England, 1989, part 2

ENGLAND 1989: part 2 S,D, and I spent a couple of hours wandering down into the Roman Baths themselves. The hot spring and the ancient pool of warm water conjured a more pagan and exotic world. I longed to partake of real hot bathes and steam rather than merely viewing it all.

June 1,1989
Leave Bath, drive to

Stourhead

(forgetting Wells Cathedral). Stourhead gardens were a vision of loveliness. Off and on rain gave depth and a sense of changing times to gardens created as homage to Claude Lorrain by Henry Hoare II ( son of the builder of the house). The house itself, home to generations of bankers was of good proportions, the rooms stately and elegant with Chippendale furniture, Worcester Porcelain, Delft jars, and many exquisite paintings depicting the land, the family over the generations, and other classical themes. The library was spacious, light, and contained massive polished wood cabinets and desks.

Mom and Marilyn enjoyed the flowering gardens, the rhododendron, the copper beech trees, the lake, the follies, etc, though they seemed to sulk at times as well. They declined to tour the house, returning to wait in the car. Perhaps Mom's amazing refrain from smoking for 24 hours put her on edge; what an achievement, though! After Stourhead, we drove over breathtaking countryside, pure, green, England, to Lyme Regis, where much of The French Lt.'s Woman was filmed. We lucked into the wonderful Three Cups Hotel, S.D.& I with a vast room with bay windows opening to panoramas of the sea and the town. Sea gull screamed. I had Campari in the bar for 70 p. Followed by dinner up the street consisting of haddock, garlic shrimp, German white wine, �and Irish Coffee. And, at last, "Good night, me Lovely..."

Friday, June 2: Lyme Regis
It has been a relaxing day, offering a chance for calm recollection of the trip thus far, and the opportunity for a leisurely stroll through town, including a walk to the end of the famous breakwater on which a hooded, storm swept M. Streep became the French Lt.'s Woman.

As we did the needed chores of laundry, I recalled the charms of Stourhead with its treasures, both natural and man-made. Many details returned, the Sun darting in and out of clouds, the rain and thunder, fields of light and shade coursing over the lake and gardens. The waterfowl and the peacock astride a rooftop of one of the old brick quarters added to the other-worldliness of the place. I felt much more a sense of presences, of spirits, at Stourhead than at Stonehenge. Today's rest has provided a deep, refreshing breath before setting off for Dartmoor and Cornwall.

Sat. June 3,1990:

Cornwall

It has been a long day. We drove across Dartmoor with its mists and its ancient "Tors,"passing the Two Bridges and Tavistock. Several times we stopped to walk the fog-enshrouded hills, to watch sheep or wild ponies, and simply to stretch. After the moors, we rode on to Falmouth, stopping for a hearty lunch at Pandora's Box, a 16th Century pub with thatched roof and dock, from which we took photos, watched swans, and the approach of storm clouds over a bright sun.
At Falmouth, I made a quick tour of P. Castle, built by Henry VIII to defend the coast against Spain. The views of the city below and the harbor were breathtaking. I saw the fort alone because of my British Trust pass. No one else wanted to pay the very reasonable fee.
On we drove to St. Ives where we squeezed through the narrow passageways past the town and beaches, up to the Ivy covered Garrick Hotel. What a site, such splendid views of St. Ives and of the sea.
In the long evening, Steve, David, and I drove round the tip of Cornwall past Zenner (where D.H. Lawrence lived during WWI) to Land's End where we climbed the windy rocks before circling back by way of St. Michael's Mount, floating in a shadowy sunset sea. We arrived back at the Garrick just in time for the sumptuous supper of fish, etc. and in time for an archetypal rainbow that rose high into the sky overhead, bridging with all the colors, the sea on one side and the land behind St. Ives on the other.
The night was completed for me by a spell in the pool and the jokuzi, followed by a walk with Steve into the town with its quaint old cobblestone streets.

Sunday
After a full breakfast in the elegant glass dining room of the Garrick, we took a last stroll around the grounds, then reluctantly began the long, long drive up the coast of Cornwall and Devon toward the Cotswolds and Worcester. Our first destination was Tintagel, the supposed site of the castle of King Arthur, of Camelot. There is certainly a ruin of a castle perched high on the cliffs above the sea. The walk threading into and through the castle is as steep as any path I've seen.

The parking area turned out to be a rip-off, we discovered. After making the long hike through a field up to the 11th century church near the 8th century site of the castle, we drove into the town of Tintagel from which we had better views and access to the site. I visited, thanks to my Trust pass, the old slate-roofed postoffice dating from the Fifteenth Century. There was a lovely little garden out back with roses, etc.

Continuing up the coast, then turning inland, we found the M5 and the M6 which took us up towards Worcester. Marilyn suddenly began a little cough, like a small dog, and demanded to leave the freeway for some town in which to find a pharmacy! Why this was needed only after getting on the busy highway, so difficult to leave, was a mystery. When I explained how hard it would be to get off the M6, she pouted and said we would have done it for anyone else. Fortunately, the M6 had shops in the median at various distances. We were able to pull into one of these stations, have a bite to eat, relax, and find cough drops for Marilyn.

After going over 90 mph, Steve and I taking turns at the wheel, we suddenly hit a traffic jam for the last hour or so into Worcester. Fortunately we were able to get off at Powick a tad sooner.
Nancy's home in the tiny community of Powick was a welcome sight, indeed. Nancy was bubbling with energy �and friendly warmth, giving us a tour of her lovely brick, two-story house, with its fine furniture and art works, and of the garden circling a pond. Rhododendron and roses stood out among a profusion of June blooms. After a wonderful dinner of lamb and wine, S.,D., and I took the dog for a walk, then headed for the local pub where our presence among the locals was quickly noticed.

