Returned from the country of the free (carrier bags)

Hello everyone, I hope I find you all well and that you had a lovely weekend. 

We drove back, somewhat reluctantly from Plymouth to Cardiff after a lovely week with the GG, walks, Jo Jingles, trips to the playpark, walking the dog and the inevitable ride on Gus Honeybun's train in West Hoe Park. for those of you that know Plymouth will know that this train has been there forever and a day, well it seems like that, is it only 30 years since we took our two as toddlers on the self same train?  The train is affectionately known as Gus Honeybun's because of the local BBC News (now BBC Spotlight) having this puppet to help celebrate birthdays of those lucky children whose parents had written in to request a mention, sadly I was not one of parents, obviously neglectful, a replica puppet sits in the chimney stack of each train.  DB insisted it was a must do and consequently he and GG spent a happy 5 minutes traversing the little track.  Nestled in an old  quarry reclaimed in the early 1900's West Hoe Park sits on the Hoe foreshore beneath what was the Mayflower and Grand hotels, both since been re-branded, and  to the west of Smeatons Tower and Plymouth Sound in front.     Bliss, we lived in Plymouth and the locale for 33 years and still I get a thrill to walk on the Hoe, Mountbatten or Mount Edgcumbe, and now I have GG to share this thrill with.  The Hoe is well known for Francis Drake reputedly playing bowls while the Armada made it's way to invade England, and from the Barbican, just next to the the Hoe, the Mayflower taking the intrepid emigree's to America, amongst a host of other historical facts.  If I sound like an advert for Plymouth I apologise, I am just indulging in a self satisfied trip down memory lane, by actually revisiting the places I love with the family I love.

Drake's Drum (Henry Newbolt)

DRAKE he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships,
Wi' sailor lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe,
An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin'
He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.
Drake he was a Devon man, an' ruled the Devon seas,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?),
Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe,
"Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore,
Strike et when your powder's runnin' low;
If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven,
An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago."
Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?),
Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,
Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;
Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin',
They shall find him, ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago. Thank you for joining me, have a wonderful time wherever in hte world you are, and hope to speak to you tomorrow. Love Bubbles