Rickmav Christmas in England
Mar 14th, 2007, 03:49 PM
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rickmav: My late sister always used to remind me on my visits home, remember keep loose change in your car, you'll need it to park. Any time we were able to find "free parking" we felt like Rick very pleased with ourselves.
You know I can't quite place your accent LOL - the times that I have heard a version of that question both here (USA) and (UK) I have lost count. Sometimes people actually seem annoyed that you are not from where they thought.
I am impressed by all the places you have been lucky enough to visit in England. Agree with you Autumn is one of my favourite times to visit.
Sandy
You know I can't quite place your accent LOL - the times that I have heard a version of that question both here (USA) and (UK) I have lost count. Sometimes people actually seem annoyed that you are not from where they thought.
I am impressed by all the places you have been lucky enough to visit in England. Agree with you Autumn is one of my favourite times to visit.
Sandy
Mar 14th, 2007, 06:07 PM
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RM67 - Next update below - thanks for the kudos. We have the best days in England when we follow a new road or explore a tucked-away village. That's when it feels as if it is more ours, somehow. And you're right about the chicken and bacon pub meals - see my curry query below.
SandyBrit - Hi there. You're late sister was so right about the loose change. We went through a pile of it - not much free parking left in England anymore.
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Part IV Visiting the Dentist, Shopping in Stow and What's With the Weird Crisp Flavours?
---------------------------------------
We finally get in touch with the insurance company regarding Rick's back tooth, and there are no problems they will cover the repair. Hurrah! Margaret, our landlady, kindly calls her own dentist in Stratford and he's able to fit in Rick today at 3 p.m. (You could never get an appointment that quickly in Canada.)
Decide to explore Warwick (www.warwick-uk.co.uk/index.asp) this morning. Although we've been to the castle many times, we've never visited the town. It's a bit cooler when we set off, but warms up as the day proceeds. Can't say we are that impressed with Warwick, yet I hesitate to pass judgement on a place when we've only spent a few hours there. Maybe, it's because we can't find a parking space. Or the faces we pass look stern and unhappy. There's certainly interesting architecture and narrow streets. But also unattractive buildings that were probably built after the war. Everything seems dirty and unkempt.
The 15th-century, Lord Leycester Hospital (http://www.warwick-uk.co.uk/places-o...r-hospital.asp) is an interesting detour. It's easy to locate because it's right beside Warwick's West Gate, which arches over the main road. Some of the buildings provide homes for old soldiers, who are referred to as 'The Brethren' (sounds like a Stephen King novella). The residence has been in operation since the 1500s.
Tucked behind the main entrance is the Chantry Chapel, with some lovely stained glass by William Morris and beautiful chandeliers. One of 'The Brethren' (who also act as tour guides) tells us that at Christmas these are lit with candles for the Christmas Eve service. There's also a galleried courtyard, a Great Hall and the recently restored Master's Garden, where you can see a 2,000-year-old vase that once stood on the banks of the Nile. There's also a tiny museum dedicated to the Queen's Own Hussars, which keeps Rick amused while I wander about the gardens. It costs £3 per person to go in. And there's a tearoom as well.
Perhaps, Warwick has more to offer, we've just visited on a bad day. We decide we'll return before we leave Wilmcote.
Have lunch at the Windmill Inn on Church Street in Stratford (http://www.pub-explorer.com/olpg/win...avon/index.htm). It is very old, been in business since the 1700s. On one wall is a list of licensees and four of them have been women. Imagine if each of them had kept a diary, what stories they could tell. When Rick orders, the landlady calls him, 'My lovely' - sounds like a line from a pirate movie.
While we are eating, the landlady and another customer begin talking about some of the other pubs in town. Apparently, the Garrick Inn, which we like a lot, has been 'putting on airs'; the 'Pen and Parchment' "Well, you know what goes on there, don't you?" unfortunately, we don't. And the 'Dirty Duck' "The landlady will make you drink up if it's time for the actors to come over from the theatre." Have no idea whether the gossip is well founded or not.
The food is quite good. I have the tuna melt with taco chips (!) and a side salad, Rick has the steak and mushroom sandwich. About £9 with a Coke. The service isn't that great, it seems to take a long time for our meal to arrive. And, although the area we sit in is non-smoking, a fellow plunks himself down right at the entrance and smokes his lungs out.
The people a few tables over are talking about 'I'm a Celebrity' and I can't believe they are beginning to like David Gest. He's so strange. I think it must be the British practice of rooting for the underdog. The men and women sitting at the table are quite nasty, however, about Lauren Booth, Cherie Booth's (Tony Blair's wife) half-sister. I kind of like her.
Dr. Appleton, the dentist, charges Rick £30 for an x-ray and a quick fix on the tooth. He says it will last until we get home. We expected it to cost a lot more, based on what we would pay in Canada. Not only was the dentist on time, but Rick is in and out in 15 minutes.
We spend the rest of the day wandering about Stratford. We really have become attached to the place, particularly as more and more Christmas decorations are put up. There is such a sense of anticipation. We walk along the River Avon and sit to watch a middle-aged couple getting their canal boat 'parked' for the night. We visit the Tourist Information Centre, at the bottom of Bridge Street, to load up on free brochures, etc. and don't find the staff that friendly. There are some interesting tourist-type gifts there though, in case anyone needs to buy a lot of things quickly.
We make tacos for dinner I think there must be some different ingredient in the taco mix in England, because the cottage reeks of curry for days. Also, you put the pita pockets in the toaster and they 'fluff' out to create the pocket. Very cool. (I know, small things amuse small minds.)
Reading an interesting book from the library. It is by Anne Hart and is called, "Hercule Poirot - The Life & Times." What is strange is that it is written by a professor at Memorial University in Newfoundland, Canada. And I've never heard of it. What Hart has done has used all of Agatha Christie's published works, biographies, unpublished notes, etc., which Christie's daughter let her read, to write this biography of Poirot, as if he was a real person. Well, he almost is, isn't he?
Rick has never been much of a reader, but has decided that since he has now retired (ha, ha), he is going to read all the things he never had time for when he was slaving away in the salt mines. He decides to start with the Agatha Christie mysteries. It's weird after all these years to be able to discuss them with him. Since one of the reasons I decided to travel to England, some 30 years ago, was because of Agatha Christie, sharing her writing with Rick - while in England - adds another level of splendour to the journey we are on.
Head off to Shipston-on-Stour the next morning for what we think is a Christmas market. But we can't find it! There is a sign on the edge of town that says it's on from 10-2, but it doesn't say where it is. We stop to ask a couple of people on the street and no one knows a thing about it. We must have got the dates mixed up.
So we drive on to Moreton in Marsh (www.cotswolds.info/places/moreton-in-marsh.shtml). Poor Moreton, smack dab in the middle of the Cotswolds, but much maligned. I think it's one of those places that everyone passes through on their way to somewhere else, and because it's always so busy and you have to manage two roundabouts, one on top of the other, you usually say, "bugger this, I'm not stopping". Someone once said about Moreton there are no rivers running through it, William Morris did not live here and Oliver Cromwell didn't execute someone in the churchyard. So there! A few years ago, we stayed in a self-catering apartment with my sister and brother-in-law just off the High Street, and grew to appreciate its charms.
We park, then find the place we rented 10 years ago just to have a look at it. And discover, once again, that it has just been sold! Soon there may be no self-catering properties left or as the houses are sold off, what's left may become more and more expensive to rent.
We have lunch at 'The Black Bear', along the High Street. When we stayed in Moreton, we ate here a lot. It's been spruced up since we were here. Although it was never a super friendly place, there was always a core of friendly locals at the bar, and the food is good and reasonable. I'm intrigued by what Caesar salad will taste like in the Cotswolds, so that's what I order. Rick has the fish and chips. We each have a ½ pint and our bill comes to £15. The salad doesn't taste like the stuff at home, but it's very tasty all the same. The pub is supposed to have a poltergeist called 'Fred', but he doesn't make an appearance when we are there.
Then we drive on to Stow in the Wold (www.cotswolds.info/places/stow-on-the-wold.shtml). I resist spending much time here because it seems so popular with tourists. But, I have to admit, it is popular for a reason. There are lots of lovely shops, and some ancient pubs. And free parking in the town square! (At least at the time of day we are there.) We separate so we can do some Christmas shopping and I buy a few things for Rick. Makes me feel all giggly inside. And I pick up my first Christmas decorating magazine, 'Ideal Home'. It's so hard to pick just one, they all look scrumptious. (At home, my brother-in-law always fills my sister Vanessa's Christmas stocking with English decorating magazines. It's a treat my whole family enjoys, since the magazines are circulated among us.)
We are starting to actually see some decorated Christmas trees in the shops. And some of the windows are so lovely. There is one in Stow that has a snow princess in a blown-glass sleigh with all these wonderful spun sugar clouds and twinkling lights. I actually press my nose against the window certain that at any moment the sleigh will become airborne. My granddaughter would love it.
When Rick and I meet up, after each taking a turn depositing our bags into the boot, I tell him about some of the things I saw that I really, really like. We take a tour and I point out the best things, but I'm afraid he isn't paying much attention. (As it turns out, he was.)
Stop at Tesco to pick up some soup and buns. We find that we are having smaller dinners because the lunches are so filling. We have a look at the different kinds of crisps (potato chips to us North Americans) that are on offer and are shocked to find roast chicken, lamb and mint, and parsnip. Yikes! Rick is prepared to sample a few but I'm far less adventurous. Give me a good ripple chip any day.
The ride home is beautiful. The sun is just setting and everything is touched by a golden light that makes each colour deeper and richer. It's almost too perfect. As if you can't really take it all in, it's so sensual, yet breathtakingly simple. As we come around one corner Rick and I both gasp. A sunbeam has picked out a honey-coloured, stone manor house, sitting half way down a hill, and all around the house are these laundry-white sheep and emerald-green fields and purply-brown hedgerows neatly marking each field from the other. And the house is like a glowing jewel in the middle of it all. It is almost too much.
Next...Part V Wet as a Rat in the English Rain, Disappointed With Mary Arden and Shakespeare Comes Alive
SandyBrit - Hi there. You're late sister was so right about the loose change. We went through a pile of it - not much free parking left in England anymore.
------------------------------------
Part IV Visiting the Dentist, Shopping in Stow and What's With the Weird Crisp Flavours?
