Lincoln as I saw it recently

(30 May until 3 June 2009)

Edgar S. Frasheri

It was the second time I made up my mind to go to Great Britain or England as is usually
called by my older fellow countrymen. Compared to the first time when we (I and my wife) had visited
London last year as tourists in the narrow meaning of the word, this time it had to be quite differently.

The Travel…
I was going to visit Lincoln, the capital of Lincolnshire County, under a special mission, full
of emotions coming from the unknown. I was going there with a bunch of books my father had written
about this city years ago at the beginning of the twentieth century, named “England as I saw her, 1927”,
aiming at finding and visiting places he had lived and worked for nearly one year, fulfilling a moral
obligation to him and a promise to do the same that he should have done if he were alive; coming back
again to this place even after eighty years.
When you set yourself to start an adventure going to an unknown place which you virtually
know many things about it, one must do accurate preparations in order to have a successful outcome of
the mission itself.
So I had to set out a lot of benchmarks which shall serve as points of reference upon my
arrival. I had correspondence for nearly one year with interesting people whom I knew only by emails.
I had contacts with Mr. Raymond Holley, the archivist and let say biographer of the big company
Ruston & Hornsby where my father had worked; had exchanged messages with the leaders of the
Rotary Club of Lincoln, being a Rotarian myself from Tirana; established friendly contacts with the
“Lincolnshire Echo” staff and finally with the ongoing Mayor Ron Hills, to whom I had sent words of
appraisal. It was a very dense agenda which had to be accomplished in only three days.
I “set sail” the last Saturday of May, carrying a suitcase with 35 copies of the books inside and
a ceremonial costume… to face whatever unpredicted situation. From Heathrow to Lincoln you travel
by train, which it takes no more than three hours drive. In my country Albania, passenger trains are
turned into pieces of museum. My people have become car addict after living and dying without a car
for nearly half a century.
After leaving the last but one train station, King’s Cross of London, I happened to seat beside
a young in appearance guy, with whom I did not exchanged a word because we were concentrated in
reading books. After the last train-change, seemed that we were among the few travelers who remained
for Lincoln, so I asked him whether he was going to Lincoln, too. When he said yes, I felt relieved and
I told Richard that he was my savor and guide at the same time. And I was going to follow him because
Lincoln was my unknown destination as well. In these last fifteen minutes of my trip, before arrival, I
told him and he told me shortly about our selves. His smiling face showed a sort of surprise after he
learned about the aim of my visit. I told him he was the first citizen of Lincoln whom I have met so he
will remain in my memory as such. Richard did not leave the station before he saw me jump into the
first taxi cub to arrive. We waved good buy to each other.
Then it came the turn of the taxi driver who, to my opinion and experience, they are very
much alike all over the world.
“Business or entertainment”? I heard his voice addressing to me on the back seat.
“Fifty-fifty” I replied – “It is the first time I visit this city” - I continued.
“Coming from London?”
“Yes”. I said while I noticed he was not aware of me being a stranger.
“It must be a nice city”- said just to keep the talk running.
“Yes it is, but you’ll see, it is the people who are nicer here”.
In the mean time, we had arrived in front of the hotel I had booked for my staying. I paid the
fare but he did not accept tips, so this conduct left me a good impression as a beginning. I had selected
the hotel to be located in the old part of the city, very close to the two hundred years old The County
Assembly Rooms where Rotary Club gathered, at Bailgate. I have seen these places only through the
“eyes” of Google Earth. In this part of the city hotels were called by the old names of medieval times.
Mine was the “Duke William Inn” ( hotel), built nearly around 1700-s, nice looking just like a ”doll’s
house”, clean, neat and cleverly furnished, all wood. I found myself in the middle of history. Later on I
learned that Lincoln itself was all a living history.
There was a pub on the ground floor of this tiny hotel. At the time of my arrival late in the
evening, it was full of young people drinking incessantly beer in big mugs, which is an ordinary sight
of England, anytime. Once I made myself comfortable at the hotel, I started to arrange my agenda for
the days to come. After I failed to make my calls through my cell phone because my Albanian
Vodafone had not activated the system, although they had been paid for, I asked the lady manager of
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the hotel to use the reception phone. She is very polite and friendly. So, tomorrow, Sunday on May
31, 2009, I had to meet Ron Holley in front of the hotel at 10:00 AM o’clock.

