Family matters...

7 September 1989

This was the last day of the V. International Otter Colloquium. I passed the time taking photos, writing postcards, spending more money in the Otter-Shop, and saying goodbyes.

Back at Eichenhof, I packed my bags as I listened to Mozart on my Walkman. I'm generally a very self-critical person, but at least in this instance, I had no problem telling myself "job well done." I'd made a real name for myself here, secured a position in an elite Ph.D. program, and made many professional contacts that would surely benefit me in the years to come.

For the first time in my life, I knew what it felt like to reach a pinnacle of achievement, and I totally relished it. I was convinced beyond any doubt that this conference had been the beginning of a brilliant new career.

 

1-8 September 1989

All arrangements for our lodging were made by the Otter Colloquium staff, but I couldn't have been happier with the hostelry they chose for my week's stay: "Eichenhof," in the village of Räderloh. The name means "Oak Court" in English; the house being nestled in a grove of stately Quercus patraea. Thirty years later, and I still remember this place fondly for its comfort, quietude, and the high level of hospitality afforded its guests.



My own photos from 1989:


Such a lovely old home!


Inscription from 1846 by the Harms family.


Hallway leading to the guest rooms and kitchen.


The dining room.


Our gracious hostess.


My room at Eichenhof: "Linde."


Behind the main house.


Chris Mason and Shiela Macdonald stayed in this quaint little cabin.


View of the pasture from Chris and Shiela's front door.
All photos by J Scott Shannon.



I was happy to see that Eichenhof is still owned by the same family as it was when I visited in 1989. What a wonderful life it must be to give comfort to so many weary travelers over the years in such enchanting surroundings.

 

4 September 1989

Today was the official opening day of the V. International Otter Colloquium.


IUCN/SSC Otter Specialist Group Chairman Pat Foster-Turley giving her opening address.

The first lecture session was devoted to reports on the status of otters in Europe, the Americas, Africa and Asia. However, for me, the big development that morning was that, during the first coffee break, I showed my poster to a colleague from Scotland, and on the spot, Dr. J. W. H. Conroy offered me a Ph.D. position at the University of Aberdeen. He said my findings were "...very new, very exciting!," and would I like to come work with him. Absolutely! This was precisely the kind of offer I'd come here hoping for in the first place. To a budding otter biologist, to study under Jim Conroy was the academic opportunity of a lifetime.

I was so excited that I couldn't sit still during the afternoon session, so I went for a walk around the grounds again, then had coffee with Dr. Jim Estes, the world's authority on the biology of the sea otter. He was going to be presenting some of my findings in his lecture tomorrow, so it was important for us to talk today.

In the evening, the attendees were bused to Gifhorn Castle for dinner. Very elegant! According to my diary, I sat next to Dr. Conroy and Liam Sullivan from Ireland, and spoke with Dr. Patrick Dugan about wetlands.


Gifhorn Castle courtyard. Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

Tomorrow was going to be my big day. I had no idea yet just how big it would turn out to be!

 

2 September 1989

Saturday began with quiet formality, and ended with great festiveness!

In the morning was the scheduled meeting of the IUCN/SSC Otter Specialist Group, of which I was a member at the time. Brief reports were given about the status of otters in each country, followed by a discussion of the OSG's Action Plan, which summarized the various threats facing otters worldwide, and set out recommendations for their conservation, and for research.



Also discussed were initiatives for promoting otters as symbols of wetland preservation, and fund raising for the OSG.

As the day progressed, more and more attendees gathered at the Otter-Zentrum. Those of us who were giving poster presentations were shown our respective spaces. Mine was perfect for my purposes. It had ample room for displaying my findings, and it was immediately adjacent to one of two video rooms. I also received the very welcome news that Claus had managed to find a VCR that played the NTSC video format. This had been a big concern of mine, since my presentation depended in large measure on the video I'd compiled of my otters' social and maternal behavior.

After the SSC meeting, a small group of us decided to head into Hankensbüttel and hit up the local pub for lunch and some schnapps. I think my companions were Jim Conroy, Pat Foster-Turley, Chris Mason and Shiela Macdonald, but that's relying on memory, not my diary, so I can't be certain. Anyway, after that, it was back to my guest house for a nap. Drinking during the daytime always makes me sleepy, and I knew even more drinking was ahead of me that evening, so I needed a breather to recover in the meantime.