---------------------------------------
We finally get in touch with the insurance company regarding Rick's back tooth, and there are no problems they will cover the repair. Hurrah! Margaret, our landlady, kindly calls her own dentist in Stratford and he's able to fit in Rick today at 3 p.m. (You could never get an appointment that quickly in Canada.)
Decide to explore Warwick (www.warwick-uk.co.uk/index.asp) this morning. Although we've been to the castle many times, we've never visited the town. It's a bit cooler when we set off, but warms up as the day proceeds. Can't say we are that impressed with Warwick, yet I hesitate to pass judgement on a place when we've only spent a few hours there. Maybe, it's because we can't find a parking space. Or the faces we pass look stern and unhappy. There's certainly interesting architecture and narrow streets. But also unattractive buildings that were probably built after the war. Everything seems dirty and unkempt.
The 15th-century, Lord Leycester Hospital (http://www.warwick-uk.co.uk/places-o...r-hospital.asp) is an interesting detour. It's easy to locate because it's right beside Warwick's West Gate, which arches over the main road. Some of the buildings provide homes for old soldiers, who are referred to as 'The Brethren' (sounds like a Stephen King novella). The residence has been in operation since the 1500s.
Tucked behind the main entrance is the Chantry Chapel, with some lovely stained glass by William Morris and beautiful chandeliers. One of 'The Brethren' (who also act as tour guides) tells us that at Christmas these are lit with candles for the Christmas Eve service. There's also a galleried courtyard, a Great Hall and the recently restored Master's Garden, where you can see a 2,000-year-old vase that once stood on the banks of the Nile. There's also a tiny museum dedicated to the Queen's Own Hussars, which keeps Rick amused while I wander about the gardens. It costs £3 per person to go in. And there's a tearoom as well.
Perhaps, Warwick has more to offer, we've just visited on a bad day. We decide we'll return before we leave Wilmcote.
Have lunch at the Windmill Inn on Church Street in Stratford (http://www.pub-explorer.com/olpg/win...avon/index.htm). It is very old, been in business since the 1700s. On one wall is a list of licensees and four of them have been women. Imagine if each of them had kept a diary, what stories they could tell. When Rick orders, the landlady calls him, 'My lovely' - sounds like a line from a pirate movie.
While we are eating, the landlady and another customer begin talking about some of the other pubs in town. Apparently, the Garrick Inn, which we like a lot, has been 'putting on airs'; the 'Pen and Parchment' "Well, you know what goes on there, don't you?" unfortunately, we don't. And the 'Dirty Duck' "The landlady will make you drink up if it's time for the actors to come over from the theatre." Have no idea whether the gossip is well founded or not.
The food is quite good. I have the tuna melt with taco chips (!) and a side salad, Rick has the steak and mushroom sandwich. About £9 with a Coke. The service isn't that great, it seems to take a long time for our meal to arrive. And, although the area we sit in is non-smoking, a fellow plunks himself down right at the entrance and smokes his lungs out.
The people a few tables over are talking about 'I'm a Celebrity' and I can't believe they are beginning to like David Gest. He's so strange. I think it must be the British practice of rooting for the underdog. The men and women sitting at the table are quite nasty, however, about Lauren Booth, Cherie Booth's (Tony Blair's wife) half-sister. I kind of like her.
Dr. Appleton, the dentist, charges Rick £30 for an x-ray and a quick fix on the tooth. He says it will last until we get home. We expected it to cost a lot more, based on what we would pay in Canada. Not only was the dentist on time, but Rick is in and out in 15 minutes.
We spend the rest of the day wandering about Stratford. We really have become attached to the place, particularly as more and more Christmas decorations are put up. There is such a sense of anticipation. We walk along the River Avon and sit to watch a middle-aged couple getting their canal boat 'parked' for the night. We visit the Tourist Information Centre, at the bottom of Bridge Street, to load up on free brochures, etc. and don't find the staff that friendly. There are some interesting tourist-type gifts there though, in case anyone needs to buy a lot of things quickly.
We make tacos for dinner I think there must be some different ingredient in the taco mix in England, because the cottage reeks of curry for days. Also, you put the pita pockets in the toaster and they 'fluff' out to create the pocket. Very cool. (I know, small things amuse small minds.)
Reading an interesting book from the library. It is by Anne Hart and is called, "Hercule Poirot - The Life & Times." What is strange is that it is written by a professor at Memorial University in Newfoundland, Canada. And I've never heard of it. What Hart has done has used all of Agatha Christie's published works, biographies, unpublished notes, etc., which Christie's daughter let her read, to write this biography of Poirot, as if he was a real person. Well, he almost is, isn't he?
Rick has never been much of a reader, but has decided that since he has now retired (ha, ha), he is going to read all the things he never had time for when he was slaving away in the salt mines. He decides to start with the Agatha Christie mysteries. It's weird after all these years to be able to discuss them with him. Since one of the reasons I decided to travel to England, some 30 years ago, was because of Agatha Christie, sharing her writing with Rick - while in England - adds another level of splendour to the journey we are on.
Head off to Shipston-on-Stour the next morning for what we think is a Christmas market. But we can't find it! There is a sign on the edge of town that says it's on from 10-2, but it doesn't say where it is. We stop to ask a couple of people on the street and no one knows a thing about it. We must have got the dates mixed up.
So we drive on to Moreton in Marsh (www.cotswolds.info/places/moreton-in-marsh.shtml). Poor Moreton, smack dab in the middle of the Cotswolds, but much maligned. I think it's one of those places that everyone passes through on their way to somewhere else, and because it's always so busy and you have to manage two roundabouts, one on top of the other, you usually say, "bugger this, I'm not stopping". Someone once said about Moreton there are no rivers running through it, William Morris did not live here and Oliver Cromwell didn't execute someone in the churchyard. So there! A few years ago, we stayed in a self-catering apartment with my sister and brother-in-law just off the High Street, and grew to appreciate its charms.
We park, then find the place we rented 10 years ago just to have a look at it. And discover, once again, that it has just been sold! Soon there may be no self-catering properties left or as the houses are sold off, what's left may become more and more expensive to rent.
We have lunch at 'The Black Bear', along the High Street. When we stayed in Moreton, we ate here a lot. It's been spruced up since we were here. Although it was never a super friendly place, there was always a core of friendly locals at the bar, and the food is good and reasonable. I'm intrigued by what Caesar salad will taste like in the Cotswolds, so that's what I order. Rick has the fish and chips. We each have a ½ pint and our bill comes to £15. The salad doesn't taste like the stuff at home, but it's very tasty all the same. The pub is supposed to have a poltergeist called 'Fred', but he doesn't make an appearance when we are there.
Then we drive on to Stow in the Wold (www.cotswolds.info/places/stow-on-the-wold.shtml). I resist spending much time here because it seems so popular with tourists. But, I have to admit, it is popular for a reason. There are lots of lovely shops, and some ancient pubs. And free parking in the town square! (At least at the time of day we are there.) We separate so we can do some Christmas shopping and I buy a few things for Rick. Makes me feel all giggly inside. And I pick up my first Christmas decorating magazine, 'Ideal Home'. It's so hard to pick just one, they all look scrumptious. (At home, my brother-in-law always fills my sister Vanessa's Christmas stocking with English decorating magazines. It's a treat my whole family enjoys, since the magazines are circulated among us.)
We are starting to actually see some decorated Christmas trees in the shops. And some of the windows are so lovely. There is one in Stow that has a snow princess in a blown-glass sleigh with all these wonderful spun sugar clouds and twinkling lights. I actually press my nose against the window certain that at any moment the sleigh will become airborne. My granddaughter would love it.
When Rick and I meet up, after each taking a turn depositing our bags into the boot, I tell him about some of the things I saw that I really, really like. We take a tour and I point out the best things, but I'm afraid he isn't paying much attention. (As it turns out, he was.)
Stop at Tesco to pick up some soup and buns. We find that we are having smaller dinners because the lunches are so filling. We have a look at the different kinds of crisps (potato chips to us North Americans) that are on offer and are shocked to find roast chicken, lamb and mint, and parsnip. Yikes! Rick is prepared to sample a few but I'm far less adventurous. Give me a good ripple chip any day.
The ride home is beautiful. The sun is just setting and everything is touched by a golden light that makes each colour deeper and richer. It's almost too perfect. As if you can't really take it all in, it's so sensual, yet breathtakingly simple. As we come around one corner Rick and I both gasp. A sunbeam has picked out a honey-coloured, stone manor house, sitting half way down a hill, and all around the house are these laundry-white sheep and emerald-green fields and purply-brown hedgerows neatly marking each field from the other. And the house is like a glowing jewel in the middle of it all. It is almost too much.
Next...Part V Wet as a Rat in the English Rain, Disappointed With Mary Arden and Shakespeare Comes Alive
Mar 14th, 2007, 06:29 PM
#23
What - no Prawn Cocktail crisps!?! Those are my very very favorites. 
Sorry you didn't like Warwick much. St Mary's church is one of my favorites in that part of the country. Its Beauchamp Chapel is amazing. Don't know if it is still the case - but the Brethren and their wives used to serve lunches and teas in the Hospital.
Sorry you didn't like Warwick much. St Mary's church is one of my favorites in that part of the country. Its Beauchamp Chapel is amazing. Don't know if it is still the case - but the Brethren and their wives used to serve lunches and teas in the Hospital.
Mar 14th, 2007, 09:35 PM
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Hi janisj - Oh, I forgot the Prawn Cocktail crisps. Do they really taste like seafood and cocktail sauce?
Didn't get to St Mary's church. Will have to go 'next' time. Not sure if the Brethren and their wives were still serving lunches and teas in the Hospital, we didn't stop to eat. That might have been a treat.
Didn't get to St Mary's church. Will have to go 'next' time. Not sure if the Brethren and their wives were still serving lunches and teas in the Hospital, we didn't stop to eat. That might have been a treat.
Mar 15th, 2007, 02:11 AM
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Hi rickmav, just had to reply again and let you know how much I'm enjoying your reports. Definitely the best I've read on Fodors.
