Our cabby’s
name was John. He was African, from Kenya I believe, but lives in Ely now, not
too far from the cathedral. It took us a while to find him; actually, when
Derek finally saw the sign that said “JENNIFER BRUTON” in big, black, bold
letters, and introduced himself, John was about to call the office to make sure
he had the right information. Boy were we glad to see him though, standing in
that queue of cabby’s inside Terminal 3 at Heathrow; it had been a long 36
hours.
Monday, we
spent the day packing, tying up loose ends at work, and saying tearful goodbyes
to our families. To be honest, I didn’t cry half as much as I thought I would.
For a few reasons I think: one, I tried not to think about what we were really
doing, because I was afraid that the moment I started crying, a Johnstown Flood
would ensue, and two, I don’t think reality had set in. It was just another day
with our families, Mom feverishly finished Henry’s ridiculously amazing “Nana
Coat”, as we’ve decided to call it, and then meeting our family at the Blue
Lemon at City Creek for dinner. Tom and Dad even started singing “Leaving on a
Jet Plane”; still no reality check. But 8:45pm rolled around, and Mom and Dad
were dropping us off at the airport. How could that be?
Turns out
we were way early; the check in desk for JetBlue doesn’t open until 9:30pm. In
case you were wondering. So we sat on a bench in the airport, changed Henry’s
diaper, and did our best not to let those flood gates loose (ok, so the last
one was just me). Finally we got our baggage checked. Oh, and you should be
quite proud of Derek: both of our check in bags brought up a bright red 50.0 on
the scale. Whew! The lady at the desk was very nice and even gave Henry his own
set of stick on pilot wings, which he promptly stuck in his mouth and I didn’t
get a single picture of him with them on. Oh well.
Security
was a breeze, Henry flirted with the TSA agent, and suddenly we were boarding
the plane. Derek, Henry, and I had our very own row to ourselves, which was
wonderful. Henry slept off and on throughout the 3 hour 55 minute flight,
mostly on, which was really nice. Derek got some sleep, which shocked him, and
I did my best not to think about what we were really doing.
We arrived
at JFK and the adventure began. We had to switch terminals, change our poor
little boy, and find our gate in a ridiculously huge airport. Our baggage was
actually checked through to London, something we weren’t planning on. Thank
goodness, because we walked up to the gate just in time to have our names read
over the intercom; we were the last passengers to board the plane. Oh, and apparently
they had no record of Henry being on the flight. Oops! Luckily we have a little
flirt and after a few smiles the lady just said, “Oh, don’t worry about it; go
ahead and get on.”
Our plane
was something out of a 1960s glamour shot: as soon as we walked on, we were
greeted by a retro and very space age looking bar where a stewardess was mixing
cocktails. The seats were red, the nearly all of the female flight attendants
had their hair up in big, poufy buns with bright red lipstick, and all of them had
fantastic British accents. They took really good care of us, but we were stuck
in the 2 middle seats of a 4 seat row. Ugh. Henry was a champ and fell asleep.
To be honest, he was the most amiable and wonderful travel companion; I was
once again completely impressed with how awesome my son is. The last 30 minutes
of the flight were tough; other babies began to cry, which made Little Brute
upset, his ears hurt a little I think and he was just so gosh-darn-sick of
being on that airplane! When we finally got off, I considered kissing the
ground.
Even the
ramp off the plane smelled like London: damp. It had just rained and water was
sneaking its way up the carpet onto the walls. Henry was smiling, chewing on
his fingers, and soaking in everything that wasn’t part of the crammed seats of
the Virgin Atlantic economy seats, Derek was lugging our carry-on baggage, and
I was walking back into my favourite city in the world. Larger than life images
of Beefeaters and Horse Guards waved at us, the word “Welcome!” plastered
across the billboards next to them in various, and quite artsy, fonts. I wanted
to run up and give them a high five “Yes! Thank you!” I shouted in my head,
“I’m so happy to be back!”
