England, here I come

Rhys in hurried mode on Wednesday. In a couple of hours I leave for England.  I haven't looked forward to a trip this much in years: I'm taking my two little granddaughters  to show them the British side of their heritage. They are 6 and 8 and  just at the perfect age for this trip. They are very much into Harry Potter and Narnia and I know they will be thrilled by real castles and by staying at their great aunt's manor house with its many staircases and side corridors and fireplace big enough to roast an ox. And Lizzie wants to go to the Portobello Road to see the antique stalls. And Meghan--well  she has announced to her kindergarten class that she's going to have tea with the queen. I'm not so sure how I'll manage that one! But we'lll definitely have a proper tea at the Ritz or Browns or somewhere horribly expensive but just right.

We'll be taking the girls to Bath where I was born. But I have nobody there now, so I'll be a tourist like everyone else. In fact for me going back to England is always a strange experience. Theoretically it's home but it doesn't feel like home any more. Maybe if I returned to my old village and everyone greeted me, it would be different. But the M25 now cuts through the middle of the village in Kent where I did most of my growing up and my old house with its rambling balconies and acre of wild orchard has been demolished to make way for the motorway.

Sometimes I feel like a total stranger--a visitor from Mars. As when I drove through a Midland city and found everyone wearing moslem dress--complete veils, men with beards and white tunics. I remember Pakistani immigrants from my childhood and they tried to Westernize and fit in. Now they have created a divisive culture. I find it very alarming.

So what do I enjoy about going back? Those occasional episodes when time has stood still. Down in Cornwall the pace is still slow and the people still so pleasant. When I was about to take a ferry last time I was hurrying because it was due to sail at 1 p.m.  An old man looked up from the quayside. "You don't need to rush, my lovey," he said, "He's still having his dinner."  That's what convinces me that some things are still right with England.

And the food. I do still crave English food after all these years. Good roast lamb on Sundays and fish and chips (the best we've found is at Usk in South Wales. Strange but true) and good pub food--ploughman's platter with crusty bread, great cheeses, home grown tomatoes. Sitting outside a pub beside a stream in summer, with a glass of shandy (or if I'm splurging, a Pimms) listening to the cooing of pigeons,the sound of an old fashioned lawn mower, watching swallows darting over the water, a punt drifting past. This is the England I long to recapture. I know it's lurking there. I hope I find it.

I'll be reporting back when I can

Rhys Bowen
www.rhysbowen.com