And on crisp flavours - when I'm in North America I'm always shocked by how BORING! the crisps are. On coming home I am always craving a packet of Roast Chicken or Smoky Bacon!! (Crisps are one of my bad habits)
And on crisp flavours - when I'm in North America I'm always shocked by how BORING! the crisps are. On coming home I am always craving a packet of Roast Chicken or Smoky Bacon!! (Crisps are one of my bad habits)
Mar 15th, 2007, 03:56 AM
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rickmav - I have had similar emergency treatment while home in the U.K. and what you pay may depend on if you are being treated by a NHS dentist vs. private. You might be interested in the information posted on the www.nhs.uk website. My late sister got me into her dentist and she said getting on the list of a good NHS dentist was increasingly difficult.
I miss the old Smith's crisps with the little blue packets of salt. Now I am dating myself.
Hate for your trip journal to end. It is so interesting. Again thanks.
Sandy
I miss the old Smith's crisps with the little blue packets of salt. Now I am dating myself.
Hate for your trip journal to end. It is so interesting. Again thanks.
Sandy
Mar 16th, 2007, 02:03 PM
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Part V Wet as a Rat in the English Rain, Disappointed With Mary Arden and Shakespeare Comes Alive
Into Stratford this morning to use the Internet at the library. It's so handy to be able to do all our banking stuff, etc. via the computer. Rick decides he is going to wander around, maybe do some Christmas shopping for little, old me.
I'm tucked away in a corner on the second floor of the library, so it's some time before I notice that it's raining outside. Suddenly, there's a clap of thunder and it starts raining very, very hard. I think to myself, 'Geez, I hope Rick has found some shelter somewhere,' and then continue merrily typing all my emails to friends and family. About 10 minutes later, there's a collective gasp in the library. I look up and there he is. My poor, soaked-to-the-epidermis husband.
When it started to rain, Rick decided to dash down to the car (we'd parked at the Bridgefoot multi-story so we could check some things out at the Tourist Information Centre), to get an umbrella for me. About mid-way there, with no shelter in sight, the skies open and Rick's underneath the tap. He is so wet, that when he moves little streams roll off his body and make a water trail across the library floor. As he walks by one pensioner, she says to him, staring pointedly at the umbrella, "Looks like it didn't help much, duckie."
I decide I better get him home as quick as possible to dry him out and, of course, as we leave the library it starts to rain hard again. We are both virtually liquid by the time we get to the car. It's a couple of days before the seats really dry out.
Of course, the English citizens of Stratford trot merrily along, everyone instantly equipped with an umbrella and/or mac. And yet you really don't notice people walking about with these things. They just suddenly appear at the ends of their arms.
We throw everything in the dryer when we get back to the cottage, then decide to try out the 'Mary Arden Inn', one of the two pubs in Wilmcote (the other is the Mason's Arms). It's about a three minute walk, and we move very fast so we don't get wet again.
The 'Mary Arden' (www.mary-arden.co.uk/cms/) is very nice inside; I can see why it might appeal to tourists who come to see Mary Arden's House and the Shakespeare Countryside Museum (www.shakespeare.org.uk/content/view/361/361/). But the food is wretched. Rick has sausage and mash with gravy, which is okay, but the vegetables are over-cooked. The way they used to be, many years ago, when we first started coming to England. I have a chicken sandwich that is horrible. The bread is white (I order brown), so tough you have to tear it with your teeth, with the tiniest piece of chicken cowering in one corner and a shrivelled piece of lettuce and a hint of mayo in the other. I should have sent it back but didn't. I take the chicken off the bread and eat it, then share some of Rick's mushy vegetables. I feel bad the rest of the day because I didn't say something, but I don't want to sound like a whinging tourist. We have a ½ pint each of Abbott's, which is good. The bill comes to £17. Two thumbs down.
The rain has finally stopped so we decide to check out the local Christmas bazaar at the Wilmcote School. It's actually quite similar to what we'd see at home I guess little old ladies crocheting things are the same wherever you go. There are some plants, a few puzzles with pieces missing and a table full of kids' toys. We buy a few magazines, a roll of unopened Christmas wrapping paper, homemade sausage rolls, a blackberry and apple crumble and some shortbread cookies. With the cookies, we get a free recipe for mulled wine. And we discover that we have been pronouncing the name of our town incorrectly - it is 'Wilm-coat', not 'Wilm-cot'.
We drive back into Stratford to do some grocery shopping at Tesco. We've been missing Italy, so decide to cook penne with fresh vegetables and Italian sausage. However, we have to settle for 'sausages with spice', since the butcher assures us he does not sell Italian meat (!). I hope they're not some exotic, medieval type sausage (they aren't) because I'm not quite sure how that would work with a creamy, tomato sauce. We also discover that the English do not sell ranch dressing. I think the fast food business in North America would shut down without ranch dressing. Years ago, the only salad dressing we could find in England was salad crème. There are a lot more choices today, just no ranch.
I finish reading Thomas Mann's 'Death in Venice' tonight. Somewhat intense, but interesting to read about Venice now that we've been there. (Isn't that the coolest part of travelling?)
Tom Cruise's wedding is on all the news programs. You have to wonder why someone would make his wedding a circus on purpose. And it costs two million pounds sounds like someone is trying to prove something.
The next day, we decide to take the train into Stratford from Wilmcote. It's painless. It costs 80p one-way and is about a 10-minute ride, no stops. The Wilmcote station is quite basic; looks like it may have been busier at one time. But now the buildings on each side of the tracks are no longer in use and the place looks unloved. But not scary or anything.
There's a boot sale at the Stratford train station when we arrive and we check things out. I buy a small watercolour of the church at Hampton Lucy. We haven't been there yet, but someone Rick was talking to at Tesco yesterday recommends the pub there, called The Boar's Head. The church looks very pretty.
Then we walk from the station to Starbucks for a caffe mocha and muffin (me). Rick tries the special gingerbread latte and a mince tart. I have a taste, not crazy about either, but he likes them. The place is very busy, but we manage to snag some comfy chairs. What a great place to people-watch.
Then on to the weekly Farmer's Market on Rother Street. There is a dance troupe from Cornwall entertaining the crowds and lot of street entertainers as well. One guy is dressed up as William Shakespeare covered in what seems to be silver paint. He stands on a pedestal and looks exactly like a statute. Then all of a sudden, he moves. You should see how people jump (small things and small minds, again). Someone else is playing the bagpipes and we can hear him wherever we walk. I always cry when I hear the bagpipes, I have no idea why. Rick offers me a Kleenex as soon as the guy starts playing. There's also a young woman playing a violin outside the library with her mom turning the pages of the music (aaahhhhh).
Have dinner at the Garrick Inn again. Very good and such nice staff. I have the wild mushroom lasagne, which is quite different; it has spinach inside (!) and is served with garlic bread. Rick has the beer-battered cod and chips, and it comes with minted peas, which we've never had before. He soon realizes he doesn't like them so I eat them. About £22 with a pint of bitter each.
We watch 'A Caribbean Mystery' on the telly when we get home, with Helen Hayes as Miss Marple. Not bad, but I still think Joan Hickson is the best Miss Marple ever. Geraldine McEwan is all right, although it's taken me awhile to not see her as the witch in 'Robin Hood' (with Alan Rickman as the evil and hilarious - Sheriff of Nottingham). Angela Lansbury was the worst Miss Marple and although Rick finds Margaret Rutherford frightening, I do enjoy the mysteries with her. "There of a time" as my mother would say. One of the funniest spoofs of Miss Marple is in 'Murder by Death', with Elsa Lanchester playing Miss Jessica Marbles. Great stuff.
Rick goes to bed and I start reading E.M. Forster's 'Where Angels Fear to Tread'. I'm pleasantly surprised to discover that half the story takes place in Monteriano, a town based on San Gimignano (the rest of it takes place in England). And, of course, only a few weeks ago we were wandering through its lovely streets. I just love it when travel enriches and informs what you see, read, eat, think about how can you put a dollar amount on that!
Lazy start to the next day. We pick up the Sunday papers and spread it and ourselves all about as we read everything from the ads to the letters to the editor (the English have to be the best writers of 'letters to the editor'). There is a great picture of Katie Holmes peering out a window in the Italian castle where she and Tom Cruise have been married. There are bars on the windows and it looks as if she's in prison. Hmmmm.
Today is officially the beginning of Christmas because we put up our tree and decorations. Oh, what fun. We've never had a fake tree before, and even though ours is miniscule, it takes us forever to get the hang of it. Finally, we figure out what to do and snap, snap, snap it's up. It is a bit lop-sided and jumbley chunks here and there, but we don't mind. Once we get the decorations on (the ones we picked up at the Oxfam shop), most of the flaws are hidden. We drink champagne as we decorate and play the Xmas CDs at full blast. I don't know what Margaret and Ted, our landlords, must think. There are a few decorations left over so we flit about the house putting them wherever there's something to hang them on. We'll have to remember where they all are when it comes time to leave.
And the cottage smells lovely because I'm making a roast. With potatoes, carrots and gravy our traditional 'putting-up-the-Christmas-tree' dinner. I realize just before the roast is ready that we don't have flour for the gravy, so Rick jogs across to the tiny village shop, and thankfully, they have some.
We end the evening with our daily dose of 'I'm a Celebrity....'. It's getting a bit repetitive because the English public keep voting for the same two people to endure the dreaded 'Bush Tucker Trials'. The people chosen are certainly two of the most unlikeable celebrities on the show, but where's that English fair-mindedness we've come to love and expect? The first unlucky sod is a 62-year old woman named Jan Leeming, who was once a TV presenter and calls herself a 'man's woman' whatever the heck that is. She moans all the time and she has what I think psychiatrists would call a passive-aggressive nature. The second person is Scott Henshall, a 30-something gay man who is just as annoying and bitchy and turns everything into a dramatic event. Apparently, he's a fashion designer.
David Gest, Liza's ex, has turned into this lumpy, lazy, jungle bully. He lies in his cot all day and bosses people around. Great television. Beginning Friday, the public starts voting off one person a night.
We are very excited about attending the 'turning on the lights' ceremony in Stratford on Friday. We're going to spend the whole day in town and try to really soak up as much Christmas goodness as we can.
Next...Part VI A Taste of Gordon Ramsey, Turning on the Lights in Stratford and Bumping Into Smiler
Into Stratford this morning to use the Internet at the library. It's so handy to be able to do all our banking stuff, etc. via the computer. Rick decides he is going to wander around, maybe do some Christmas shopping for little, old me.
