We've been here before..

But, yet again, life in Nowhere-on-Thames has begun to revolve around the "Thames" part.
On a daily basis, the Environment Agency's robot phones us to warn that we may have some flooding, and exhorts us to move our valuables upstairs, just in case.

TH has been more preoccupied than usual by this turn of events, as it's the time of year when we renew our house insurance. And, of course, this is the year when the Government has decided to save yet more money by ceasing to provide some support to insurers, and hence the insured, in the form of financial support in case of flood. He spent a long time on the phone to our current insurers, who in turn, very helpfully spent a long time on the phone to their underwriters, and in the end they called to say that they would indeed continue to insure us at fairly modest cost, despite the river Thames' frequent insistence on trying to move into our garden.


Although it still hasn't actually flooded here since the 1940's,  we are nevertheless seeing  the river creep closer and closer to the road, and after the road there's not a lot separating it from our house. 

For the second time in 3 weeks, the local golf course looks like this:

This is the fairway on the 16th..


Just up the road, the town of Staines recently officially changed its name to Staines-upon-Thames. A change they may now be regretting, as there is an increasing chance that they could, any day, become Staines-under-Thames, or Thames-upon-Staines.

Military manoeuvres

Well, this weekend, Nowhere-on-Thames has been crawling with troops and members of the press. Nothing exciting has been happening in N-o-T itself, you understand. It’s just that Somewhere-on-Thames has been largely sealed off as the neighbours (or, as they are better known, HM the Q and the DoE) have been hosting a couple of celebrations for the Diamond Jubilee.

On Friday, we were largely left to go about our normal business, although there were periodic traffic hold-ups as the Crowned Heads of here, there and everywhere turned up at the castle for a spot of luncheon, and Nicholas Wychell and the BBC news team cluttered up the pavement outside WH Smith to report on nothing very much at all.

By this morning, however, we were effectively imprisoned in our homes as the whole area was sealed off and 3000 troops plus their families and friends arrived for a Jubilee Armed Services Parade.

TH is anything but an ardent royalist, and my feelings towards the monarchy are best described as ambivalent, but TH was persuaded to venture out and watch the proceedings on the basis that there was to be a flypast of some 70-odd aircraft, and that’s a man thing.  Besides, we couldn’t go anywhere much by car, as all the roads had been closed, and what traffic there was in the village was largely made up of people trying to find a way around the resultant impasse.  

We set out to walk down the road to the castle, hoping to get a reasonable vantage point at the gate where the parade was due to enter the castle grounds for the final part of the proceedings. As the grounds have been churned up anyway (last week was the horse show), they’d obviously decided to make the most of the upheaval by creating a stadium on the same site to accommodate all the invited family members. The start of the parade was 10.30 a.m., but these poor folk had been told to take their seats by 9.30, and so were being entertained by a military band as they waited patiently for the parade and the royals to arrive. Thus, as the sound carries some distance, we walked down the centre of the road to town to the accompaniment of a medley of themes from the James Bond films floating over the river from the castle. 

We managed to squeeze quite comfortably onto the end of the crowd outside the gate, in a prime spot next to a bank of photographers from the press.  Having seen the TV news coverage of the event, it seems we were lucky in our choice of spot, as the main part of S-o-T and the starting point of the parade were very crowded indeed.

And so began a Long Wait…not as long as some, it seems, judging by the camping chairs and supplies of food and drink that were in evidence, but then we hadn’t had far to come. After what seemed like an age, but was only about half an hour, the procession began to arrive. Not before a flypast of nine Tornadoes, which caught me and the press corps completely by surprise, so my first photo opportunity was missed entirely. After that, I reached an accommodation with the person just in front of me, whereby she would lean to her right and I to her left, thus avoiding me taking several dozen snaps of the back of her head.

                                                     We even had our very own pensive policeman.....

Hats off to the Army, Navy and Air Force! If there’s one thing we seem to do extremely well in this country, it’s a parade. And this one was no exception.  Like a well-oiled machine, the troops trooped away for what seemed like ages, resplendent in their best uniforms, all shiny and ship-shape. It was a fabulous sight. 

  

After quite a long delay, the Royal Couple drove by in their car, followed somewhat incongruously by a few people in a silver minibus (I assume this wasn’t the other Crowned Heads who’d stayed on after the luncheon) and we were faced with a wait of almost 40 minutes before the flypast.

Local Knowledge being a good thing, we realised we’d probably see the flypast better from another vantage point closer to home, so we began the walk back, stopping off at the park to wait for the planes. My photography skills were tested to the limit for this bit, as trying to spot the approaching tiny grey specks in a vast expanse of almost equally grey sky was quite tricky, and these planes don’t exactly hang about for a photo opportunity, so my thanks go out to the Red Arrows for alerting me to their position through the judicious use of coloured smoke.

                                             Thanks for the help, Red Arrows!

After a brisk walk home (this time to the accompaniment of the National Anthem and a selection of Rousing Military Tunes) it was time for a late lunch, and to settle in for the long wait until we were free to go forth by car once more.

That’s it now until the next Great Upheaval.  Apparently they’ve sold 30,000 tickets for the Olympic Rowing. Guess where the spectators will arrive in order to be conveyed to the venue?

The gory tale of a Small Blue Plaque..

 Having been a resident of N-o-T for lo, these umptyteen years, I have walked the streets of neighbouring Somewhere-on-Thames on many occasions. Now, walking its streets isn’t always easy, as they’re frequently cluttered up with tourists, or the spectators who congregate for the regular Royal Weddings, State Visits, Horse Shows and various other events which the neighbours keep organising.  It is wise to keep your wits about you and your eyes open, lest you be mown down by a flotilla of Japanese visitors on a whirlwind European tour, or even by Sarko’s mother and ma-in-law on a shopping spree (some years on, I’m still amazed that he got away with that one: I mean, wangling a State Visit is pretty normal, but getting the invitation extended to both mamans is a bit of a nerve, IMO. I think probably the DoE put a word in, on the grounds that he fancied Carla).

Anyway, it dawned on me some months back that I really have not Paid Attention.  Far from keeping my eyes open, I seem to have been walking around with them shut. Shut, that is, to some of the more interesting sights and signs that were displayed right in front of them.  

 On one of our regular strolls into Somewhere-on-Thames, my eye was drawn to a Blue Plaque on a wall in a quite out-of-the way corner, not far from the railway station.  It hides a tale of some mystery, quite a lot of religious prejudice and fervour, and a stitch-up that makes the McCarthy era seem like the epitome of free speech and fair trials….

Here is the plaque:

The "burnt at the stake" part rather grabbed my attention and I began scouring the internet in an effort to learn more about these poor men.

Because it’s a long story and because it would be wrong of me to endeavour to summarise it in a few words here, I give you a link to the fascinating story behind it.

http://www.thamesweb.co.uk/windsor/windsorhistory/winmartyr.html 

It is by far one of the most interesting bits of our local history that I’ve discovered, and I’m surprised that it’s taken me so very long to even notice the plaque and learn of the existence of the Windsor Martyrs.