Half Term Break: Warwick Castle

One of the primary reasons I took this secondment in the UK was the chance to work on the Trent 1000 -TEN test program.  I've been targeting the test support gap in my skills as part of my "cradle to grave" mantra for a while now.  People who have lived through test programs learn ways of thinking and solving problems that those of us who've spent most of our time in the requirements or preliminary design world struggle to comprehend.  One of the biggest lessons is that reality never goes according to plan.  Case in point is below.

• Plan: The engine will be doing a set of tests that Shawn has been involved with right in the middle of the Derbyshire county half-term break in May.
• Shawn's response: This as an excuse to keep us in town (the real reason is we were worn out after Wales made 4 out-of-town trips in 4 months).
• Shawn's backup plan: The engine will run early in the week, so we could always keep our eyes open for a good deal within 3 hrs of driving.
• The reality: The engine test Shawn was involved with didn't run until late Friday night.  Other than a brief phone call while making coffee cake with the girls on Saturday morning, Shawn's capable colleagues handled the (not entirely) unforeseen SNAFU just fine.
• The lesson learned: We should have gone to Scotland for the week.  Okay, maybe not.  The truth is we all enjoyed the chance for time off that didn't involve a major change of scenery.

We took advantage of being in town to meet up with Sharon, a friend of mine from high school in Kenya now living in Birmingham, and her two boys, at Warwick Castle.  At just about an hour's drive from Melbourne, it worked well for a day trip.  Here's a photo that Kristine took from up on the castle wall.  Doesn't look bad for being 1,100 years old.

Partly because of the fluid engine test situation, and partly because of my not being on top of things, we had to buy tickets when we arrived.  That meant £24.00 each for Kristine and I, and £20.00 for the girls (Clare was free).  I was not impressed at first.  I've gotten used to the prices at the National Trust sites, which are much more economical (free for us now because of our membership, but on the order of £4.00 per person otherwise).  That said, my stinginess thawed over the course of the day.  One reason was the peacocks in the gardens at the front entrance.  This was a first for the girls, who were delighted.

As a child, I frequently saw roaming peacocks at a popular stop on the drive from Nairobi to Mombasa.  One of my powerful memories is of a particularly aggressive male attacking one of my siblings. I was more than a bit apprehensive with these ones.  My apprehensiveness was unfounded.  These peacocks were content to roam the gardens on their own side of the fence, display their colors, and make loud noises.  The only downside was that their loud noises were awfully close to a crying child.  And Clare, being a curious mimic, tried to figure out how to sound like a peacock.  She proceeded to practice her peacock sounds for many days after we visited the castle.

The castle grounds have a pretty extensive set of Horrible Histories exhibits about life at the castle during different time periods.  I had heard of the Horrible Histories (they were the basis for Elise's Year 3 curriculum at school), but had not had any direct exposure.  Each exhibit had a variety of activities with varying levels of educational value.  They also had two or three actors dressed in period garb, and in character for the castle during their time frame.

My favorite was the Gorgeous Georgians.  Not because of the fancy hair activities (which the girls enjoyed greatly).  I enjoyed it because I thought the actors did the best job.  The young woman in the photo below was the daughter of the castle lord.  She had an older woman acting as her chaperone.  The woman had a real name, but the younger woman called her Lady Wobble-bottom in honor of her broad girth and love of eating cake.

At one point, on hearing Kristine say something to the girls, the young woman said (in a very loud, properly aristocratic voice) "Speak again!  Where are you from?"
Kristine: Indianapolis.
Lady Wobble-bottom, they're from the colonies and they've come to visit.
Kristine: Actually, we live in Melbourne.
Oh, how lovely.  They're from the colonies, and they live in other colonies, and they're here for a visit.

Evidently even the Horrible Histories don't know about Melbourne in England.

Each exhibit had cutouts where you could poke your face through for a photo.  All three girls enjoyed this immensely.

Elise and Charis also got a chance to get put in stocks.

I enjoyed the mix of humor and education that the Horrible Histories look for.  The instructions for how to build a longboat are a good example.

If you followed those instructions, maybe you'd get a longboat like this one.

A close second favorite as far as the exhibits was the trebuchet.  They lose points for having the fellow on the other side of the stream use a microphone to make his speech (although that was perfectly understandable) and for the musical soundtrack that blared through the loudspeakers before his speech began.  The fellow did a good job with his speech.  It was rousing, passionate, full of important details about how the trebuchet would strike fear into their enemies' hearts and bring them glorious victory.  Buried in that speech were two important statements.

The first one: It's assembled with no metal pieces.  All the wood fits together.  Like going to IKEA, except that you don't have any leftover bits.

The second one: Sometimes, wars are not won with weapons.  Sometimes they are not won with horses and men.  Sometimes, you just need an engineer.

Was anyone listening (say, young children who are intent on being authors, illustrators, and librarians)?  And if they were listening, did that second statement stick in their brains?  We shall see.