…, The ex Ruston & Hornsby factory

In front of ex Ruston & Hornsby, now Siemens Ray Hooley, archivist of Ruston

Raymond Hooley, shortly Ray, showed up in front of the hotel precisely at 10:00 sharp like a
Swiss watch. No use of introducing each other and it seemed as if we were good old friends. Ray was a
live archive of the 150 years old factory. He is a quiet and calm man armored with a fantastic memory.
He had been working for the factory till the day of his pension, some fifteen years ago, and now for
hobby was doing tremendous efforts and spending his money to save the written memory of this
factory, ranked among those who have made Lincoln glorious at times. I hope I am not exaggerating!
After one hour drive around the city, quite unexpectedly he says:
“Look here. This is the place where your father had worked. That one story high building
there is the Headquarters office, while after it there is a three story high building where designs were
done. Those three roofed ones were places of experimenting. Look at the main gate where workers
entered. The arched iron bridges are as old as the factory. On the right side of the gate this building
used to be the canteen. If you look through the irons of the gate, you see a two story building. It used to
be the house of the Owner, he lived inside the……”
As Holley was talking, I sent my imagination as if being on board of a time-machine driving
through a town some one hundred years ago, far from my homeland, where although the language and
customs were different from mine, a linking thread connected me with the vague figure of my father at
the age of 25, as a young engineer fresh from school and full of energy and dreams, who was lucky to
improve his professional knowledge in one of the most well-known workshops of England and
beautiful towns, as well. He must have fallen in love with it.
Poor guy! How he could have known that Lincoln was to be part of his and his family
nightmare in the years to come, till the day he died. Because he lived in a country where the word
“England” was deleted from the spoken or written vocabulary. He lived in the country of “Big
Brother”.
Hooley showed me around Lincoln’s industrial area, so I figured out the proportions of this
activity and the role it has played in bringing this city to modern era. I saw it at the Museum of
Lincolnshire Life where 262 medals displayed represented the achievements of Ruston along its 150
years of life span existence.
The day ended at Hooley’s house where he showed me his two sacred shacks full up to the
roof with what has remained from the documents of this big company.
I said to Holley: “Till we meet again”.

Than, meeting the Rotarians… and Mayor Ron Hills

With the President Stephen Pope with the outgoing Mayor Ron Hills
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In my short description of this city I cannot help mentioning my impressions born after my
meeting with the members of the Rotary Club of Lincoln, who have become my friends. If I were in
my country, initially I had to explain what Rotary is and its role in the society because my Club in
Tirana is very young of age. When I learned that Rotary of Lincoln was chartered since 1922, I must
confess that, that I felt a little bit shy before making my appearance in the Club.
I attended the meeting of Rotarians of Lincoln and I made myself home in five minutes,
thanks to the friendly atmosphere it was created around me. This Club had officially invited me to
come to Lincoln to present the book of my father to its members Assembly. I tried to do the best of
mine and I saw through their eyes that my presence and mission was appreciated. That was beyond my
expectations. Mr. Pope, Mr. Schneider, Mr. Kinin and Mr. Yabbacome are names, among all other
members, who contributed in braking down of any false taboo created in my mind regarding the
English snobbism of an elite representation of business as Rotary by rule does. I guess my father must
have come to England with the same taboo in mind, and left the country full of friendly feelings.
The next morning, which was the last one of my short stay in Lincoln, before my departure, I
was invited to give an interview to “Lincolnshire Echo” thanks to friendly understanding of Mrs.
Daniels, Deputy Editor, who has given an outstanding contribution in diffusing the news about my
father’s book about Lincoln.
Councilor Ron Hills took part willingly in this friendly conversation. He had been the Mayor
till some days ago. But he is still a Member of the Council. It makes no difference with what he was
and what he is now. I told him that he was still the Mayor for me. I must admit that he is the big
discovery for me in Lincoln. I was expecting to meet the Mayor dressed in the medieval uniform like I
had seen him in the web net. While Mr. Hills is a normal citizen and an open minded person. He is very
cheerful and radiates sympathy. I think that during the conversation it was him who was mostly
interested to learn as much possible from me, than the reporter Paul Whitlam, who in fact is a good
professional. He was curious to know my opinion concerning some topics he had red from the book.
He asked me to comment about the dialectal forms of spoken English with reference to the book. I told
him that in my country which is far smaller in size than UK, because of deviations in spoken Albanian
language between the northern and southern regions, a “translator” need to be called in. It was said that
although the University of Lincoln was ten years old, its foundation has brought a fresh look, gayety
and vividness to the old city of Lincoln. Then he asked me about my opinion on this fact. I underlined
that my father would have called it as the wisest act ever done by the community of Lincoln on account
of its future. I handed over a personal copy of the book to him while he gave me the badge of the
Lincoln insigne. I was happy to take a picture with him.
In the course of my appointments, I paid a short visit to the Bookshop of Society   for 
Lincolnshire History and Archaeology at Jew’s Court. I donated to this prestigious Library a copy of 
the book and left to them some other copies for sale. The most interesting person who received me was 
the Executive of the Society, Mm Pearl. Call it a coincidence or not but Mm Pearl who did not show her 
age, told me that she was born the same year my father had visited Lincoln. I begged her to shut a 
picture with her which she accepted willingly. I left the library with another sweet memory of my link 
with this city. Before turning to my hotel, my last visit to be paid was at the Lincolnshire Archives 
which is a very important County institution. There was a friend working there whom I had to meet 
before leaving. It was Adrian Wilkinson. He was the first person to respond to me in the name of this 
institution to my first quest about my father’s name and other records concerning his stay in Lincoln. 
He help me a lot afterwards.  I met Adrian at the hall of the Archives and he turned out  to be younger 
than   what   I   had   in   mind.   Here   is   another   coincidence.   Mr.   Adrian   told   me   that   his   father   and 
grandfather had worked at Ruston & Hornsby. What a surprise!

