My Camino de Santiago (Spring is in the Air)

The following morning I left Hornillos by myself at about 7:30 am, after walking in the company of others for several days, today I decided that I wanted to be alone. It was a magnificent morning, the sun was shining brightly in a clear azure sky, the insects were buzzing and the birds were singing, Spring was once more in the air and also in my step.

I was accompanied by the ubiquitous call of cuckoo's as I strolled along, and the Meseta was a lovely shade of green, reminding me of the South Downs a few miles from my home in East Sussex. The track led uphill on to a wide flat plain with wide sweeping views in all directions, to the north I could make out the distant snow capped tops of the Picos de Europa mountains.

Stepping a few feet off of the track I set up my little stove and brewed up a refreshing cup of tea, I then enjoyed a very pleasant breakfast warming in the morning sun like a lizard, wishing every passing Peregrino a hearty "Buen Camino". Eventually I Dragged myself reluctantly to my feet and followed the long line of Pilgrims to the pretty little village of Hontanas where they all stopped for refreshments in the pavement bars.

Leaving my fellow travellers to their breakfasts, I continued through Hontanas and along a narrow footpath passing through fields of young crops. There was nobody else around for miles apart from the occasional car driving along the little tree lined road several hundred metres to my left. I was singing and whistling to myself and really flying along without a care in the world. After several kilometres my path joined this road near to the ruins of the ancient Convent of San Anton where I stopped for another short break.

The road now led me to my destination for the day, the small town of Castrojerez which I could see in the distance dominated by a small ruined castle on the hill behind the town. There was a long straight road leading to the town with very little shade and the sun was now beating down on this hot afternoon.

When I was about a kilometre from the town I noticed two elderly ladies standing at the side of the road. They were both wearing their Sunday best dresses. As I approached them they stopped me and one of them took hold of my hand. Opening my palm, she placed some sweets into it and they both blessed me and wished me a "Buen Camino". I thanked them and walked on, although I'm not a particularly emotional person I did feel myself welling up and I had a warm feeling inside. I had just met two more 'Camino Angels'.

Several months later, after returning home I was reading a blog from an American Pilgrim who was posting daily reports as he walked the Camino with his wife. One of his posts was about something that they experienced as they approached Castrojerez, they too were approached by two elderly ladies who gave them sweets and blessed them. These Camino Angels obviously make a regular habit of helping Peregrinos, and this is just one example of the Spanish People showing kindness to strangers. God Bless them!

A few pictures of the floods in East Sussex

According to the News Channels on the television and radio we have just experienced the wettest winter in England since records began in 1905. So far in February we have apparently suffered a months amount of rainfall in two days and there is still one week left until the end of the month.

It is very wet here in the South of England, but luckily in East Sussex we have got away quite lightly. We haven't suffered the floods that they have had in the South West and the Thames Valley, thank God.

I've been out and about with my camera taking pictures of the flooded fields in and around the area that I live using HDR or High Dynamic Range Photography. By taking three separate exposures of each scene and blending them together, the pictures have more depth to them. They are not flat, washed out or too dark like a single exposure can often be but appear closer to what is seen by the human eye.

Yesterday the sun came out at last after six weeks of rain and storms and it was like a spring day here in the South East. Unfortunately though we are set for more wind and rain during the coming week, however after that the weather is going to settle down apparently. It could be worse though, we could be up to our eyeballs in snow and ice with below freezing temperatures like our American Cousins. Anyway, meanwhile I hope that you all enjoy the photos.

George Arthur Lumby (A very concise history)

Last August I wrote a post about my Great Uncle, George Arthur Lumby who was killed along with many other men fighting on the Western Front during WW1. I finished the post by saying that I would blog about the circumstances surrounding his death at a later date. After months of prevaricating I have finally gotten around to writing about his tragic death on 17th August 1916 in a futile attempt to capture 'Lonely Trench'.

However before writing the story of this fatal attack I would like to tell you the little that I know about my Great Uncle in order to bring him to life as a real person, not just a face in a faded photograph.