The trebuchet in action.

I'm not sure if it was because of being half-term break, but there were quite a few people at the castle.  As a consequence, doing anything indoors felt extremely crowded.  In general I wasn't very thrilled with the indoor exhibits we saw.  There was a princess tower with an actress who guided the children through an exercise to free an enchanted prince from a photo and reunite him with his love.  Parents weren't very impressed.  I didn't hear the girls come out chattering about how much they liked it.  No doubt my 8 yr old blog editor will disagree when she reads that line (although she can't make me change it since it doesn't have any spelling or grammar errors).

On looking back at the photos, I probably didn't give them enough credit because I was so busy feeling claustrophobic.  These antlers, for example, are impressive (as are the weapons you can barely see hanging on the wall next to them).

Part of the reason for my claustrophobia was that a good portion of the larger rooms was blocked off. This was to protect the items on display, but didn't leave much room for making your way through the hordes of visitors.

There was space for us to pose for a photo with a wax figure of Henry VIII.

Sharon's boys were good sports about having to spend so much time in the stroller.  By the time we grabbed a bench to sit down and eat lunch, they were ready to get out though.  Elise and Josiah took advantage of the down time to run around in the courtyard.  Crowded rooms with under appreciated displays are in the main wing of the castle shown.  The (underwhelming) princess tower is accessed through the stairs to the left of the golden lion flag.

Being there with Sharon meant we were also able to get a rare photo of the whole family.

In addition to the actors at exhibits that run all day, like the Horrible Histories, there are several one-time performances.  We got to see two of them.  The first was a staged series of duels to earn the title Master of Chivalry.  Two honorable young gentlemen in red squared off against a dishonorable gentleman and his young protoge in black.  Each person on each team fought each person on the other team.  It culminated when the dishonorable protoge looked like he would lose his second fight, so his mentor jumped in.  The red fellow on the sidelines jumped in as well, resulting in all four guys fighting at once.  The weapons choreography, which I got photos of, was impressive.  Some of the other choreography (e.g., falling down when the other fellow's leg sweeps a couple feet away from yours) was a little obvious.

You see the crowds of people in the courtyard watching the duels?  Right after the contest was over, the heavens opened and we had pouring down rain for about 15 minutes.  This created stampedes for the few places that provided shelter (remember my previous comments about the interior being cramped).  We wound up putting on raincoats, pulling covers over the stroller, and huddling under the tree behind the yellow flag here because none of the arches or overhangs had space to squeeze a party of six plus stroller.  Fortunately, as seems to be typical of English weather, the rain passed pretty quickly.

We hung around the roped in field for an exhibit with birds of prey.  The exhibit almost didn't happen because the rain would have made the birds' wings too wet for them to fly.  As it was, the skies were clear enough that the birds were okay (although not clear enough that the folks watching took off raincoats or put down umbrellas).  This owl is a baby - about six months old - so he's still in training. That meant he didn't have to fly around and return to the handler's glove to get a piece of meat.  He just had to make a circuit of the posts in the field.

He may have been still in training, but he was remarkably calm about all the people gathered around to watch him.  Since he didn't know how to fly from the field to a different handler, he got to go into the crate with the black walls that was at the top of the field.

There were several other birds in the exhibit, including an Egyptian Harpy Eagle and an American Bald Eagle.  The sequence for them was to land on the handler's glove, get launched into the air, fly in a circle, and then return to his glove for some more meat.  We were standing at the bottom of the field in the middle.  This was great for seeing the birds and hearing the handler talk about them.  It also meant we were right in the middle of their flight path when they returned to his glove.  That wasn't a problem for everybody else.  The girls enjoyed seeing the birds up so close.  The only person it was difficult for was me.  Let's just say that the flight path for a large bird of prey is not a comfortable location when you're 6'5."  I would have gotten some good pictures if I'd had my act together instead of being so busy flinching.

The largest bird was this eagle from Kamchatka.

She was large enough that when the handler launched her off his glove, she had to fly to the top of one of the castle towers to be able to glide back for her meat.  This had something to do with the moisture in the air from the rain, which added weight to her wings.  Kristine and Elise climbed that tower after the exhibit was over.  Here's the view.

And here's the happy (if somewhat bedraggled) Elise enjoying her climb.

And a final farewell shot of the courtyard where the chivalry duels were performed.  It was a day well spent.  Pricier than I would have liked, but I think the sophistication in the different exhibits gave us our money's worth.

Saying Goodbye Service at Derby Cathedral

It has been 10 years since Kristine and I lost our first child to miscarriage.  It has been 4 years since we experienced our third miscarriage.  It has been 2 years since I wrote a book that I thought completed my miscarriage journey. After all, if I wrote a book to tell a story, doesn't that mean the story is complete? 