As you walk
through Heathrow on the way to baggage claim, a large navy blue sign appears: “UK
BORDER”. Immigration can be intimidating: Derek spent months collecting our
documents and passports to be sure we had everything prepared for the border.
We got in the “First Time Student” line behind about 150 Asians. Ok, maybe 147
Asians and 3 other people. Seriously though: we stood out. We stood out enough
to attract the attention of a border agent. “Are you students?” she said,
looking at Henry dubiously. “Yes,” I said, “both of us are.” “Oh, what are you
going to study?” she smiled at Henry. He gave her a two toothed grin and kicked
his legs.
A few
minutes later, she came back, this time she made eye contact with me at jerked
her head a little as she unhooked one of the vinyl barriers. The three Brutons
followed her past the 147 Asians and 3 other people to the front of the line.
Thank you Henry! Your blue eyes do wonders!
The agent
at the desk scanned and stamped our passports right next to our visas, gave us
a “have a nice day,” and sent us on our way; all without having to produce any
documents besides our immigration cards and passports. Sah-weet!
We
collected our luggage at the baggage claim, which was surprisingly easy. Piling
our four black bags onto the trolley, Derek expressed his joy at finding all of
our luggage safe and sound: what a relief!
John collected
us and our things and then we began to make our way up to Cambridge.
I wish we
could have driven through the city of London, but the motorway sent us in a
different direction; which was good when it comes to traffic. Derek and I both
dozed off as John drove us on the wrong side of the road, and then suddenly I
woke up, looked to my left, and saw a green sign with the word: CAMBRIDGE
printed next to a large arrow. Wow.
The city
feels smaller than both of us remembered, the roads narrower, the buildings
much taller. I guess that’s because we got used to Brigham Young sized roads in
Utah. I almost didn’t recognize where we were, but then the Fitz showed up on
my left and then Pembroke on our right.
Derek
collected our keys from the Porter’s Lodge (where they informed him they were
surprised that we would be living in our particular flat as it’s not usually
let out to students) and then we made our way home.
Home. Our
new little house! It’s cute and small. Old and small. Wonderful and small. The
staircase is, as we were warned, “quite steep”, but it really is lovely having
two bedrooms. We have a washer/dryer combo (dry in the same machine! We don’t
even have to remember to turn it over to dryer if we don’t want to!), a
shower/bathtub combo, and a cramped little kitchen space with a surprising
amount of storage.
Henry was
feeling the jetlag, that’s for sure. He struggled getting back to sleep while
Derek and I fought the urge to collapse as we put the linens on the beds.
Something didn’t feel right, either. Henry woke up after about an hour and just
cried and cried: scared.
After
saying a prayer, Derek and I both felt that our little Henry needed a
priesthood blessing. With hands on his head, Derek blessed him to feel safe and
secure, to know that his Mommy and Daddy were there for him, and that
everything was going to be ok.
Derek then
mentioned that he felt impressed that we needed to dedicate this home. I had
thought about it earlier, but dismissed it thinking post-jetlag might be
better. But I trust his judgement, and so around 2:30am, Derek called upon our
Heavenly Father and dedicated our house.
I know that
the Lord was pleased with us for asking for his protection and help. Henry’s
body immediately relaxed in my arms as his Daddy invited the presence of the
Holy Ghost into our home. When he was finished, I snuggled my little baby and
sang Joseph Smith’s First Prayer to
him, reminding him that if we ask God, all bad feelings can be dispelled
through the Spirit of God.
And then,
mercifully, we slept. All three of us, in our small double bed, with our
bedroom window facing east, waiting to let the sun through and wake us up. To
wake us up in Cambridge.
p.s. I'm sorry there are no pictures with this post. When I post about our first day in Cambridge, there will be some! I didn't get any photos in the airport/airplane--way too much to think about/stress/not allowed to take photos near security checkpoints. :)
