Family footsteps.

Byline: KIRA DAVIS 20Below News Team / The Register-Guard

AFTER 12 HOURS of flying and a four-hour layover in San Francisco, I found myself walking toward the arrivals gate in London's Heathrow Airport.

It was last summer, and my sister and I were just beginning our journey to southwest England. Our mission was to get to know the "English family" on my mother's side.

But first, with camera in hand, we checked out London.

We visited Hampton Court along the mighty River Thames. Hampton Court was one of the homes for King Henry VIII, who is remembered for his numerous wives. The amazing kitchens, bedrooms and dining rooms were filled with elaborate tapestries and carefully decorated with incredible furnishings.

I couldn't help but wonder, if I had been around in that era, where I might have fit into "court" life.

The unbelievable architecture of this massive building was but a glimpse of what I would encounter throughout the rest of my trip. After spending time on the London Underground and shopping in Portabello Market in Notting Hill - where we failed to see the famed "Blue Door" because it had been sold - we made our way down to Devon.

To reach our destination, we traveled by car through towns and cities steeped in folklore and history.

We passed through Somerset, where the ruins of the ancient Roman baths draw crowds from all over the world. We bypassed Glastonbury on the River Avon, home of legendary Avalon, Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table. As we traveled further south (on the wrong side of the road!) through the hedgerows and narrow country lanes, we finally saw the red earth of Devon.

Middle Yarnacott in Swimbridge Devon, where we spent most of our time, is a 15th century Tudor longhouse with a thatched roof. It belongs to my aunt and uncle. From my bedroom window, I could look out over Exmoor, birthplace of Lorna Doone, the heroine of R.D. Blackmore's famous novel.

There on the moors, herds of sheep and wild ponies wandered in the Devon rain through the countryside, which resembled a large quilt with evenly divided hedges of different colors.

Devon's history is intrinsically connected with the sea. It is the land of Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh, and of the "Westward Ho" of Charles Kingsley. It was from the city of Plymouth where the Pilgrims set sail in 1620 for America in the Mayflower to escape religious persecution.

In our explorations of Devon, my sister and I found ourselves tracing the footsteps of my mother's childhood. We were first led to our grandfather's grave, a simple stone standing crooked at the bottom of a hill. The inscription reads, "Out of many, one people," which is the Jamaican national motto.

It was at this point that I became very intrigued with the antiquity of English graveyards. Each one I visited contained thousands of tombstones dating back hundreds of years. And standing tall, yet tiny, in the middle of each was a quaint chapel with doors that were always open.

As we walked the ancient Roman cobbled streets of Barnstaple, a market town in North Devon, we stopped to see the 17th century, one-room schoolhouse built specifically for 20 poor maids. It is now an old English teahouse and stands adjacent to The Old Chapel building where my mother and aunts first attended school.

It sometimes seemed as if I were in another era. Everything felt as though it had been built with such care and deliberation compared to many of the buildings that I'm used to seeing in Oregon. The variety of buildings and the different types of old-fashioned architecture reflected the character of most towns I visited.

I was constantly amazed by the strong connection that I felt to this old country.

But reality returned when, back in the airport, we were asked to walk through disinfectant mats to prevent the spread of foot and mouth disease.

Exchanging sardonic looks, my sister and I quickly walked through the disinfectant. It was one part of England that we didn't mind leaving behind.

Kira Davis is a sophomore at Lane Community College. She can be reached by e-mail at [e-mail].

CAPTION(S):

Weathered gravestones still stand in Barnstaple Cemetery. Over the years, the salty sea air has corroded the old stones so that their epitaphs are barely legible.