I'm tucked away in a corner on the second floor of the library, so it's some time before I notice that it's raining outside. Suddenly, there's a clap of thunder and it starts raining very, very hard. I think to myself, 'Geez, I hope Rick has found some shelter somewhere,' and then continue merrily typing all my emails to friends and family. About 10 minutes later, there's a collective gasp in the library. I look up and there he is. My poor, soaked-to-the-epidermis husband.
When it started to rain, Rick decided to dash down to the car (we'd parked at the Bridgefoot multi-story so we could check some things out at the Tourist Information Centre), to get an umbrella for me. About mid-way there, with no shelter in sight, the skies open and Rick's underneath the tap. He is so wet, that when he moves little streams roll off his body and make a water trail across the library floor. As he walks by one pensioner, she says to him, staring pointedly at the umbrella, "Looks like it didn't help much, duckie."
I decide I better get him home as quick as possible to dry him out and, of course, as we leave the library it starts to rain hard again. We are both virtually liquid by the time we get to the car. It's a couple of days before the seats really dry out.
Of course, the English citizens of Stratford trot merrily along, everyone instantly equipped with an umbrella and/or mac. And yet you really don't notice people walking about with these things. They just suddenly appear at the ends of their arms.
We throw everything in the dryer when we get back to the cottage, then decide to try out the 'Mary Arden Inn', one of the two pubs in Wilmcote (the other is the Mason's Arms). It's about a three minute walk, and we move very fast so we don't get wet again.
The 'Mary Arden' (www.mary-arden.co.uk/cms/) is very nice inside; I can see why it might appeal to tourists who come to see Mary Arden's House and the Shakespeare Countryside Museum (www.shakespeare.org.uk/content/view/361/361/). But the food is wretched. Rick has sausage and mash with gravy, which is okay, but the vegetables are over-cooked. The way they used to be, many years ago, when we first started coming to England. I have a chicken sandwich that is horrible. The bread is white (I order brown), so tough you have to tear it with your teeth, with the tiniest piece of chicken cowering in one corner and a shrivelled piece of lettuce and a hint of mayo in the other. I should have sent it back but didn't. I take the chicken off the bread and eat it, then share some of Rick's mushy vegetables. I feel bad the rest of the day because I didn't say something, but I don't want to sound like a whinging tourist. We have a ½ pint each of Abbott's, which is good. The bill comes to £17. Two thumbs down.
The rain has finally stopped so we decide to check out the local Christmas bazaar at the Wilmcote School. It's actually quite similar to what we'd see at home I guess little old ladies crocheting things are the same wherever you go. There are some plants, a few puzzles with pieces missing and a table full of kids' toys. We buy a few magazines, a roll of unopened Christmas wrapping paper, homemade sausage rolls, a blackberry and apple crumble and some shortbread cookies. With the cookies, we get a free recipe for mulled wine. And we discover that we have been pronouncing the name of our town incorrectly - it is 'Wilm-coat', not 'Wilm-cot'.
We drive back into Stratford to do some grocery shopping at Tesco. We've been missing Italy, so decide to cook penne with fresh vegetables and Italian sausage. However, we have to settle for 'sausages with spice', since the butcher assures us he does not sell Italian meat (!). I hope they're not some exotic, medieval type sausage (they aren't) because I'm not quite sure how that would work with a creamy, tomato sauce. We also discover that the English do not sell ranch dressing. I think the fast food business in North America would shut down without ranch dressing. Years ago, the only salad dressing we could find in England was salad crème. There are a lot more choices today, just no ranch.
I finish reading Thomas Mann's 'Death in Venice' tonight. Somewhat intense, but interesting to read about Venice now that we've been there. (Isn't that the coolest part of travelling?)
Tom Cruise's wedding is on all the news programs. You have to wonder why someone would make his wedding a circus on purpose. And it costs two million pounds sounds like someone is trying to prove something.
The next day, we decide to take the train into Stratford from Wilmcote. It's painless. It costs 80p one-way and is about a 10-minute ride, no stops. The Wilmcote station is quite basic; looks like it may have been busier at one time. But now the buildings on each side of the tracks are no longer in use and the place looks unloved. But not scary or anything.
There's a boot sale at the Stratford train station when we arrive and we check things out. I buy a small watercolour of the church at Hampton Lucy. We haven't been there yet, but someone Rick was talking to at Tesco yesterday recommends the pub there, called The Boar's Head. The church looks very pretty.
Then we walk from the station to Starbucks for a caffe mocha and muffin (me). Rick tries the special gingerbread latte and a mince tart. I have a taste, not crazy about either, but he likes them. The place is very busy, but we manage to snag some comfy chairs. What a great place to people-watch.
Then on to the weekly Farmer's Market on Rother Street. There is a dance troupe from Cornwall entertaining the crowds and lot of street entertainers as well. One guy is dressed up as William Shakespeare covered in what seems to be silver paint. He stands on a pedestal and looks exactly like a statute. Then all of a sudden, he moves. You should see how people jump (small things and small minds, again). Someone else is playing the bagpipes and we can hear him wherever we walk. I always cry when I hear the bagpipes, I have no idea why. Rick offers me a Kleenex as soon as the guy starts playing. There's also a young woman playing a violin outside the library with her mom turning the pages of the music (aaahhhhh).
Have dinner at the Garrick Inn again. Very good and such nice staff. I have the wild mushroom lasagne, which is quite different; it has spinach inside (!) and is served with garlic bread. Rick has the beer-battered cod and chips, and it comes with minted peas, which we've never had before. He soon realizes he doesn't like them so I eat them. About £22 with a pint of bitter each.
We watch 'A Caribbean Mystery' on the telly when we get home, with Helen Hayes as Miss Marple. Not bad, but I still think Joan Hickson is the best Miss Marple ever. Geraldine McEwan is all right, although it's taken me awhile to not see her as the witch in 'Robin Hood' (with Alan Rickman as the evil and hilarious - Sheriff of Nottingham). Angela Lansbury was the worst Miss Marple and although Rick finds Margaret Rutherford frightening, I do enjoy the mysteries with her. "There of a time" as my mother would say. One of the funniest spoofs of Miss Marple is in 'Murder by Death', with Elsa Lanchester playing Miss Jessica Marbles. Great stuff.
Rick goes to bed and I start reading E.M. Forster's 'Where Angels Fear to Tread'. I'm pleasantly surprised to discover that half the story takes place in Monteriano, a town based on San Gimignano (the rest of it takes place in England). And, of course, only a few weeks ago we were wandering through its lovely streets. I just love it when travel enriches and informs what you see, read, eat, think about how can you put a dollar amount on that!
Lazy start to the next day. We pick up the Sunday papers and spread it and ourselves all about as we read everything from the ads to the letters to the editor (the English have to be the best writers of 'letters to the editor'). There is a great picture of Katie Holmes peering out a window in the Italian castle where she and Tom Cruise have been married. There are bars on the windows and it looks as if she's in prison. Hmmmm.
Today is officially the beginning of Christmas because we put up our tree and decorations. Oh, what fun. We've never had a fake tree before, and even though ours is miniscule, it takes us forever to get the hang of it. Finally, we figure out what to do and snap, snap, snap it's up. It is a bit lop-sided and jumbley chunks here and there, but we don't mind. Once we get the decorations on (the ones we picked up at the Oxfam shop), most of the flaws are hidden. We drink champagne as we decorate and play the Xmas CDs at full blast. I don't know what Margaret and Ted, our landlords, must think. There are a few decorations left over so we flit about the house putting them wherever there's something to hang them on. We'll have to remember where they all are when it comes time to leave.
And the cottage smells lovely because I'm making a roast. With potatoes, carrots and gravy our traditional 'putting-up-the-Christmas-tree' dinner. I realize just before the roast is ready that we don't have flour for the gravy, so Rick jogs across to the tiny village shop, and thankfully, they have some.
We end the evening with our daily dose of 'I'm a Celebrity....'. It's getting a bit repetitive because the English public keep voting for the same two people to endure the dreaded 'Bush Tucker Trials'. The people chosen are certainly two of the most unlikeable celebrities on the show, but where's that English fair-mindedness we've come to love and expect? The first unlucky sod is a 62-year old woman named Jan Leeming, who was once a TV presenter and calls herself a 'man's woman' whatever the heck that is. She moans all the time and she has what I think psychiatrists would call a passive-aggressive nature. The second person is Scott Henshall, a 30-something gay man who is just as annoying and bitchy and turns everything into a dramatic event. Apparently, he's a fashion designer.
David Gest, Liza's ex, has turned into this lumpy, lazy, jungle bully. He lies in his cot all day and bosses people around. Great television. Beginning Friday, the public starts voting off one person a night.
We are very excited about attending the 'turning on the lights' ceremony in Stratford on Friday. We're going to spend the whole day in town and try to really soak up as much Christmas goodness as we can.
Next...Part VI A Taste of Gordon Ramsey, Turning on the Lights in Stratford and Bumping Into Smiler
Mar 19th, 2007, 08:44 AM
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Hi everyone. I'm thinking that maybe this is dragging on too long, so for the next report will focus on just the Christmas stuff. Less personal stuff.
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Part VI A Taste of Gordon Ramsey, Turning on the Lights in Stratford and Bumping Into Smiler
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I write out my Christmas cards today. I picked them up from the Heart and Stroke Foundation charity shop in Evesham when we were there last. It's a bit early to send them out, but I don't know how long it will take them to get to Canada. I'm quite tickled to be able to send Christmas cards to my friends and family back home from England. It is so cool.
We go into Stratford by train again, it's so handy and a good excuse to get some exercise. We are getting to know the town quite well. And always find something interesting to see and do. I know a lot of people avoid Stratford because it can get so insane in the summer, but in November and December, it is magical.
And the cottage in Wilmcote is so handy. By this point, we've travelled into Stratford by car, train and bus and it is so easy. There's also a great towpath from Wilmcote along the canal to Stratford and although we haven't been able to manage the return walk, it's three miles each way, our goal is to do it before we leave Wilmcote.
Coming home, we take the 4:30 train - we won't do that again. It's loaded to the rafters with school kids, mostly boys who are rowdy and cheeky, as boys tend to be at any age. With their school ties a kilter, they look quite sweet but the language flying about is no different from what you would hear in any school bus in Canada. Those that aren't teasing or swearing are playing games on their cell phones. There's also a lot of interesting sports equipment laying in the aisles, carried about in a variety of odd-shaped athletic bags.
