Bath

Last night Lyn avoided running over a squirrel. The night before she missed a bunny. Judging from the lack of roadkill the animals are smarter here. Or maybe they have a better mathematical chance of survival because the roads are narrower ... hmmm

We caught the train from Bradford on Avon to Bath. Got there just in time for a nice volunteer guide called Gwyn to take us on a free tour. We saw the Abbey and the Pump Room and Queen Square and the Crescent and the Circus and the Assembly Rooms - from the outside anyway. Then we had lunch at this pub - because it was there and it had a good sign.

In the fashion museum we agreed that everything in it from the 20s and 30s was great and the rest mostly ordinary and some of it just silly. Speaking of silly, we also played dress-ups. (All photographs inside with an iPad are dodgy - but we looked dodgy too.)

After this we split up. Lyn did retail therapy.

I toured the Roman Baths. Another excellent museumy thing but I'm starting not to care. Frankly, the Romans were awesome. I get it. 

Lyn had success too. Then we walked to the river, saw ducks and the fancy bridge, and came home via the supermarket.

The strangest things I saw today were the angels. Gwyn mentioned that the Abbey church was inspired by a dream of angels climbing and descending ladders to heaven. I thought, "weird", but didn't realise the decoration was as literal as the dream. While I was waiting for Lyn to finish shopping, I SAW the angels.

So this is what I was looking at.

Can you see the ladders? Lyn and I missed them initially.

It was cold today - about 13 degrees - but fine AGAIN.

I've been thinking. As I visit places in England, and hear English sounds and voices, I notice, above all, how familiar it all seems. It isn't part of my memories, but it is hard-wired into my cultural memory. This is a feeling much deeper than 'Pride and Prejudice' or 'Downton Abbey' on television could create. It comes from my own childhood and youth. I spent years in a world of books. I half expect the Famous Five to cycle down Ivy Lane past the farm with a basket containing ham, cheese and lettuce sandwiches and lashings of ginger beer. Just William might appear grinning from behind that ivy-covered wall ready for conkers. At the Abbey yesterday a light aircraft flew overhead very low. If Biggles had flopped his Sopwith Camel into the next field, I could have said, "Steady on old chap! Let's get some hot tea into you." This is a feeling that Australians of previous generations must have felt much more strongly when they spoke of going 'home' to England. I suppose I am from the last generation to have this feeling. My own children certainly won't. I suppose many modern English children are remote from this too.

Stourhead and Lacock Abbey

We are trapped in storybook England. We headed south for Stourhead house and gardens. When we could see the landscape above the storybook hedgerows it was, well, storybook.

I'd saved up Stourhead for Lyn as a surprise. Gardens and ducks were a given. Garden doesn't quite describe it (see below).

The house was the usual quite interesting baronial pile, but the landscaping, which dates from the 18th century, is the masterpiece.

(Ooh! The ITV news just said that that they were culling 70% of the badgers in Gloucestershire to prevent the spread of tuberculosis in cattle. Damn the cattle, how can they kill Mr Badger? I am outraged. I shall write to The Times.)

Anyhoo - then we drove to Lacock Abbey and the village of Lacock. 'Twas amazing in other ways. It started, obviously, as an abbey, but when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries the family of the guy who lived there till 2011 bought it. The National Trust keeps the bottom floor in its medieval glory, the upper floors as an exhibit of its later incarnations, and it has also set up a museum about the Fox-Talbot who seems to have invented photography here. Scenes from the first two Harry Potter movies were filmed in some rooms and the attached village is so 'ye olde' that a number of period dramas have been filmed there as well. Lyn and I spent a good part of the day reciting Jane Austen type lines - "you seem to have a pretty little wilderness...”

  
Below is Lyn's photograph of me in THE WINDOW , the same window that appears in Fox-Talbot's first-ever photograph. The original Fox Talbot photograph was better quality. 

Having spent time in London and here, I have discovered what pensioners do in this country. Legions of cheerful old duffers, and battalions of spry grey haired old ladies, spend their spare time volunteering for service with the National Trust or other heritage organisations. They are uniformly enthusiastic, and occasionally jolly. Lyn spent time with one lovely lady who explained the labour-intensive process of preserving Stourhead's library to her. We also chatted to a jolly old coot about cricket. Everybody is immensely cheerful about Australia's sporting doldrums. His best line was, "Did Australia attend our olympics?" I had my response ready though ... "I'm old enough to remember the last period when Australia had a sporting low point. It was the late 70s and early 80s. I can't remember any time before now when England was any good at all." He thought that was pretty good. As we left he said, "Keep up your spirits." God I hope we win something soon!

Bath tomorrow - the city, not the cleansing process. I am still following Australian practices of daily bathing.  

Bradford on Avon

Today we drove across the fat bit of England to the other side. (It takes longer to drive to Canberra.) We arrived at South Wraxall to discover our cottage is an amazing 15th centurish building with all mod cons. Amazingly-storybook-pretty too, it is called Brook Cottage because, you guessed it, there is a brook.

Evening at Brook Cottage

We headed off to the local town, Bradford-on-Avon, which is also amazing. We stood on the bridge, wandered up the towpath, discovered the medieval tithe barn, sussed out the train station, had a cream tea and came home. 

