From Patrick.

Today, we visited friends of Katie's family from when she lived in Surrey as a kid for a couple of years. Tom and Rita Gibson were our hosts and what lovely hosts they were.

Their farm is nestled in a green valley between Folkstone and Dover on England's south east coast. We could see the white chalk cliffs on the drive from the train to their farm. The main farmhouse, which they no longer live in (Tom is retired, so they moved to the little cottage near the main house), was built in the 12th century and apparently represents the oldest inhabited farmhouse in England.

They had horses, pigs, chickens, sheep, and acres of wheat and beans growing on the farm. Rita made us a typical English lunch with tea. It was perfect.

After 8 days in London town with me continually pinching and hushing the kids to remember that they were in small quarters (on the Tube, in our flat, wherever), we were all ready to unwind. Especially Declan.

Declan is a "ranch kid". He needs lots of space, and the ability to play roughly, loudly, and continually. I am looking forward to going backpacking with him, teaching him how to ride a horse and motorcycle, fishing, cutting wood, and all the other activities that you can do with lots of space. But, first, I need to teach him how not to hang like a monkey on the handrails of the Tube (ok, Ellie does it too), why it is not ok to jump into the Princess Diana memorial fountain with his clothes on (or off for that matter), and why screaming inside our minute flat can be heard next door quite clearly.

But back to today..

Over tea, I couldn't help myself but to ask Tom if he remembers WWII very well. He said that of course he did, he was ten years old at the time it began. He told me that the skies above the farm were black with the Luftwaffe bombers, and RAF fighters, and that the Junkers dive bombers were the worst because they screamed.

He took me to the nearby Battle of Britain museum, where we quietly strolled through rooms filled with Spitfires, Messerchmitts, old newspaper reels, and letters between sweethearts. As a military history buff, I was fascinated. As a man, I was supremely humbled. Most of the RAF and other Allied pilots were 18-25 years old and were the only real defense between freedom and enslavement for the entire country. What heroes.

We ended the day with a visit to the sea at Folkstone where you could clearly see France. The day was bright sunshine, and the kids sprinted everywhere on the empty beach. Behind me at the top of the hill was a fortification established to keep out Napoleon's forces, and across from me was the forward bases of Hitler's Reich.

Even now as I write this post, I can hear the screaming of the v1 bombs, and the laughter of millions of young people living life as if there was no tomorrow.

Thanks to Tom and Rita for their incredible hospitality and for sharing with me their vivid memories of that era. It was a wonderful day where history came alive.

- Patrick