After we get off the train, as we are walking towards our cottage, we pass by some bulls behind a stone fence. We stop to watch them. I say to Rick, "Oh, look, I think that one bull is caught on the horns of another." We watch for a while and then realize that the bull standing up is scratching his 'rigging' against the horns of the bull that is lying down. And I don't have my camera!
We watch two quite different shows on the telly tonight. I just love English television - it is so strange and wonderful.
It's the first time we've seen Gordon Ramsey's 'Kitchen Disasters'. I've heard of him, and although I think 'Hell's Kitchen' can be seen in Canada, I've never watched it. Man, can that guy swear. And yet, somehow, after the first few minutes it isn't offensive. Sometimes, it's actually quite funny. The premise of the show is that Ramsey goes somewhere in the British Isles where a restaurant is in trouble and helps the owners get things back on track. Tonight, he's in Lancashire trying to get a pub out of the red.
We also watch a strange show about a dog trainer who works with three couples to get their overweight pets back in shape. Something I didn't know for a dog, the word 'treat' is just a sound associated with getting food. For a human, a piece of raw broccoli would not be considered a treat, but if you give it to a dog, instead of a piece of ham, and call it a 'treat', he gets the same response. I also didn't know that dogs were omnivores; they require vegetables and fruits as much as meat.
We've both been reading a lot of books. One I've just finished is 'The Ladies of Llangollen' by Elizabeth Mavor. I'd heard about the women before and their house called Plas Newydd in Wales. They were famous lesbians of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Although they depended on their families for various pensions and handouts, they were determined to live together in their little house and grow their own food and create a beautiful garden which they did. One day I hope to see it.
On Thursday (Nov. 23), we go into Stratford for the official 'turning on of the Christmas lights'. The weather is great, cool but with a sharp, blue sky. I can't believe the leaves are still on the trees.
First, we stop at the Library to arrange a rental car for when we fly home on Dec. 30th (sob, sob). Then lunch at the Garrick Inn, again. I have tomato soup and 'peasant's pie' kind of like a quiche but with no eggs, just pastry, ham, potatoes, mushrooms and onion. Comes with a bit of salad. Very tasty. Rick has Cumberland sausage and mash. Costs us £13 with a Coke.
Then we split up to do some shopping. And I take my camera to get some Christmas street scene shots. Many of them turn out really well (that's my next project, to post them on the Internet), but isn't it always the one you missed that you think of? Mine was a shot of 'Barry the Butcher' (that's the name of his shop on Chapel Street). The guys, all decked out in their hats and striped aprons, are behind the counter, busy helping middle-aged women with sensible shoes. I keep trying to get a good shot of all the action, when suddenly one of the customers says, loud enough so everyone can hear, "The lady's wanting to make a film star of you, lad". I blush and move on.
I check out the Christmas market on Bridge Street, taking time to look at every stall. The busy street has been closed to traffic, and the entire road is full of tents, beneath which is an array of wonderful treasures. (Some information on Christmas markets in England, including the one in Stratford: http://travelaccommodation.co.uk/tou...as_markets.htm).
There's everything from homemade candles, scarves, wind chimes, wreaths, scented soaps to leather purses, beautiful wood picture frames, Christmas decorations and homemade jellies. There is a portable 'cafe' at one end and the smell of fried onions is mouth-watering. If we hadn't just had lunch, I would have been tempted to have the jumbo wiener with the works.
I also go in and out of a lot of shops along Chapel, Henley, Wood and High Streets, including some of my favourites: the Shakespeare Bookshop, Woolworth's, the National Trust Gift Shop, Past Times, Marks & Spencer, the Body Shop and a great store on Henley called 'Presents in Mind'. (For a list of some other shopping possibilities in Stratford: (www.wcities.com/en/cat/28/209/category.html).
I wander by the Library on my way to meet up with Rick and there are little kids lined up to see Santa in his 'Grotto'. It's very prettily decorated and the kids are so excited. It's too bad we couldn't bottle their enthusiasm and joy and give everyone a quart or two at Christmas.
Just after the library, I walk towards a tall, elderly man and a middle-aged woman. He has his arm through her's. Our eyes meet and I suddenly realize it's Stephen Lewis, the man who plays Clem 'Smiler' Hemmingway on one of our favourite TV shows, 'Last of the Summer Wine'. I can now say I've seen a celebrity in England. (I'm not, of course, counting the Royal Family. Many years ago, Rick and I slept out on the hard, cold, London pavement overnight to have a front row seat when Sarah and Prince Andrew got married. We saw, and photographed, all the 'family' as they passed by in their carriages.)
Of course, when I tell Rick later that I've just seen 'Smiler' he looks at me that way he does, as if he's only one signature short of a committal. And for the rest of the day I keep hoping we'll bump into 'Smiler' Lewis again. But we never do. I don't know why it's so far-fetched to think that an actor and his companion would come into Stratford to see the turning on of the Christmas lights! We're told later that Judi Dench and her brother, who lives in Stratford, were even in the crowd.
Rick and I wander some more, gulping in, like pure oxygen, all the Christmas excitement in the air. We stop at one of the shopping arcades and they have a huge Christmas tree and real, live camels! The camels are accompanied by men dressed as the wise men. The men are helping kids get on the camels for a ride, complete with keffiyeh, the Arab headdress. I dare Rick to get his picture taken on top of one of the surly beasts, and I think he's tempted, but in the end, we just sit and watch. What fun.
At the Town Hall, where the lighting ceremony will take place, there's a children's choir singing, but not too many people yet, so we decide to duck back into the Garrick for a swift ½ pint. The young man behind the bar says, "Back again, are you?" Obviously, we are 'known'; I guess that means it's time to change pubs. We sit in the little bar at the front, overlooking the street, and through the paned windows I can see people gathering for the ceremony and whenever the door opens, we can hear the carol singing. The bar is full of older people who've probably nipped in, just like us, for something to warm up the old bones. A lot of port and lemon, hot chocolate and ale are served.
Later, when we go outside, the crowd has swelled (?) and we edge our way towards the podium. The choir is singing and a school band is playing and the sounds linger in the crisp, evening air. The Mayor gives a little speech, announcing the name of the child who's won the Children's Light Display Contest. It's so cute, because the winner is standing on the balcony with the mayor and across the street, at about the same level, are all these people standing at the windows of a Chinese restaurant waving at her. They are all her brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc...
Then the Vicar says a prayer and suddenly stop mid-sentence. Everyone looks at each other, not sure if there is a problem with the microphone or he's suddenly lost his voice. A few seconds pass and then he explains he just had to take a moment for a private word with the 'man upstairs'. You have to love those English eccentrics. Town crew guys are dashing back and forth and a whisper goes through the crowd that the circuits are overloaded. But all is well. We count down from 10 and at about 1½, the lights go on. They are amazing. They absolutely fill up the downtown core; everywhere you look there are these wonderful decorations and lights. Then the band begins playing again and Santa arrives, piped in with bagpipes. (Of course, I cry.) The kids are so excited you can't help but get into the spirit of things. I am so glad we came to England for Christmas. Although, I miss my family terribly, I had nothing in my soul to give them with my gifts. Being here, is replenishing that part of me that has withered.
Next...Part VII Dinner at the Dun Cow, Heavenly Hampton Lucy and the Battle of Edgehill
--------------------------------------
Part VI A Taste of Gordon Ramsey, Turning on the Lights in Stratford and Bumping Into Smiler
---------------------------------------
I write out my Christmas cards today. I picked them up from the Heart and Stroke Foundation charity shop in Evesham when we were there last. It's a bit early to send them out, but I don't know how long it will take them to get to Canada. I'm quite tickled to be able to send Christmas cards to my friends and family back home from England. It is so cool.
We go into Stratford by train again, it's so handy and a good excuse to get some exercise. We are getting to know the town quite well. And always find something interesting to see and do. I know a lot of people avoid Stratford because it can get so insane in the summer, but in November and December, it is magical.
And the cottage in Wilmcote is so handy. By this point, we've travelled into Stratford by car, train and bus and it is so easy. There's also a great towpath from Wilmcote along the canal to Stratford and although we haven't been able to manage the return walk, it's three miles each way, our goal is to do it before we leave Wilmcote.
Coming home, we take the 4:30 train - we won't do that again. It's loaded to the rafters with school kids, mostly boys who are rowdy and cheeky, as boys tend to be at any age. With their school ties a kilter, they look quite sweet but the language flying about is no different from what you would hear in any school bus in Canada. Those that aren't teasing or swearing are playing games on their cell phones. There's also a lot of interesting sports equipment laying in the aisles, carried about in a variety of odd-shaped athletic bags.
After we get off the train, as we are walking towards our cottage, we pass by some bulls behind a stone fence. We stop to watch them. I say to Rick, "Oh, look, I think that one bull is caught on the horns of another." We watch for a while and then realize that the bull standing up is scratching his 'rigging' against the horns of the bull that is lying down. And I don't have my camera!
We watch two quite different shows on the telly tonight. I just love English television - it is so strange and wonderful.
It's the first time we've seen Gordon Ramsey's 'Kitchen Disasters'. I've heard of him, and although I think 'Hell's Kitchen' can be seen in Canada, I've never watched it. Man, can that guy swear. And yet, somehow, after the first few minutes it isn't offensive. Sometimes, it's actually quite funny. The premise of the show is that Ramsey goes somewhere in the British Isles where a restaurant is in trouble and helps the owners get things back on track. Tonight, he's in Lancashire trying to get a pub out of the red.
We also watch a strange show about a dog trainer who works with three couples to get their overweight pets back in shape. Something I didn't know for a dog, the word 'treat' is just a sound associated with getting food. For a human, a piece of raw broccoli would not be considered a treat, but if you give it to a dog, instead of a piece of ham, and call it a 'treat', he gets the same response. I also didn't know that dogs were omnivores; they require vegetables and fruits as much as meat.
We've both been reading a lot of books. One I've just finished is 'The Ladies of Llangollen' by Elizabeth Mavor. I'd heard about the women before and their house called Plas Newydd in Wales. They were famous lesbians of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Although they depended on their families for various pensions and handouts, they were determined to live together in their little house and grow their own food and create a beautiful garden which they did. One day I hope to see it.
On Thursday (Nov. 23), we go into Stratford for the official 'turning on of the Christmas lights'. The weather is great, cool but with a sharp, blue sky. I can't believe the leaves are still on the trees.