The first major social gathering of the meeting was our welcome dinner at die Lübener Tenne, in a village immediately adjacent to the East/West German border. We'd all heard in advance that the main entree was going to be sheep brains – a local culinary curiosity that did not enthuse me in the least. (It enthused me even less when I saw it on my plate.) Consequently, I ate mostly bread and potatoes that evening. And, according to my diary, I had 5 beers and as many shots of schnapps. Hoo-boy. Perhaps needless to say, I got wasted.


Inside die Lübener Tenne. Still looks the same after all these years! (Photo courtesy Lübener Tenne.)

After we were done with all our dinner and conversation, I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette and clear my head a little. Then, I got the bright idea to try to walk to the East German border! It was only about 1000m away, so why not? As I walked eastward along the unlit street, though, I wondered if approaching an armed border in the dead of night might be a little reckless. My drunk imagination visualized a headline in tomorrow's newspaper: U.S. OTTER BIOLOGIST SHOT AT EAST GERMAN BORDER. Unfortunately/fortunately for me, however, not too far along, the street turned southward, and I couldn't find any other road or path that would take me in my intended direction. So, I had to stagger back to the tavern disappointed that I wasn't going to be seeing the East German border on this trip, after all.

Rode the bus back home sitting next to an equally-drunk Clarence Wright. I don't remember now exactly what we talked about, but we sure had some good laughs, whatever it was!

 

1 September 1989

I didn't realize it until I turned on the TV in my hotel room that morning, but this day – 1 September 1989 – was the 50th anniversary of the beginning of World War II. Now I sensed the reason the staff here had seemed so subdued when I checked in the night before. Today, they were downright somber. (Germans don't take kindly to being shamed, but this anniversary forced them to recall and confront their nation's collective guilt for the devastation it wrought on Europe two generations past.)

All the TV stations were covering the historic commemoration. Then, during my channel surfing, I came across a black and white signal of distinctly poor quality. It turned out to be East German state television's coverage of the anniversary! Wow. I knew we were close to the border here in Celle, but seeing this broadcast from behind the Iron Curtain really brought the division between East and West home to me.

My accommodations for the colloquium wouldn't be ready until late this afternoon, so I had a lot of time to kill today. After breakfast and writing a letter to my friend, Paul, I went for a stroll around Celle. It was a charming old pastoral town, but curiously, the streets were mostly deserted, probably due at least in part to the solemn remembrance previously noted.


Half-timbered houses in present-day Celle, Germany. Photo by Pschemp at Wikimedia Commons.

As I perambulated, one thing I quickly noticed – and which rather amused me – was how much I physically blended in with the local populace. Everyone had my same fair complexion and hair color. Even men who wore spectacles typically had 'granny glasses' like mine. The townsfolk were very neighborly to me, too, smiling and saying "Guten Morgen," usw. But you should have seen the looks on their faces when the person I'm sure they thought was local replied in German with an American accent! Much amusement followed when I'd tell them I was really a Yank, and say something in American English. Then they were even more welcoming and friendly! Such delightful people. I never forgot that warm feeling I got from almost everyone I met in Lower Saxony. It really felt like home to me... and made me imagine that maybe, just maybe, this area of Germany really was the home of my biological ancestors...


My passport photo from 1989. Bin ich eigentlich ein verirrter Niedersachsener?

Lunch at the hotel was a different experience. At the restaurant's entrance was a tall aquarium containing two or three dozen domesticated individuals of the species Salmo trutta. Having taken a couple of courses in ichthyology at Humboldt State, and personally studying critters who ate a lot of fish, I had a strong academic interest in matters piscatorial, so I took a distinct pleasure at watching the sub-carangiform motions of the silvery-scaled trout as they swam lazily around their glassy enclosure.

After being seated and now fancying fish, I ordered a dish called "Forelle." I confess, that particular word had not yet entered my German vocabulary, otherwise I wouldn't have been so surprised when the waiter brought my plate and upon it found two of the very same trout I had enjoyed watching in their tank only minutes before. Huh. So, these fish had been killed and cooked just for me. I was a little bummed by that thought, despite being a biologist who was intimately familiar with the circle of life. I much preferred seeing them alive than as bony carcasses on my plate, and wished then that I'd ordered something else. (My unwitting victims were tasty, though!)