George Arthur Lumby was born in the year 1891 in Yeadon in the county of York to Mary Lumby (Formerly Buckle) and Samuel, a Labourer in a Woollen Mill; who later became a Woollen Fettler.

My connection to George is through his elder sister Helena (b:1885) who was my Maternal Grandmother however she died long before I was born (She is standing between George and their brother Charles in the photograph above). The family lived at Haw Lane in Yeadon but by the time George was ten years old the family had grown in size and moved to 18 Springfield Terrace, Bagley. I believe that Bagley is now part of Farsley a small village suburb between Leeds and Bradford. I know this area slightly because I spent many a holiday at my Aunt's house in Farsley during my childhood in the 1960's.

George grew up to become a Nursery Gardener and at the age of twenty one he married Elizabeth Ann Kyle a Domestic Servant on 30th November 1912 at St Marks Church in Harrogate, North Yorkshire. Their home address was given as 2 Grey Street, Harrogate a small terraced house not far from the Church. I have recently been informed by a distant cousin (who I was unaware of) that they had one child, a girl called Violet who was born in 1913.

On 4th august 1914 Britain declared war on Germany after the Kaisers Armies invaded neutral Belgium. From the outset the Government realised that this was going to be a protracted conflict and that we needed to increase the size of our Armed Forces, particularly the Army. Therefore there was a call to arms in which thousands of young men rushed to join the colours, looking for adventure and wishing to do their bit for King and Country.

Soldiers of The West Yorkshire Regiment in Training.

Many of these young men joined what was known as Kitcheners New Army; an army of Comrades who worked and played together and who were encouraged to join up in local Pals battalions, to serve and fight together. This policy was later seen to be fatally flawed when many hundreds of them died together on 1st July 1916 during the first day of the Battle of the Somme (There were fifty seven thousand casualties that day, including nineteen thousand dead, this has gone down as the darkest day in British Military history).

George like so many married men with children did not join the initial rush to war, they were men with responsibilities who could not afford to join the army. In 1914 there was no Social Security so if they were killed or seriously injured who was going to look after their families.  George would have joined the army some time in 1915 and was first posted to the front as far as I can ascertain only about a month before he died (His service record was destroyed during the blitz when the PRO was bombed so I have had to piece his history together from other sources).

British Infantry in German Dug-Outs

The unit that George joined was the 12th (S) Battalion West Yorkshire Regiment (S for Service denotes a New Army Battalion) which was formed in York in September 1914. After training at Halton Park Camp in Buckinghamshire on land given to the army by Lord Rothschild, the Battalion was sent to France in September 1915. They arrived just in time to take part in the Battle of Loos on 26th September after a forced march.

A Postcard from home

After serving near Ypres and Armentieres the Battalion arrived on the Somme in early July 1916 and took part in the Battle of Bazentin Ridge 14 - 17 July and later the attempt to capture Delville (Devils) wood and the Pozieres Ridge 20 - 24 July. I believe that George joined the Battalion as part of a replacement draft just after this action. By 16th August the 3rd Division of which the 12th West Yorks were a part were in trenches near the village of Guillemont facing towards the German occupied Lonely Trench. An attack by the 8th and 13th Kings Own on this day failed to capture Lonely Trench because of a Trench Mortar bombardment. Another attack was planned for 17th August 1916! 


Note: I would like to thank Ian Kevan, my distant cousin and a direct descendant of Charles Lumby (who is researching the Lumby Family history) for information on George and Elizabeth's daughter Violet as well as other information that he has sent to me about my own Grandfather.

Canterbury Cathedral

Little dog has just spent a few days at Grandma's house which she really enjoys, discussing little old lady things and being spoilt rotten. The reason for her short holiday was because Mrs C and I have been to Canterbury for the weekend with some friends. Apart from the usual, catching up on events and an excess of eating and drinking we all payed a visit to the Cathedral on Saturday.