First, we stop at the Library to arrange a rental car for when we fly home on Dec. 30th (sob, sob). Then lunch at the Garrick Inn, again. I have tomato soup and 'peasant's pie' kind of like a quiche but with no eggs, just pastry, ham, potatoes, mushrooms and onion. Comes with a bit of salad. Very tasty. Rick has Cumberland sausage and mash. Costs us £13 with a Coke.
Then we split up to do some shopping. And I take my camera to get some Christmas street scene shots. Many of them turn out really well (that's my next project, to post them on the Internet), but isn't it always the one you missed that you think of? Mine was a shot of 'Barry the Butcher' (that's the name of his shop on Chapel Street). The guys, all decked out in their hats and striped aprons, are behind the counter, busy helping middle-aged women with sensible shoes. I keep trying to get a good shot of all the action, when suddenly one of the customers says, loud enough so everyone can hear, "The lady's wanting to make a film star of you, lad". I blush and move on.
I check out the Christmas market on Bridge Street, taking time to look at every stall. The busy street has been closed to traffic, and the entire road is full of tents, beneath which is an array of wonderful treasures. (Some information on Christmas markets in England, including the one in Stratford: http://travelaccommodation.co.uk/tou...as_markets.htm).
There's everything from homemade candles, scarves, wind chimes, wreaths, scented soaps to leather purses, beautiful wood picture frames, Christmas decorations and homemade jellies. There is a portable 'cafe' at one end and the smell of fried onions is mouth-watering. If we hadn't just had lunch, I would have been tempted to have the jumbo wiener with the works.
I also go in and out of a lot of shops along Chapel, Henley, Wood and High Streets, including some of my favourites: the Shakespeare Bookshop, Woolworth's, the National Trust Gift Shop, Past Times, Marks & Spencer, the Body Shop and a great store on Henley called 'Presents in Mind'. (For a list of some other shopping possibilities in Stratford: (www.wcities.com/en/cat/28/209/category.html).
I wander by the Library on my way to meet up with Rick and there are little kids lined up to see Santa in his 'Grotto'. It's very prettily decorated and the kids are so excited. It's too bad we couldn't bottle their enthusiasm and joy and give everyone a quart or two at Christmas.
Just after the library, I walk towards a tall, elderly man and a middle-aged woman. He has his arm through her's. Our eyes meet and I suddenly realize it's Stephen Lewis, the man who plays Clem 'Smiler' Hemmingway on one of our favourite TV shows, 'Last of the Summer Wine'. I can now say I've seen a celebrity in England. (I'm not, of course, counting the Royal Family. Many years ago, Rick and I slept out on the hard, cold, London pavement overnight to have a front row seat when Sarah and Prince Andrew got married. We saw, and photographed, all the 'family' as they passed by in their carriages.)
Of course, when I tell Rick later that I've just seen 'Smiler' he looks at me that way he does, as if he's only one signature short of a committal. And for the rest of the day I keep hoping we'll bump into 'Smiler' Lewis again. But we never do. I don't know why it's so far-fetched to think that an actor and his companion would come into Stratford to see the turning on of the Christmas lights! We're told later that Judi Dench and her brother, who lives in Stratford, were even in the crowd.
Rick and I wander some more, gulping in, like pure oxygen, all the Christmas excitement in the air. We stop at one of the shopping arcades and they have a huge Christmas tree and real, live camels! The camels are accompanied by men dressed as the wise men. The men are helping kids get on the camels for a ride, complete with keffiyeh, the Arab headdress. I dare Rick to get his picture taken on top of one of the surly beasts, and I think he's tempted, but in the end, we just sit and watch. What fun.
At the Town Hall, where the lighting ceremony will take place, there's a children's choir singing, but not too many people yet, so we decide to duck back into the Garrick for a swift ½ pint. The young man behind the bar says, "Back again, are you?" Obviously, we are 'known'; I guess that means it's time to change pubs. We sit in the little bar at the front, overlooking the street, and through the paned windows I can see people gathering for the ceremony and whenever the door opens, we can hear the carol singing. The bar is full of older people who've probably nipped in, just like us, for something to warm up the old bones. A lot of port and lemon, hot chocolate and ale are served.
Later, when we go outside, the crowd has swelled (?) and we edge our way towards the podium. The choir is singing and a school band is playing and the sounds linger in the crisp, evening air. The Mayor gives a little speech, announcing the name of the child who's won the Children's Light Display Contest. It's so cute, because the winner is standing on the balcony with the mayor and across the street, at about the same level, are all these people standing at the windows of a Chinese restaurant waving at her. They are all her brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc...
Then the Vicar says a prayer and suddenly stop mid-sentence. Everyone looks at each other, not sure if there is a problem with the microphone or he's suddenly lost his voice. A few seconds pass and then he explains he just had to take a moment for a private word with the 'man upstairs'. You have to love those English eccentrics. Town crew guys are dashing back and forth and a whisper goes through the crowd that the circuits are overloaded. But all is well. We count down from 10 and at about 1½, the lights go on. They are amazing. They absolutely fill up the downtown core; everywhere you look there are these wonderful decorations and lights. Then the band begins playing again and Santa arrives, piped in with bagpipes. (Of course, I cry.) The kids are so excited you can't help but get into the spirit of things. I am so glad we came to England for Christmas. Although, I miss my family terribly, I had nothing in my soul to give them with my gifts. Being here, is replenishing that part of me that has withered.
Next...Part VII Dinner at the Dun Cow, Heavenly Hampton Lucy and the Battle of Edgehill
Mar 20th, 2007, 04:03 AM
#30
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rickmav - hello.
'dragging on too long' no way. Here's a vote for the personal stuff. You do it so well. Makes for such a good read. Do hope you are going to share what Rick purchased for you when he was Christmas shopping. Love those little details.
You may be a bit tired of all the writing. It must take a lot of your time. How did you keep your notes during your 4 month break? Did you e-mail yourself at home or old fashioned journal?
Sandy
'dragging on too long' no way. Here's a vote for the personal stuff. You do it so well. Makes for such a good read. Do hope you are going to share what Rick purchased for you when he was Christmas shopping. Love those little details.
You may be a bit tired of all the writing. It must take a lot of your time. How did you keep your notes during your 4 month break? Did you e-mail yourself at home or old fashioned journal?
Sandy
Mar 20th, 2007, 08:03 AM
#31
No! Not too long! (We've had much longer ones that weren't half as interesting, nor well written)
It is wonderful this trip raised your spirits and brought peace.
And your writing is doing the same for a lot of us . . . .
It is wonderful this trip raised your spirits and brought peace.
And your writing is doing the same for a lot of us . . . .
Mar 20th, 2007, 09:09 AM
#33
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There is no way that you should have changed pubs.
Don't you realise that the barman was beginning to treat you like a "regular" with all the privileges and responsibilities involved in that role.
Go to http://www.sirc.org/publik/ptpchap9.html
and scroll down to
How to become a regular
Don't you realise that the barman was beginning to treat you like a "regular" with all the privileges and responsibilities involved in that role.
Go to http://www.sirc.org/publik/ptpchap9.html
and scroll down to
How to become a regular
Mar 20th, 2007, 09:50 AM
#34
Josser: I sort of cringed too when I read "<i>The young man behind the bar says, "Back again, are you?" Obviously, we are 'known'; I guess that means it's time to change pubs.</i>"
rickmav: Hope you didn't change pubs . . . . Most visitors don't ever get the chance to be a "regular"
rickmav: Hope you didn't change pubs . . . . Most visitors don't ever get the chance to be a "regular"
Mar 20th, 2007, 10:55 AM
#35
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Thanks Josser and janisj for the tip about being a pub 'regular'. In Canada, if you are 'known' at a pub/bar it's not a good thing - it means you spend a lot of time in there drinking, ergo you are a drunk. But it certainly didn't feel that way at the Garrick, it felt kind of warm and inclusive, as if we'd done something right, but we hadn't a clue what it was. Wonder if they'll still remember my husband's sweet face when we go next time?
--------------------------------------
Part VII Dinner at the Dun Cow, Heavenly Hampton Lucy and the Battle of Edgehill
---------------------------------------
It's cold today, so we decide not to go sightseeing, but we do want to try a new place for lunch and do some grocery shopping. We pass by the Dun Cow Inn each time we drive from Wilmcote to Stratford on the A3400 and it has peaked our curiousity. It's the shape of a pub on the outside, but the decor you see through the windows is definitely un-publike. We are the only ones there at first, which always makes me feel a bit apprehensive, but also pleased that we get the place to ourselves. Inside, the pub is a kind of bistro/club with lots of refinished oak and leather.
I order something called the 'strammer max', which is ham with a poached egg and cheese sauce, served with roasted potatoes. Quite different, but delicious. Rick has steak and ale pie with chips and fresh vegetables. Very tasty and filling. Costs £14 with a Coke. The staff serve you at your table and are friendly. Two thumbs up.
We notice a lot more Christmas stuff in Tesco when we go grocery shopping. But we still haven't seen a real Christmas tree, they've all been fake, so far. There doesn't seem to be much difference in the ways the artificial trees are decorated in England versus Canada. Maybe, we have a few more decorations.
Tonight on the television, we watch a comedy quiz show hosted by Stephen Fry called QI which stands for Quite Interesting (www.qi.com/tv/). And it is. Points are not always awarded for the right answer, but usually for the more interesting one. Fry ends the show with, "There is a little known story..." Tonight, it is, "There is a little known story about a group of Canadians who are stranded on a deserted island and are starving to death. One day, four homing pigeons land on the island. The Canadians eat three and send the fourth pigeon back with a thank you note." Hmmm.
The next morning, we follow another of the tours in the information binder in our cottage (http://www.shakespeare-country.co.uk...p;sim=&cg=). It's called the 'Edgehill Tour' and although we don't follow it exactly, it is a great way to get off the beaten track and see some things we might normally miss.
Our first stop is Hampton Lucy, population 458. It's about a mile from Charlecote, a house owned by the National Trust, and the place where Shakespeare was caught poaching deer. After Shakespeare was charged and fined, he got his revenge by creating a caricature of Thomas Lucy, the owner of Charlecote, as Justice Shallow in Henry IV and the Merry Wives of Windsor. We later see Simon Callow play the Justice in the Merry Wives at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Although we don't visit Charlecote on this visit, we've been many times before and heartily recommend it (http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main...harlecotepark/).