With Mm Pearl at SLHA

…finally, a few words about the city.

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Lincoln is city like a book made of stone, brick and wood, opened and offered to everyone for
a joyful reading. It is a live history brought till the modern times untouched and preserved with love
and professionalism, which gives the right to feel proud of this fact from the ordinary citizen to the
highest rank of elected City authority who have shared the same decisions in regard of this value. One
cannot leave this city without visiting and contemplating the beauty of the Cathedral, which could be
compared only to the Westminster Abbey of London. Of no less importance as a landmark of the city is
the Castle. Not occasionally they are located at the top of the hill dominating the skyline from miles
away in distance. Before my arrival I thought Lincoln was seating on the flat land of this Midlands
Region. The next day I realized that the old part of the city occupied the cup of the only hill emerging
from the vast fields of East Midlands.
Just imagine that every ancient building is in such a good shape that it is still in use or
functioning. This means that maintenance and preservation in years has been perfect and masterly.
During the days of my stay I intentionally crisscrossed the old town on foot; otherwise I could have
seen nothing. When you walk up or down the clean , cobbled Steep Hill, you keep your breath, because
beyond every corner of the narrow pathways, it pops up an old house which bears a very specific
name, the same it had some hundred years ago. This is amazing for me! I am born in the town of
Durres (Epidamnus by ancient greeks-Dyrrachium by ancient Romans) so I am used to live amidst
archaeology. I am grown up with the ancient history of my hometown, which I consider as part of my
being.
But… here is a big ”but”. So, if the ancient and modern Britons have preserved with
perseverance and care the heritage from their forefathers up to modern times, my fellow co nationals in
centuries have systematically ruined and demolished every sign of these constructions using them as
source of building materials. There should be a genetic code inside a human being that triggers a self-
destruction mechanism. which produces a wipe-out of memory. That is why I left Lincoln, in the same
mood I have left Athens, Rome, Carthage and so many other sites, filled with a deep sorrow in my
heart.
In the end, it is the human being that produces all the goods and evils of this world. If England
as a nation has more goods than evils, it means that there are mainly more good people living in it.
Quoting an excerpt from my father’s book where he says… “That I must frankly confess that I saw no
workman, whether contended or not with his wages, working in a dishonest manner”, it immediately
comes to my mind that even to day this saying is still true. In this aspect British remain unchanged. I
proved it myself: I was buying tickets at the Central Lincoln train station the day of my departure. I had
in hand a checked itinerary of my journey extracted from internet to reach Heathrow before my
boarding time. I showed this itinerary to the clerk in order that he might check the time table in
compliance with my arrival time. Referring to my search, there was a train which left Lincoln at 8:00
which fitted to my planning. The clerk on the other side of the window checked in the computer and
asked me:
“Sir, if you take the train at 8:00 AM you have to pay £58 for the ticket. Do you mind if you
take another train, leaving one minute earlier, I mean at 7:59 AM and you pay only £18? Do you
agree?”
“Yes, of course.”- I replied, leaving the ticket office in a state of surprise and shame, after
getting the tickets and some £40 saved in my pocket. I felt ashamed because at the first moment I
thought this man was not as honest as seemed to be or was trying to make fun with me. This is because
in my country I have never, never happened in my life to hear from an employee a word that would do
well to you. They are there not to serve you honestly!
I saw his face showing content after I had accepted the proposal, and I thought. “My father
was right; they never do things in a dishonest manner. And the taxi driver was right as well, when he
told me that you have to meet really nice people.” It came to my mind that my wife must see this
place, as well. So I said-”Till we meet again, Lincoln”

Edgar S. Frasheri
Tirana, June 2009