells

We have just arrived in Banbury, where we will be saying farewell to my other second cousin Ray, his wife Trish and daughter Tracey with a night out at the pub. John has disappeared down to the village, since although he was here for nine days, he didn't so much as see the caravan park, let alone the village of Great Bourton - a lovely place - because he was so ill. He did see the inside of the local hospital for two days.

We spent yesterday with my newfound second cousin Linda (nee Tucker) and her family - the whole 10 of them, including her son and family who flew in from Qatar on Friday. Again, as it was in early May, we had a most enjoyable day. It was really sad to say goodbye to Linda, although she and her husband Peter are planning a trip to Australia in 2010. Peter is kindly driving up to Hammersmith with two of our bags on Thursday, so we don't have to lug them on the train from Derby to St Pancras. A real blessing.

Prior to arriving in Horsham on Saturday, we spent Friday evening at Ange and Paul's place in Totton, a suburb of Southampton, because their respective mothers wanted to meet us. What a laugh we all had. The two mothers have wicked senses of humour.

Did I tell you about Paul and Ange's car? Paul has an even higher level of spinal cord injury than John, and Ange was finding it very difficult to lift Paul (who is about a foot taller than John) in and out of her station waggon. So they decided to seek a vehicle through Motability, an organisation that provides (for a cost) vehicles for people with a physical disability. The deal is - you put up a deposit of 6000 pounds, and forfeit your 100 pounds a fortnight mobility allowance (which Paul is eligible for through Social Security) for five years. For that, they lease you a vehicle for the five years and pay all maintenance costs and road taxes. It's a great way to be independent, although of course it is often difficult finding the deposit of 6000 pounds. Paul and Ange took delivery three weeks ago of a Peugot, and find it marvellous. So easy for Ange to get Paul in and out. Did I tell you she provided a taxi service for John to go into Southampton and to their house and back for the evening. Much easier than trying to park this big motor.

Back to Southampton and the New Forest

We are spending four nights at Ower, a district just off the M27 (and don't we know it, with the traffic noise!). The site is well located for our purposes though - just 5-10 minutes from Totten where Ange and Paul live, and on the edge of the New Forest and seven miles from Fordingbridge.

After gathering our energy, Ange came round to the campsite on Wednesday, bringing her new Motorbility Peugeot (more about that later) and drove us both to the Old Cemetery at Southampton Common. This is where many of my ancestors are buried, including three generations of Tuckers. I found my grandfather Sydney George Tucker's grave (1919, aged 36) and the pot of chrysanthums, sadly full of weeds now that my cousin Linda had placed on the grave in February last year.

It was a bit tricky finding the graves, since being summer, there were many blackberries and other weeds to fight our way through. We couldn't find the other two graves, those of my great grandfather and great great grandfather, although Linda did last year, and sent us photos.

It was serendipitous though, because after we'd given up looking for the graves, Ange suddenly saw a grave of George Henry Rose, and said - isn't he one of yours? Indeed he was - another great great grandfather. I might have mentioned once that Ange is my 4th cousin, and his wife Hannah, also inscribed was her gggreat aunt! So how about that. Of course we had to get a photo of the two of us, and here it is.

That evening, we met up with yet another John Moxon, of Southampton - no relation that we can figure out - but he belongs to the Moxon Society and his passion - like John's - is VWs, so John had already contacted him a couple of years ago intrigued by the co-incidence of names. He and his wife Jacqui were great company. The two John Moxons posed in front of the other John's Karmen Ghia. Our John can only wish!

Yesterday (Thursday), Ange and her husband Paul arrived mid morning and we set off in convoy across the New Forest (avoiding the cows, calves, ponies and foals on the road) to Fordingbridge, where yet another of my great great grandmothers, Sophia Jefferis was born in 1836. Her mother's surname was Tiller, and some of them still live around there. We had lunch in a pub, after checking out the old church and taking lots of photos of the village, then visited a museum, entirely run by volunteers (aren't they all!).

I then wanted to visit Rockbourne, where a ggg grandmother - Hannah Isacc - was born. The lanes were very narrow between Fordingbridge and Rockbourne, and we held our breath in case a bus came, but none did.

Rockbourne is home to a Roman Villa, so we visited that and it was most interesting. Many of the mosaic floors can still be seen. It was discovered in 1942 when a farmer ploughed up a large shell which couldn't possibly come from there, and referred his find to a local real estate agent and antiquarian who of course purchased the land, which any good real estate agent would do!

So a long but happy day. Ange and Paul are great company. We will put some photos on the blog of course.

Later today we are going to Ange and Paul's for tea and meeting both their mothers. One is my dad's third cousin. (Don't you just love these relationships?) You need a genealogy software program to work them out.

National Trust treasures

For the past three days, we have been to three National Trust properties, where being a "carer" has been useful, for reduced fees. In fact John got in free at Bath as well as me.

We told you about going to Lacock Abbey on Sunday. On Monday (yesterday) we caught the train from Chippenham to Bath and return (again, no dramas), and spent a few hours walking around this small city and viewing the Roman Baths and having a leisurely lunch in the park. John preferred York as a city - he found Bath just too touristy (and of course we added to it). I didn't mind because I was really, really impressed with the Roman Baths. We couldn't go to much of it, which was why we both got in for free. However, we could look down on the baths and it really is amazing to think that Jane Austen saw the same view. I would have liked to have followed Jane's footsteps around Bath, but we didn't have the time. It's the sort of place you can spend a week of course.

After filling up with groceries at Melksham, we drove to Trowbridge, where we had arranged to meet John's VERY distant cousin Ed Moxon (I think they share an ancestor in 1717). Ed is the project manager (voluntary) for the DNA project of the Moxon Society. After John had his DNA tested (on 43 markers on the Y chromosome, so only male Moxons can be tested), Ed found that John's DNA matched that of others (including himself) who were decended from John Moxon/Moakson born 1717 in Silkstone, Yorkshire.

Ed is a Lieutenant Colonel (at 45) in the British Army, posted to Salisbury and has some interesting observations about Iraq, to which we wouldn't disagree.

So last night, having enjoyed yet another delightful Indian meal, we drove home in the dark for the very first time. That is hard to do at the moment, because it doesn't get dark until nearly 10 pm. It's great.

The Wiltshire Family History Centre (Records Office) opens Tuesday-Saturday only, and is based in Chippenham, north of our campsite. So we spent the morning there, looking for our Tucker ancestors' wills. I was really pleased to find two wills and an application for guardianship for my direct ancestors who had been left parentless before the age of 21.

The building is new - purpose built - so it is very efficiently laid out and of course fully wheelchair acessible. We were most impressed.

We ate our lunch in the van in the carpark and then travelled south to a campsite at Ower, just north of Southampton, where I want to see my dear friend and distant cousin Ange again.

But on the way, we stopped at Stonehenge, which I'd never managed to visit on my previous three trips. It was well worth the visit. Like the Roman Baths, the National Trust gives headphones so we could listen to a full description. For once, we heard a number of Australian accents. Including a family from Blacktown. Mostly, our trip has been to places that are not the must sees for Australians in a hurry.

John reckons that the mystical powers of Stonehenge don't work - he still can't walk!