  

In Letters to My Unborn Children, I wrote to my children about a narrative of hope.  Kristine and I would speak into the darkness of death and shattered dreams that the miscarriages represented.  My life today is full of new-ness.  We have 3 healthy, lively children.  We just made an intercontinental move to the UK.  It fulfills a decades old dream to live in the land of my father.  

Yet in the midst of it I feel empty.  Against all of these dreams, a defensive antagonism rises up within me.  These dreams are not the ones that ended when my children died.  But my antagonistic response is somehow tied to their deaths.  Instead of redemptive beauty, woven into the fabric of our family's life, I see only a dark blot.  Like the dark blot of miscarriage, these new dreams are obstacles to be overcome; not adventures to be experienced.  I am unable to face them with hope or gentleness.  Instead, I face them with hostility.  When I try to think about it, the hostility takes me back to a guttural cry of agony after our third miscarriage.

My child died.  The world was silent.  The cosmos were silent.  I am alone.

This despair brings me to Derby Cathedral on a Saturday afternoon in May for the Saying Goodbye service.  I wonder if facing the miscarriages again will help me face this deeper sense of despair that is so powerfully linked to them.  I am encouraged by the information about the services: they are for anyone who has lost a baby, whether the loss was yesterday or 80 years ago.  It's been 10, so I guess I qualify.  

I am here alone.  Kristine and I discussed whether I would bring Elise and Charis.  We decided not to.  We are open with them about the miscarriages.  But attendance at services like this is a new experience, so we decide to let them stay home.  I take a seat alone in a pew, and find that my solitude is not unique.  No pews have more than 4 or 5 people in them.  Some are families with children.  Some are couples.  Some are individuals.

The opening hymn is a tune I know: Bunessan, or Morning Has Broken.  The text is new.  I cannot sing through the first line before I break down in tears.

Fleetingly known, yet ever remembered, 

These are our children now and always. 

These whom we see not, we will forget not,

Morning and evening, all of our days.

I take a deep breath and try again on the second verse.  Still the tears come.

Lives that touched our lives, tenderly briefly, 

Now in the one light, living always, 

Named in our hearts now, safe from all harm now, 

We will remember all of our days.

I try one more time.  This time I am able to whisper the words.

As we recall them, silently name them, 

Open our hearts Lord, now and always, 

Grant to us grieving, love for the living, 

Strength for each other all of our days.

Safe in your peace Lord, hold these your children, 

Grace, light and laughter grant them each day, 

Cherish and hold them till we may know them, 

When to your glory we find our way.

This is not a gathering of people who have overcome their grief.  There are no celebratory songs of victory.  We are not closing the past into a space from which it cannot touch us anymore.  The lives were real.  The loves and hopes were real.  Their absence hurts.  We can be honest about that.  

I find that being here alone gives me freedom to cry.  I see couples exchanging embraces, and I wonder if others are also crying.  I need these tears.  The tears enable gentleness to become present in my grief.  They dissolve some of my angry defensiveness as I listen to the gentle narrative of hope offered by the songs in the service.  

You were just a small bump unborn for four months then torn from life.   Maybe you were needed up there but we're still unaware as why (Ed Sheeran).

A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping, Rachel is weeping for her children.  She refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more ... there is a reward for your work, says the Lord: They shall come back from the land of the enemy.  There is hope for your future says the Lord: your children shall come back to their own country (Jeremiah 31:15, 17).

I pray you'll be our eyes, and watch us where we go, and help us to be wise, in times when we don't know.  Let this be our prayer when we lose our way.  Lead us to a place; guide us with Your grace; give us faith so we'll be safe (the arrangement by Celine Dion and Andre Bocelli).

The homily closes with the words of this Easter hymn.

When our hearts are saddened, grieving or in pain,

By Your touch You call us back to life again;

Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:

Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

Part way through the service, the Saying Goodbye volunteers offer a chance to ring a bell in memory our lost babies.  I close my eyes and ring three times.

Baby Collins, died in Hartford, April 2004

Baby Collins, died in Hartford, September 2004

Baby Collins, died in Indianapolis, March 2010

The service concludes with John Rutter's arrangement of the Old Testament Aaronic blessing.  The Lord bless you and keep you.  The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you.  The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon you and give you peace.  Amen.

The voices from the small choir swell to fill the sanctuary.  I am reminded of the creation myth from Tolkien's Silmarrillion.  Melkor sought to change the creation by introducing discordant music.  Iluvatar sang a creative, redemptive response to Melkor's chaos.  The discord was loud.  At times it felt overwhelming.  Yet Iluvatar's creative response was not silenced.  

As the service ends, I make my way again to the front of the sanctuary.  The three candles I lit for my unborn children are joined by candles that others have also lit.  I whisper a brief prayer of thanks for the two hours on a weekend that Kristine and the girls gave me to be out of the house.  I needed to say goodbye again.  I needed to remember again.  I needed a gentle nudge to face my current darkness with hope.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.