There are two wonderful reasons to visit Hampton Lucy. First, to see the exquisite church of St. Peter ad Vincula. And second, to eat and drink at the scrumptious Boar's Head pub (which we do a few days later).
The Gothic-style church of St. Peter (http://www.openchurchestrust.org.uk/...amptonLucy.htm)
dates from 1826, but was built over a 14th c. site. During World War II, a fully loaded bomber crashed nearby, and the explosion blew out the church windows. All the fragments of stained glass were collected and the windows re-built after the war. The church is stunning inside. The day is warm and sunny and the light coming through the windows is glittering purple, blue and pink. The birds are singing outside and both Rick and I are so taken with the serenity of the place that we decide that for our 50th wedding anniversary we will renew our vows here. (I wonder if I'll still be posting trip reports maybe even this one!)
Afterwards, we walk towards the River Avon and stand on the small, but elegant, iron bridge that crosses it. The river is quite wide here and we are mesmerized by the glint of sun sparkle on water. We walk around the village, which is very small. There are a few lovely thatched houses to see and the greenest village green I've ever seen (sounds like a Dr. Seuss rhyme).
Not far from Hampton Lucy is the Church of St. John the Baptist in Aston Cantlow (don't you just love English village names?), which is where John Shakespeare and Mary Arden, William Shakespeare's parents, were married.
There's also a working mill nearby on the River Avon, which you can visit (http://www.charlecotemill.co.uk/). Powered by two large waterwheels the mill grinds wheat and maize to make corn flour and organic wholemeal wheat flour which you can buy. Friends have told us that it is a good place to bring kids they are fascinated by the tour of the working mill.
On the way to Kineton, our next stop on the driving tour, we pass by Compton Verney, an 18th c. manor house that's been turned into an art gallery/museum. As we drive by, I notice that they are having an exhibit called, 'Women Through the Eyes of the Impressionists,' which sounds intriguing. (Later, I go back and visit while Rick reads the paper in the car.)
In Kineton, a small, friendly village, we stop to take pictures of a pub owner trying to put up his Christmas decorations. He starts with two helpers, but they quickly disappear for a pint, and he's stuck on his own trying to get Frosty the Snowman to stay on a ledge. Rick offers to help, but the publican waves him away with his thanks.
We make sure to look at the village notice board before we leave - we try to do this in all the villages we stop in - and notice that on the Thursday evening, the town is having a Victorian Fayre. We decide we'll come back then and see how the pub owner made out.
As we make our way to the viewpoint overlooking the field where the Battle of Edgehill was fought, the first major battle of the Civil War, we pass through the village of Radway, jam-packed full of thatched cottages. And very quiet. A Miss Marple kind of village.
Following the driving tour outline, we climb from the valley floor up to a plateau with the most amazing views. There's a pub here called the Castle Inn (www.a1tourism.com/uk/castle2.html)
and from its gardens, you can see where the fighting took place. There is an information board to help you place the locations of the two armies and an interesting description of the different uniforms the soldiers wore.
The Battle of Edgehill (http://www.britainexpress.com/Histor...s/edgehill.htm) took place on October 23, 1642, with 29,000 men meeting in battle on the plains below the Castle Inn. After three hours of hard fighting, the Parliamentary troops withdrew, leaving the road to London open to the King. Charles I, however, a cautious man and not a great soldier, did not take advantage of the opening. He eventually lost the war - and his head and Oliver Cromwell became 'Protector of the Commonwealth' (sounds like something from 'Star Trek').
There is an octagonal tower attached to the Inn that was built in 1742 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Edgehill. It was officially opened in 1750, on the anniversary of Cromwell's death. Today, you can actually stay in the Tower wonder if old Cromwell's ghost is clanking about.
Although the gardens are lovely, even in November, it's too cool to sit outside, so we go inside the bottom level of the tower to have our lunch. The pub is decorated with collections of weapons and armour dug up in local farmers' fields and in a glassed-in alcove, you can see a complete set of armour. I can't believe men actually fought in those things.
Every so often, there are re-enactments of the Battle of Edgehill and there are pictures all over the pub of the different 'engagements'. (Some years ago, we watched one of these re-enactments at Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire, near Grantham. We tried to talk by brother-in-law Neal into taking part, they were looking for volunteers to help storm the ramparts, but he declined. I think he's regretted it ever since.)
Lunch is fantastic, in fact neither one of us can finish it, the portions are so huge. If we went again, we would definitely share one meal between the two of us. Everything is very hot and tasty, too. It costs us £15 with two half pints. Rick has the Hooky Bitter and I have a special ale that the Brewery puts out only at Christmas called 'The Twelve Days'. It's very good.
I have the lasagne which arrives with chips and a salad; Rick has bangers and mash and it comes with peas and a pitcher (!) of gravy. The speciality of the house is a huge Yorkshire pudding with roast, new potatoes, and vegetables. Absolutely massive and only £7.95. There were a lot of people tucking in to it. Definitely a two-thumbs up kind of place.
On the way home, we pass the Redwings Horse Sanctuary (www.redwings.org.uk/visit-oxhill.htm), which is a charity that cares for horses, donkeys and ponies. We drive in and have a quick look around. If someone had kids, I think it would be a great place to stop and let them run around for a bit. There's also a cafe. We find out that you can hold your child's birthday party here or even adopt one of the Sanctuary residents (which we are planning to do for our granddaughter's 11th birthday in April).
We pass by Upton House, which we visited before we left for Italy. Nearer Christmas, we go back to see how the grand house is decorated for the season.
We stop at the National Herb Centre (www.herbcentre.co.uk/) on the Banbury Road just outside Warmington. I'm a sucker for anything plant-like. My best friend, Christine, with her partner Jeff, own a wholesale company in Canada that imports and bottles essential oils from all over the world. She knows a lot about homeopathy, and has tried to teach me some of it, but I have picked up just enough to be confused. The displays and the staff at the Herb Centre are great in helping me figure out what herbs relieve certain problems. (For example, betony for colds and headaches, catsfoot for tonsillitis, Chinese motherwort stimulates the circulation and sweet wormwood lowers fevers.)
I can't believe how much plant life there is still to see in November. After the huge lunch, it's a great chance to walk around a bit, and Rick takes off down the Nature Trail, while I peruse the plants and gift shop. I pick up a few things in the shop I can't resist. I'm starting to think that there's no way we are going to get everything in our two little suitcases unless we jettison some clothes. I buy some lavender seeds for my mom she's the only person I know who's had any luck growing them; and some Burt's Bees soap and two spongeware mugs for Rick's stocking.
There's even a bistro here, which looks good. All the food is cooked on the premises, and they use many of their own herbs in the dishes. Too bad we are still so full from lunch. There's also a children's area where they can feed the guinea pigs and ducks.
We stop at the Heritage Motor Centre along the B4100 (www.heritage-motor-centre.co.uk/), but when we get there it's closed. It looks like they are undergoing some kind of major renovation. I'm secretly glad. Although I find old cars interesting, I cannot spend 10 hours examining them in minute detail Rick can. We decide we'll visit on our next trip to England.
A weird thing happens on our way through Stratford. Earlier in the morning, over coffee, Rick and I are talking about some of our adventures with rental cars. We both laugh remembering the time we couldn't figure out how to put the car into reverse. We were in England with my sister and brother-in-law and no one had a clue. We finally had to go into the bed and breakfast we were staying at, the Penhyrn B&B, to get the owner to show us how to do it. We also laugh remembering my brother-in-law, who jet-lagged and sleep deprived, entertained us the next morning wearing my sister's 'Lady Cavendish' sunhat.
Later that day, on the way home, we stop to check our emails and happen to look at an estate agent's window and the properties for sale. We can't believe it the Penhyrn B&B is for sale! The place we'd been talking about just that morning. Then on the way home, I decide to take us on a different route out of Stratford I get bored taking the same road too many times and wouldn't you know it we drive right by the Penhyrn B&B! I tell Rick that must mean we are supposed to buy it. He shakes his head, 'no', without saying a word.
We watch a great documentary on television tonight, called 'Touching the Void' (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Touching_the_Void). It's the story of two mountain climbers, Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, who in 1985 climbed a mountain in the Andes that no one had tried before. Terrible things happen to them (I won't spoil it for someone who hasn't seen it or read the book) and it is an amazing story that challenges everything you think about courage, honour, friendship, God, personal responsibility, truth, survival, intuition and Nature. I would have loved to have used it when I was teaching 'Personal Communication' at Mount Royal College. (Two days later, serendipitously, I come across a copy of the book in a used bookstore in Banbury.)
On the telly that night, they are beginning to talk about Christmas on Coronation Street, which is so strange because in Canada we are used to seeing the Corrie Christmas shows in May. We notice that the owners of the house next to our cottage have put up flashing lights outside, and have decorated a tree in the front garden. Christmas is getting closer! Ho, ho, ho.
Next...Part VIII A Christmas Tree in the Middle of a Stream, Cards From Home and Blame it On the Mince Tart.
--------------------------------------
Part VII Dinner at the Dun Cow, Heavenly Hampton Lucy and the Battle of Edgehill
---------------------------------------
It's cold today, so we decide not to go sightseeing, but we do want to try a new place for lunch and do some grocery shopping. We pass by the Dun Cow Inn each time we drive from Wilmcote to Stratford on the A3400 and it has peaked our curiousity. It's the shape of a pub on the outside, but the decor you see through the windows is definitely un-publike. We are the only ones there at first, which always makes me feel a bit apprehensive, but also pleased that we get the place to ourselves. Inside, the pub is a kind of bistro/club with lots of refinished oak and leather.
I order something called the 'strammer max', which is ham with a poached egg and cheese sauce, served with roasted potatoes. Quite different, but delicious. Rick has steak and ale pie with chips and fresh vegetables. Very tasty and filling. Costs £14 with a Coke. The staff serve you at your table and are friendly. Two thumbs up.
We notice a lot more Christmas stuff in Tesco when we go grocery shopping. But we still haven't seen a real Christmas tree, they've all been fake, so far. There doesn't seem to be much difference in the ways the artificial trees are decorated in England versus Canada. Maybe, we have a few more decorations.