Finally, after packing, and with nothing else left to do, I sat in the lobby with my luggage, read a few pages of "Ring of Bright Water" that I'd brought along on my trip, and waited for my ride to the colloquium venue. It was at that time that I met another of the attendees who also happened to be staying at the Celler Tor: a colleague by the name of Clarence Wright, who I had heard of but had thus far not had the pleasure of meeting. I knew him to be a good friend and associate of otter expert Joseph A. Davis, Jr., with whom I'd been carrying on a correspondence for going on 10 years. Both Joe and Clarence were curators of mammals at zoos in Chicago: Joe at Brookfield, and Clarence at Lincoln Park.

Anyway, as was typical of people who worked with otters, Clarence was a chipper and friendly fellow, and we hit it off immediately. We would share many good times at the conference, and I remember him with great fondness. Then, around 1500, our ride came, and off we went to Otter Ground-Zero.

 

In the back of my little spiral diary, I made a list of things I wanted to remember but probably didn't have room to write about them in the main text. So, let's see how many of these I actually have remembered!



1. An advert that seemed to be on every double-decker bus in London at the time.
2. Road signs in the UK.
3. A bumper sticker that was ubiquitous on cars in Copenhagen at the time. It means "We're changing our name to Chevron."
4. "One Way" sign.
5. The street our hotel was on in Copenhagen.
6 & 7. Danish spellings of Copenhagen and Elsinore.



(no #8)
9. The Ogre Tree and the church organ in Sorø. I was going to post a photo of this gnarly tree when I was doing Denmark but decided the picture was too blurry.
10. Bangsbo Plads was the street where Florence's friend Greta Long lived. https://goo.gl/maps/oZFxqEdm93xizMrk8
11. In diary text. "The Worst Restaurant in the World"
12. In text. Everyone knows this place.
13. Ubiquitous newsagent in the UK.
14. "TAXI" signs in Denmark
15. Number of steps in the tower of Westminster Cathedral.
16. In text.
17. A raised circular emblem or badge mounted above the clock face of Jack Carrington's 18th century grandfather clock.
18. In text.
19. ITV's nighttime news program.
20. University Quiz was a game show. (Similar to "College Bowl" in the US.)
21. Don't Ask Us We're New Here was a TV show.
22. Magic Roundabout was a kids TV show.
23. Don't remember, though if I had to guess, it would be a humorous nickname for Florence. (-1)
24. Bishop Absalom was the founder of Copenhagen.
25. Toy brand.
26. Alexander Korda. A famous film director. I watched a documentary about him on TV at Florence's at least twice. Found it fascinating.
27. Saw these at Birdland.
28 & 29. Department stores in Skipton.
30. Everybody knows Marks & Sparks!
31. Fortnum & Mason was another chain department store.
32. St. Michael's was the store brand for Marks & Sparks.
33. Manby's Comet was the name embossed on the back of Florence's fireplace.
34. I would have missed this except at some point I scribbled a notation 'tele', so this was probably the maker of Florence's television.
35. Florence's radio's maker.
36. Florence's mantle clock maker.
37. Raikeswood Hospital: the building and grounds visible from the window in Florence's parlor.
38: An iron manhole cover near the intersection of Salisbury Street and Gargrave Road in Skipton made this sound every time a car ran over it.
39. My attempt at drawing a TV station logo.



40. No idea. (-1)
41. As the crib note indicated, this was evidently a song I liked on the radio.
42. The tall elderly porter at the Carlton Hotel in Edinburgh that I was so fond of. So I guess Odie still was there in 1969, after all! I remember my mom gave him a Kennedy half dollar as a tip in 1967. You should have seen the man's face glow with gratitude when he accepted it from Mother.
43. The formal name of Florence's workplace.
44. The logo on Florence's toaster.
45 & 46. Florence's favorite candies.
47. The brand of sugar Florence used.
48. More candy.
49. In text. The history book Mary Wales lent to me.
50. Gibbs SR is toothpaste. It tastes exactly like Colgate. (I still have the remains of a tube of it from 1969, but I was too bothered to post a photo of it.)
51. I would not have guessed this if not for the later notation. (-1)
52. The Empress was the make of Florence's toilet.
53. No idea. The illegible note is no help. (-1)
54. Same as 51. (-1)
55. London Underground sign.
56. (-1)
57 & 58. Cat names. I don't remember whose. (-2)
59. Very tasty gum!
60. Amy Egan's was a shop in Skipton.
61. No idea. (-1)
62. In text. UK equivalent of Snickers.
63. A TV show.
64. Book title. I bought the US edition after I returned home. Still have it!
65. I don't know. (-1)
66 & 67. Folk names for insects.
68. Sylvio's was a restaurant in Skipton.