  
We were walking along the river path and towpath and, as you do, said 'Hello' to people as they walked past in the opposite direction. Three couples in succession, all clearly unconnected with each other, replied cheerfully. All replied in Australia's unmistakable accent. Can't get away from 'us'.  

Lyn did interact with 3 genuine locals in the teashop. We have found ourselves in the midst of a new series of Downton Abbey here. A key character is dead - but we didn't know how. Lyn heard them discussing the series and so asked them. A long conversation ensued. I didn't escape because the young waitress came over and proceeded to chat to me about, you guessed it, Downton Abbey.

Tonight we went to The Longs Arms for dinner. Had a brilliant, but expensive, meal at the pub. It has 2 stars in something. The beer and food here is great so far.

Cambridge and St Ives

We went to the park and ride at St Ives - it sounds like a limerick or a riddle - but isn't. The bus used the local Cambridgeshire tram or trolley network. It can, and does, use the normal roads but much of the journey was along a concrete pathway thingy. From the top deck of the bus we realised that there are small lakes everywhere round here.

Through the front window of the bus/tram/trolley

In Cambridge we went on a 2 hour walking tour which took in many of the sights and included exploring Queens' and Kings colleges - and glimpses of many others.

 It was an interesting tour with enough gardens to keep Lyn happy.

We also saw the very cool handless clock. There is an obsession with time in Cambridge. Every college has a sundial it seems.

We found a spot to charge my camera battery, had another very late pub lunch and then split up. I explored a little more and Lyn shopped.

On the way home we stopped to explore St Ives. Idyllic place. The bridge is from about 1420. There were numerous swans and the odd duck.

Off to the local pub for dinner we think.

 

The Ship of the Fens

Today we got a minicab to Stansted Airport and hired our car. There were some glitches. The car is a Citroen. We couldn't find the door handle. We couldn't find reverse gear. Between us we have a zillion years of driving, but those damned French confounded us. We drove up into Cambridgeshire, to Fenstanton, where we are staying at the Blue Cow.

The Blue Cow

We then drove off into the fens in search of Ely cathedral. The car is a computer with wheels. Between it and the Satnav, it is a bit like a friendly Big Brother - it whistles and chirps and beeps happily - "Shut the boot", "you are in reverse", "this is a safety camera zone", "three seat-belts are undone" and "you are 1 metre above sea level". You find yourself saying, "What! What now for ______'s sake!"

 

Our nagging frog car

The fenland is flat. Every so often you realise that you are driving on a roadway raised above very low-lying fields. Then you cross a canal/sluice which is ABOVE the level of the fields. Intriguing.

Ely Cathedral, the improbably Gothic, "ship of the fens" is lovely.

Ely Cathedral

We had our first pub meal - roast beef and a "half" for me. Then we hovered outside while dignitaries walked in procession for the big annual service for justice.

It was the full deal - massed choirboys, silly hats, shiny black shoes with giant buckles, the organ with all the stops out, an address by that bloke who was a hostage in Lebanon for 8 years and stirring hymns and two verses of God Save the Queen. The public were not really welcome - there were 800 invited guests - but by looking suitably respectable and devout, and because we were dogged, we weasled our way in. Lyn was pleased that the Pope got a mention and we got both St Francis' and St Ignatius prayers sung at us. 

After all the tizziness of Roman interiors, I must say I find the relative austerity of English churches more to my tastes. So 'Huzzah!' for Oliver Cromwell and his lads.

We are back in Fenstanton and Lyn explored the village. She just returned all excited to tell me that they have allotments here.

Cambridge and St Ives tomorrow and another round with our nagging frog car. But first, there will be a full English breakfast.  

Portobello Rd, Lords and Movie Locations

This morning I finally got to use the Underground. While Lyn prepared for the day, I went by train to St Paul's churchyard and back because I'd remembered that I could pick up our National Trust pass there. Mission accomplished, I rendezvoused with Lyn at Goodge Street - a minor miracle of navigation and timing - and it was off to Portobello Road, Notting Hill. I got to stand out front of George Orwell's house.

We quickly decided the markets weren't for us, touristy markets are much the same everywhere, and so Lyn suggested we go to Lord's Cricket Ground. We had a pleasant couple of hours being led around. The group in tow were mostly Indians, with us as the only Australians. We endured the inevitable cheerful references to recent debacles. I'm sure none of you will be shocked by the news that Clarke and Watson sat on opposite sides of the dressing room...

Then we thought a walk along the south bank of the Thames was in order. First we had afternoon tea at Somerset House.

Then we crossed Waterloo Bridge and wandered along the riverside walk. We had a drink looking across the river at St Paul's. (My first English pint!)     

We passed the Golden Hind replica, the National Theatre, the Globe Theatre and Tate Modern. 

One more double-decker bus ride home and it was the end of an idyllic afternoon which consisted mostly, it seemed, of movie locations. So tomorrow morning we are waking up early enough to pack and head off towards Cambridge. I know 7 days seems a lot but, like Rome, we know we only touched the surface. It has been fascinating. I hope we come back one day.