Twenty-nine trains

Monday 17th February was the day we had to check out of the flat we'd rented in York and return to London. The agency told us that other customers of theirs hadn't been so lucky with their accommodation, closer to the river, and had had to be evacuated during their stay! The Ouse had risen further during the night but the sandbags were holding. Citizens of York are used to this.

We didn't visit any more museums unless you count Clifford's Tower that Emma, Peter and the boys explored while Chris and I had a drink at the Castle Museum's café once again. After removing our luggage from the flat, Chris nearly falling down the steep stairs with it, we met Sally and Rob at the library on Museum Street before crossing the street for a relaxed farewell lunch at Bailey's Café (stowing our luggage under the stack of highchairs at the back) where Jenny joined us too.

The central library in York (Wikipedia image)

Watching the departures board at York station

York station, the London train arriving.

The ride to London on train No. 27 went smoothly, with countless views of flooded fields through the windows. For a brief moment we spotted Emma's old primary school at Welwyn Garden City as it flashed past, or as we flashed past. You get to think about relativity on train journeys, especially when half awake at stations when a train on the opposite platform pulls out and you think it's your train that's moving instead. Einstein who lived in Bern must noticed that effect through tram windows. He confessed that in 1905 the Zytglogge, the clocktower in old Bern, had been key to his insight. We alighted at Kings Cross, deciding to continue straight on to Teddington, changing at Vauxhall, on trains 28 and 29, the last two of this trip, for a family supper at the Pizza Express. No such opportunity to cross town from the Ottawa airport by train, because that line won't be in operation for another couple of years, although there are plans for it, so I couldn't bring my total number of train rides to 30.

On the London train

Before flying home from LHR to YOW we had another day to spend in London, our job on Tuesday being to take care of the boys, on holiday from school, while their parents were at work. Chris ambitiously chose to take Alex back into central London for half a day, again by train, of course, where they walked across the Thames and the city from Waterloo to the British Library (close to Kings Cross, indeed) so that they could look at the original Magna Carta manuscript, and take in some British history while about it. A few years ago, Alex had been to Runnymede with his parents and me, so had also seen the spot where it was signed. Anyway, he and Chris were amused to see that the scribe of those days had made a mistake and had been required to insert some missing words at the bottom of the manuscript, not having access to word processors in those days. They also learned about the Papal Bull that refuted the Magna Carta declarations and imagined how the arguments were carried to and forth.

Meanwhile Thomas and I stayed at home and attempted to tidy up, a bit. An impossible task really, after the family's recent kitchen renovation, but Tom did help me for a while as well as playing, Tom still waving his Viking shield around after that stimulating weekend, before we made a sortie on foot to Teddington and from there on the bus to Kingston, so that I could buy him a new winter coat in the sales. His old coat, a hand-me-down from his brother, was extremely grubby after all the playground warfare and visits to parks, and was starting to fall to pieces. This proved to be a very short expedition because we found a suitable coat immediately, on Floor 3 of the always reliable John Lewis department store next to the bus stops. There was no more shopping done because I was allowing my grandson to make all the decisions that day and he wanted to take the next bus home as soon as he had acquired his new, seven pocket, fur hooded coat. All day long, Tom chattered away to me, mostly about the plot of the Avengers, about which he knows a great deal, even details about the actors in that movie series. Tom is an entertaining narrator; his narrative hops around, but he adds realistic sound effects and aggressive body gestures to his description of the battle scenes. "Oh, by the way," he adds at the end of this, "there's kissing in it too. Yuck!" Tom then imitates vomiting. "Eeuch! All the boys in my class close their eyes at those bits, but the girls think it's sweet." More vomiting noises. Thomas doesn't (yet) like girls.

On Wednesday morning we were up betimes to check out of the Travelodge before 7 a.m. and catch the bus to Heathrow, where we had a notably easy check-in because the airport turned out to be half empty. This was probably due to this winter's Corona Virus pandemic scare. The plane for our AC889 flight that day was half empty too, so the conditions on board felt more comfortable than usual. There was a delay while some cargo was removed from the hold; the pilots' weight and balance calculations required this action. Too light at the front, otherwise. If you ask me they could have moved some of us Economy passengers into the almost entirely empty Business Class seats at the front of the plane that we could see from where we were sitting, but that would obviously be against company policy, these days. Never mind; the flight was punctual and we had a passing view of Greenland's snowy mountains and coastline. What always puts me into a state of awe is the foam from the Atlantic waves, visible from 30,000 + feet, and the frozen stretches of sea around Labrador.

Perhaps because the descent affected my ears or perhaps just because it is generally less noisy in Ottawa that in London, I liked the quietness when we returned home. And the clear, clean air.

The Rideau River, mid-February, near our house