Monday, June 5
At 5 A.M. The Killians and I left Powick for a sunrise drive to Oxford. The morning was radiant with a gold sun lighting clouds and hills of the Cotswolds. There was little traffic so early other than a passing truck as we took backroads through Stratford-On-Avon for a drive by Shakespeare's house and other timbered houses of the 16th Century.
Reaching Oxford well before the scheduled bus to Gatwick which the Killians would take, we walked the narrow streets of the University and found our way into the quadrangles of the noble colleges of Magdalene (pronounced maudlin) and Christ. Fountains glittered in the early morning sunlight, and the Medieval buildings were bathed in a golden hue, adding to the effect of other-worldliness.
After dropping Steve and David at the bus depot, I returned to Oxford to spend an hour or so walking the grounds along the gentle Cherwell River. I discovered the quaint, ancient Botanical Garden of Oxford and rested there, listening to the murmur of the Cherwell, and breathing in the fragrant roses, and other profusion of blooms. It was a complete transport to another time and place far removed from the cares of the present.

After Oxford, I drove to nearby Blenheim Palace, birthplace of Winston Churchhill and home of the Dukes of Marlborough. The grand house is a Baroque masterpiece, with rooms filled with vast tapestries of the family's triumphs, with enormous portrait paintings of the Dukes and their accomplishments and families, with exquisite furniture, porcelains, silver and gold furnishings and Objets d'Art. The dining room was especially grand, with trompe d'oille scenes of galleries of famous people looking down from the walls, high ceilings, and a table set only for the most high. Then, last on the tour, came the library. The vast, oval room, or rather hall, was a vision of light and space, presided over by a white carving of Queen Ann which stood in the center of the room, surrounded by grand bookcases.

After the dazzling look at the first floor of the palace, I wandered the equally impressive and vast gardens. When a sudden dark cloud appeared overhead, I hurried down a walk leading to the lakeside and a shelter. There I met a girl from Maine who was tending the boat which was available for seeing the palace and grounds from the lake. She provided me a solo tour by boat. As we sailed quietly over the water, we talked of our respective travels. I felt rather privileged to have the boat all to myself.
I completed my visit to Blenheim with a stroll through the rose garden and to a small waterfall along a path offering more purple rhododendron and copper beeches as well as stray pheasants, pecking the ground beneath the huge trees. In the gift shop at the gateway, I bought a large Cadburys chocolate to help me on my journey back to Worcester.

The drive back via Broadway and other quaint Cotswold towns was somewhat tiring after so early a rise, and after seeing so much. I was glad to see Nancy's house again. Nancy had made reservations for dinner in Malvern. After a brief rest, I joined Mom, Marilyn and Nancy for the short drive to the restaurant. We had a fine seafood dinner, overlooking the green hills and Golden towers of Malvern.

Tues. June 6: Grasmere
After a full breakfast at Nancy's, Mom, Marilyn and I took to the freeways once again, heading up the M5/6 to Cambria. The roads were crowded, but there were no jams, and I flew along at 80-90 mph. By lunch time we were lakeside at Windermere, and stopped at an old hotel and pub for a quick ploughman's lunch (i.e. with cheese and bread and relish). We then drove on along scenic narrow drives to Ambleside, Rydal, and our destination, Grasmere. After settling in Grasmere, we took an evening drive up the lake country to Keswick. The drive was spectacular with views of mountains and lakes in lush forests and meadows. We visited S. Gardens, aflame with wild azalea and the usual huge rhododendron. Finally, we arrived high up at Castlerigg.

Castelrigg is a sacred space overlooking lakes and mountains between Keswick, Windermere, and Penrith. The holy circle of stones crowns a mountain peak that is itself encircled by green peaks and barren mountains reminding me of the highlands of Norway above the fjords between Oslo and Bergen. Dark clouds swept over the sky above Castlerigg, showering the vistas with brief rains and mist, yet allowing shafts of sunlight to move over the many distant peaks as well.

If Stone age man worshipped Nature, he could not have found a more holy shrine to Nature's grandeur than this space. We arrived when only a few people walked on the sacred ground. But as we departed, a bus load of Germans drew up, depositing loud, camera-clicking defilers. The sheep that sat among the stones showed more reverence and appreciation.
Wednesday, June 7
A day for walking. Passing Dove cottage, I hiked up Brackenfell to Lord Crag. With a sky deep blue, puffed with passing cumulus, I had clear, awesome views of Grasmere below, of Rydal Water, and even of distant Lake Windermere. Hearty, nature-loving Brits appeared here and there on the upward path. Often they were quite elderly, with walking sticks in hand. It was refreshing to meet and speak with such devoted Pantheists. On the way back I visited a second time Wordsworth's lovely home, Rydal Mount with its fine garden and well-proportioned rooms decorated with simple, well-made furniture, and giving views of the garden and Windermere beyond. I felt something of the inspiration that Wordsworth must have known here.
After my hikes above Grasmere, I drove alone to Coniston Water, another gorgeous, long lake, and site of John Ruskin's home, Brantwood. I walked through the unkempt gardens behind the house and toured the elegant rooms within. Finally, I made the too long drive up along Ullswater toward Keswick with the majestic views of that lake and mountains. Here for the first time I saw the blight of a mining company.

When I finally got back to Grasmere, Mom and I dined alone, then walked around the town to Tweedies pub for an evening brew. I had my usual favorite, Bitters.

End, part 2

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