69. Stationers in Skipton.
70. The local paper for Skipton and environs.
71. The motto carved in stone over the gatehouse of Skipton Castle.
72. I should know this. It's a logo of some sort. (-1)
73. No Parking in Denmark.
74. A nonsense song Florence sang. "The sun has got his hat on. Hip hip hip hooray! The sun has got his hat on and he's coming out to play."
75 & 76. Songs Jack Carrington sang.
77. "The Old Rover".
78. Another song of Jack's.
79. Florence always said this to me at bedtime.
80. Florence's office number at the NHS.
81. One hot day, the nosepiece of my glasses created a dark vertical line of sweat and skin oils between my eyebrows. Florence saw it and said "You have a line of muck there." We both cracked up hearing her say that, and we couldn't stop laughing!
82 & 83. The number of steps in the two staircases in Florence's flat.
84. I guess this was an animal character I liked, but I can't bring it to mind. Googling didn't help. (-1)
85. Florence's place mats.
86. Florence's silverware.
87. Artist of the painting over Florence's mantle. It was an original Lowry. I imagine it would be quite valuable now.
88-90. TV shows.
91. Markings on Florence's salt and pepper shakers.
92. I guess was the actual name of Florence's office. So (-1) for my previous answer.
93. Nope. (-1)
94. The stops on our train trip from Leeds to Kings Cross.
95. The Britrail logo.
96. Florence's car registration plate.
97. Don't know what Quiffy refers to. (-1) ("Danger" was apparently the very last word I heard on the BBC as I turned the TV off at our hotel in Gatwick.)
98. I know what Scarborough is, but I don't know what this refers to specifically. (-1)
99. Self-explanatory.
100. Fire hydrant marker.



101-114. I remember all of these.

So, I missed 16 out of 113. 85% = a solid 'B'!

 

13 August 1969

One of the ways I was unusual as a youngster was that I almost always preferred the company of adults. If a family came to visit us, Mother would have to force me to play with the kids they brought over. I didn't want to! I much preferred to stay with the grownups and listen to their grownup conversations.

However, after over 6 weeks on this trip being around nothing but grownups, I genuinely missed the company of my own age group, so I was delighted that, when we went to visit John and Nellie Walsh this evening, two of their grandchildren were there, and I got to hang out with them.




Peter was a little younger than me, and Jillian a bit older, but we were all close enough in age that we got along great. Unexpectedly, everyone had gifts for me.



Pretty sure John gave me the spirit level. I thought it was a strange thing to give a boy like me, but over the years since, it's turned out to be one of my most-often-used tools. The stapler came from Jillian. I've kept it in its original condition to this day, though I've used junior staplers like this most of my life.

The most fun gifts were Peter's toy cigarettes. Here's Mom and me hamming it up with them.




I kept my gag cigarette for years until the adhesive broke down and the thing came apart. No sense keeping it after that.

Anyway, this was my one fun time with others of my generation during my 1969 trip, and I've remembered it fondly ever since. I wonder what Peter and Jillian ended up doing with their lives?

 

12 August 1969

The story I'm telling today is actually the one that inspired me to write this whole series of posts to begin with.

This is my favorite photo of all the ones that were taken of me during our 1969 visit to the UK. It shows me letting a handful of pebbles slowly fall from my hand into the River Wenning in Low Bentham in the rural West Riding of Yorkshire. I always liked the composition of the shot: the way I'm leaning at an angle, how that angle matches that of the curb, the bend in the road ahead, and the quaint old stone houses in the background.



On this day, 50 years ago, we accompanied Florence as she made her rounds as District Nurse for the National Health Service. Her first stop was at the police station in the village of Settle. While Florence did whatever it was she was there to do, Mother and I wandered around the market square, and of course, I found my way to an antique shop. Inside, against one wall, was a coin dealer, and after a brief perusal, I found these two old expatriated U.S. cents.



A few years before, I remembered reading an article in the magazine COINage about collectors sometimes finding old American coins in foreign lands, which, because the natives are not familiar with them, could sometimes be bought for far less than they were worth. Well, this was my first (and as it turned out, also my last) such experience.