The last time that we visited Canterbury Cathedral was approximately two years ago for our son's Graduation Ceremony from the University of Kent. We were extremely proud parents on that occasion but for obvious reasons we did not get a chance to look around the building. So last Saturday we made the most of our visit, exploring and asking lots of questions of the volunteer guides who were very approachable and extremely knowledgeable about the Cathedral and it's history.

Canterbury is the premier Cathedral for the Church of England and is famous (or infamous) for being the site of the murder of it's most famous Archbishop, Thomas Becket. Thomas was brutally slain on 29th December 1170 by four knights who thought that they were doing the bidding of King Henry II; by  'Ridding him of this Meddlesome Priest'.

Thomas was appointed Archbishop by Henry, but they fell out after Becket strived to increase the power of the church and make it independent of the monarchy. Following his death many miracles were attributed to Becket  who was later Canonized by Pope Alexander III in 1173. A shrine was built to Thomas and the Cathedral became one of the great pilgrimage destinations of Europe, made famous in Chaucer's Canterbury tales. (One day I think that I may walk the Pilgrims way from Winchester to Canterbury).

Several centuries later during King Henry VIII's dissolution of the Monasteries, Becket's shrine was wrecked and his remains were destroyed. However one theory suggests that the monks swapped the  remains and secreted Thomas's bones away, later burying them somewhere within the crypt. The site of where Becket's shrine once stood in Trinity Chapel is now marked by a single candle.

Whilst walking around the building I noticed lots of graffiti scratched into the pillars and walls going back over many centuries, vandalism obviously isn't just a modern day problem.

We had a fantastic weekend away with our friends and the visit to Canterbury Cathedral was definitely one of the highlights. So if you're ever in this part of Kent, I thoroughly recommend a visit to the City and it's Cathedral.

Snow in Snowdonia

Last week I managed to get away to the Welsh mountains for three days with some old mates for a spot of Fell walking, beer drinking and swapping of war stories. Even though we have just had the wettest January for over a hundred years we couldn't wait to get up into the hills. Fortunately we are all experienced hill walkers so had all the necessary equipment for Snowdonia in winter, ie: good quality waterproofs and warm clothing.

However before we could get up into the hills we had some work to do planning, risk assessing and preparing some activities for a future youth group camp to be held in and around the picturesque village of Beddgelert. The weather was bitterly cold and drizzley as we walked around the village and it's environs. So after a couple of hours and a successful reconnaissance we retired to a public house to carry out the necessary admin paperwork while we warmed up by a log fire with a steaming hot cup of coffee.

That evening we had a delicious meal in another Pub in Betws y coed, washed down with several pints of a very nice local ale, listening to the mellow sounds of a jazz band. On the TV the weather forecast predicted strong winds, rain and snow for the following day in our area. What fun!

We decided to climb Mount Snowdon via The Watkins path approaching the summit from the south via a narrow ridge offering panoramic views across the Snowdonia national park. There were not going to be any panoramic views today though as the cloud base was down to 400 metres apparently.

Our walk started gently enough following a track through ancient oak and birch woods into an open valley. We then followed a fast flowing river for a couple of kilometres, past old mine workings to the end of the valley where the path began to traverse steeply up to the snow covered ridge. The rain turned to sleet as we climbed higher and then as we got closer to the ridge line it changed to full on snow.

The snow got deeper until we had to resort to kicking steps into it in order to stop ourselves from  slipping on the icy rocks and grass. We found a sheltered area just under the ridge where we halted for a much needed cup of tea. In the short time that we stopped for this refreshment break the wind strength and snow fall increased to such an extent that it would prove to be too dangerous to climb up to the summit. Therefore we decided to retrace our steps, which were now totally obliterated.

Getting down from the ridge was much harder than the ascent because we were now heading directly into the gusting wind. I was trailblazing and even though my whole face was covered, apart from a small clear area to see, I was finding it difficult to navigate because the snow was whipping straight into my eyes. After slipping and falling over several times we eventually descended below the snow level and made our way off of the mountain, soaking wet but elated. What a fantastic way to spend a day out with your mates!