The 1844 cent at left would have been a remarkable enough find just by itself. Priced at £1 ($2.40 at the time), this coin was worth at least $10. But the 1857 cent was in an 'allsorts' dish of random foreign coins that were only 2/6 apiece (about 30¢), and it was worth about $20 in this condition! I could hardly believe my good fortune!

The store at right is the probable location of the antique shop in Settle where I found the coins.

After Settle, we ventured deeper into the rural hinterlands of the West Riding to the even smaller village of Low Bentham. And while Florence tended her duties there, Mother and I went for a little stroll around town, and we ended up on this bridge, where she took that candid picture of Melancholy Me above. I imagine my newly-acquired coins are on my person at this moment, and that the pen in my shirt pocket is the same Pentel Sign Pen that I used to write my journal entry for the day below.

When I went to find what the place looked like today, I was surprised to see that relatively little has changed. The road and the bridge are the same, even the bend in the bridge's railing nearby where I was standing and the old directional road sign in the background are still there!

I would love to be able to visit Low Bentham and the rest of the Yorkshire Dales again. For years in my younger days, I dreamt of living there. It was and still remains one of my favorite places on earth.

 

8-10 August 1969

Besides the Ring of Kerry, Mother's other sightseeing destination this trip was to visit The Cotswolds in the south of England. Other than what she had told me, I knew little about the region, and probably thought it would be boring. Some of it was, but several of the places we visited were very enjoyable and memorable, indeed.

I remember on our drive down, on the A429, I was constantly on the lookout for original sections of the Fosse Way– an ancient Celtic and Roman road. I thought I caught a few glimpses of it in places, but Mother was in too much of a hurry to take any detours merely for the purpose of indulging my curiosity.



We stayed at the Bay Tree Hotel in Burford in Oxfordshire. This turned out to be my favorite lodgings of the whole trip because of its virtually unspoiled 'old-timey' charm. It was everything I imagined an 16th century hostelry would look and be like: original wooden beams, fixtures and antiques everywhere you looked, creaky floors and staircases, and check out this door that led to my room! I'd never seen anything like it, before or since.



I loved the Bay Tree, but reading my diary, I now recall that Mother– at least at first– did not. One thing that truly distressed her was something that utterly delighted me: I had my very own room all by myself! (Finally!) In fact, all 3 of us had separate rooms. I don't know why Mom thought that was so terrible, but it upset her a lot, to the point of tears, though she soon got over her disappointment. (I seem to recall that after the first night, she and Florence were able to share a room together again. But I got to keep my single!)

Probably my favorite discovery in the Cotswolds was Snowshill Manor (pron. 'snozzle') in Glaucestershire. The house itself was unremarkable to me, but the museum of antiques it housed was utterly mindblowing! It was definitely an inspiration for me to become an eclectic collector in my own right.

Later that same day, in an antiquarian bookstore in Chipping Campden, I acquired one of my life's most treasured possessions: this 1814 reference book on the genealogical history of the kings and queens of England. (I paid a mere 10/6 for this rare gem.)





The genealogical tables are unique in design and truly fascinating in their details.



And here's a photo of me with the book taken mere minutes after its acquisition.



One of my more vivid recollections of our time in the Cotswolds was me lying on my bed in the Bay Tree on the night of the 9th, browsing through my book on the English Sovereigns, then looking out the window feeling wistful, realizing that our holiday was now entering its final week...

 

1-2 August 1969

There's a first time and place for everything, and it was here at Craven Books, 50 years ago, that I discovered the joys of browsing an antiquarian bookstore. Alas, it's no longer there, but this was the place: 23 Newmarket Street in Skipton.

The shop was run by Misses Katherine Farey and Megan Fluck, and was, I believe, opened only the previous year when I first visited in 1969. At that time, I bought this 1841 map of the West Riding of Yorkshire (or I should say Mother bought it) for 4 guineas. It was probably my first collectible treasure that wasn't either a coin or a book.



On a return visit the following week, I bought these two small books: one with quaint old science about the solar system, and the other a pocket version of a favorite I'd read in English class the previous school year: Dickens's "Great Expectations."


Still together after all these years.

I would subsequently visit Craven Books on later trips to the UK, in 1974, and finally in 1989. It was a delight to see that Misses Farey and Fluck were still the proprietresses twenty years on; a fact that surprised me, because they already seemed elderly to me when I first met them. Amazingly, Craven Books would remain in business until 2000.

Returning to 1969, another wonderful old bookstore was in my near future in the Cotswolds: our next travel destination!