Tonight on the television, we watch a comedy quiz show hosted by Stephen Fry called QI which stands for Quite Interesting (www.qi.com/tv/). And it is. Points are not always awarded for the right answer, but usually for the more interesting one. Fry ends the show with, "There is a little known story..." Tonight, it is, "There is a little known story about a group of Canadians who are stranded on a deserted island and are starving to death. One day, four homing pigeons land on the island. The Canadians eat three and send the fourth pigeon back with a thank you note." Hmmm.
The next morning, we follow another of the tours in the information binder in our cottage (http://www.shakespeare-country.co.uk...p;sim=&cg=). It's called the 'Edgehill Tour' and although we don't follow it exactly, it is a great way to get off the beaten track and see some things we might normally miss.
Our first stop is Hampton Lucy, population 458. It's about a mile from Charlecote, a house owned by the National Trust, and the place where Shakespeare was caught poaching deer. After Shakespeare was charged and fined, he got his revenge by creating a caricature of Thomas Lucy, the owner of Charlecote, as Justice Shallow in Henry IV and the Merry Wives of Windsor. We later see Simon Callow play the Justice in the Merry Wives at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Although we don't visit Charlecote on this visit, we've been many times before and heartily recommend it (http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main...harlecotepark/).
There are two wonderful reasons to visit Hampton Lucy. First, to see the exquisite church of St. Peter ad Vincula. And second, to eat and drink at the scrumptious Boar's Head pub (which we do a few days later).
The Gothic-style church of St. Peter (http://www.openchurchestrust.org.uk/...amptonLucy.htm)
dates from 1826, but was built over a 14th c. site. During World War II, a fully loaded bomber crashed nearby, and the explosion blew out the church windows. All the fragments of stained glass were collected and the windows re-built after the war. The church is stunning inside. The day is warm and sunny and the light coming through the windows is glittering purple, blue and pink. The birds are singing outside and both Rick and I are so taken with the serenity of the place that we decide that for our 50th wedding anniversary we will renew our vows here. (I wonder if I'll still be posting trip reports maybe even this one!)
Afterwards, we walk towards the River Avon and stand on the small, but elegant, iron bridge that crosses it. The river is quite wide here and we are mesmerized by the glint of sun sparkle on water. We walk around the village, which is very small. There are a few lovely thatched houses to see and the greenest village green I've ever seen (sounds like a Dr. Seuss rhyme).
Not far from Hampton Lucy is the Church of St. John the Baptist in Aston Cantlow (don't you just love English village names?), which is where John Shakespeare and Mary Arden, William Shakespeare's parents, were married.
There's also a working mill nearby on the River Avon, which you can visit (http://www.charlecotemill.co.uk/). Powered by two large waterwheels the mill grinds wheat and maize to make corn flour and organic wholemeal wheat flour which you can buy. Friends have told us that it is a good place to bring kids they are fascinated by the tour of the working mill.
On the way to Kineton, our next stop on the driving tour, we pass by Compton Verney, an 18th c. manor house that's been turned into an art gallery/museum. As we drive by, I notice that they are having an exhibit called, 'Women Through the Eyes of the Impressionists,' which sounds intriguing. (Later, I go back and visit while Rick reads the paper in the car.)
In Kineton, a small, friendly village, we stop to take pictures of a pub owner trying to put up his Christmas decorations. He starts with two helpers, but they quickly disappear for a pint, and he's stuck on his own trying to get Frosty the Snowman to stay on a ledge. Rick offers to help, but the publican waves him away with his thanks.
We make sure to look at the village notice board before we leave - we try to do this in all the villages we stop in - and notice that on the Thursday evening, the town is having a Victorian Fayre. We decide we'll come back then and see how the pub owner made out.
As we make our way to the viewpoint overlooking the field where the Battle of Edgehill was fought, the first major battle of the Civil War, we pass through the village of Radway, jam-packed full of thatched cottages. And very quiet. A Miss Marple kind of village.
Following the driving tour outline, we climb from the valley floor up to a plateau with the most amazing views. There's a pub here called the Castle Inn (www.a1tourism.com/uk/castle2.html)
and from its gardens, you can see where the fighting took place. There is an information board to help you place the locations of the two armies and an interesting description of the different uniforms the soldiers wore.
The Battle of Edgehill (http://www.britainexpress.com/Histor...s/edgehill.htm) took place on October 23, 1642, with 29,000 men meeting in battle on the plains below the Castle Inn. After three hours of hard fighting, the Parliamentary troops withdrew, leaving the road to London open to the King. Charles I, however, a cautious man and not a great soldier, did not take advantage of the opening. He eventually lost the war - and his head and Oliver Cromwell became 'Protector of the Commonwealth' (sounds like something from 'Star Trek').
There is an octagonal tower attached to the Inn that was built in 1742 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Edgehill. It was officially opened in 1750, on the anniversary of Cromwell's death. Today, you can actually stay in the Tower wonder if old Cromwell's ghost is clanking about.
Although the gardens are lovely, even in November, it's too cool to sit outside, so we go inside the bottom level of the tower to have our lunch. The pub is decorated with collections of weapons and armour dug up in local farmers' fields and in a glassed-in alcove, you can see a complete set of armour. I can't believe men actually fought in those things.
Every so often, there are re-enactments of the Battle of Edgehill and there are pictures all over the pub of the different 'engagements'. (Some years ago, we watched one of these re-enactments at Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire, near Grantham. We tried to talk by brother-in-law Neal into taking part, they were looking for volunteers to help storm the ramparts, but he declined. I think he's regretted it ever since.)
Lunch is fantastic, in fact neither one of us can finish it, the portions are so huge. If we went again, we would definitely share one meal between the two of us. Everything is very hot and tasty, too. It costs us £15 with two half pints. Rick has the Hooky Bitter and I have a special ale that the Brewery puts out only at Christmas called 'The Twelve Days'. It's very good.
I have the lasagne which arrives with chips and a salad; Rick has bangers and mash and it comes with peas and a pitcher (!) of gravy. The speciality of the house is a huge Yorkshire pudding with roast, new potatoes, and vegetables. Absolutely massive and only £7.95. There were a lot of people tucking in to it. Definitely a two-thumbs up kind of place.
On the way home, we pass the Redwings Horse Sanctuary (www.redwings.org.uk/visit-oxhill.htm), which is a charity that cares for horses, donkeys and ponies. We drive in and have a quick look around. If someone had kids, I think it would be a great place to stop and let them run around for a bit. There's also a cafe. We find out that you can hold your child's birthday party here or even adopt one of the Sanctuary residents (which we are planning to do for our granddaughter's 11th birthday in April).
We pass by Upton House, which we visited before we left for Italy. Nearer Christmas, we go back to see how the grand house is decorated for the season.
We stop at the National Herb Centre (www.herbcentre.co.uk/) on the Banbury Road just outside Warmington. I'm a sucker for anything plant-like. My best friend, Christine, with her partner Jeff, own a wholesale company in Canada that imports and bottles essential oils from all over the world. She knows a lot about homeopathy, and has tried to teach me some of it, but I have picked up just enough to be confused. The displays and the staff at the Herb Centre are great in helping me figure out what herbs relieve certain problems. (For example, betony for colds and headaches, catsfoot for tonsillitis, Chinese motherwort stimulates the circulation and sweet wormwood lowers fevers.)
I can't believe how much plant life there is still to see in November. After the huge lunch, it's a great chance to walk around a bit, and Rick takes off down the Nature Trail, while I peruse the plants and gift shop. I pick up a few things in the shop I can't resist. I'm starting to think that there's no way we are going to get everything in our two little suitcases unless we jettison some clothes. I buy some lavender seeds for my mom she's the only person I know who's had any luck growing them; and some Burt's Bees soap and two spongeware mugs for Rick's stocking.
There's even a bistro here, which looks good. All the food is cooked on the premises, and they use many of their own herbs in the dishes. Too bad we are still so full from lunch. There's also a children's area where they can feed the guinea pigs and ducks.
We stop at the Heritage Motor Centre along the B4100 (www.heritage-motor-centre.co.uk/), but when we get there it's closed. It looks like they are undergoing some kind of major renovation. I'm secretly glad. Although I find old cars interesting, I cannot spend 10 hours examining them in minute detail Rick can. We decide we'll visit on our next trip to England.
A weird thing happens on our way through Stratford. Earlier in the morning, over coffee, Rick and I are talking about some of our adventures with rental cars. We both laugh remembering the time we couldn't figure out how to put the car into reverse. We were in England with my sister and brother-in-law and no one had a clue. We finally had to go into the bed and breakfast we were staying at, the Penhyrn B&B, to get the owner to show us how to do it. We also laugh remembering my brother-in-law, who jet-lagged and sleep deprived, entertained us the next morning wearing my sister's 'Lady Cavendish' sunhat.
Later that day, on the way home, we stop to check our emails and happen to look at an estate agent's window and the properties for sale. We can't believe it the Penhyrn B&B is for sale! The place we'd been talking about just that morning. Then on the way home, I decide to take us on a different route out of Stratford I get bored taking the same road too many times and wouldn't you know it we drive right by the Penhyrn B&B! I tell Rick that must mean we are supposed to buy it. He shakes his head, 'no', without saying a word.
We watch a great documentary on television tonight, called 'Touching the Void' (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Touching_the_Void). It's the story of two mountain climbers, Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, who in 1985 climbed a mountain in the Andes that no one had tried before. Terrible things happen to them (I won't spoil it for someone who hasn't seen it or read the book) and it is an amazing story that challenges everything you think about courage, honour, friendship, God, personal responsibility, truth, survival, intuition and Nature. I would have loved to have used it when I was teaching 'Personal Communication' at Mount Royal College. (Two days later, serendipitously, I come across a copy of the book in a used bookstore in Banbury.)
On the telly that night, they are beginning to talk about Christmas on Coronation Street, which is so strange because in Canada we are used to seeing the Corrie Christmas shows in May. We notice that the owners of the house next to our cottage have put up flashing lights outside, and have decorated a tree in the front garden. Christmas is getting closer! Ho, ho, ho.
Next...Part VIII A Christmas Tree in the Middle of a Stream, Cards From Home and Blame it On the Mince Tart.
Mar 20th, 2007, 01:26 PM
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A couple of observations:
- If staying in the English countryside in the winter, it's essential to get all the local papers. It looks - sadly - as if Rickmav has got into December 2006 without seeing the very finest pantomime ever put on in Oxfordshire. I look forward to her review of the Chippy offering - not least to see if she found any decent jokes or singable songs, apart from thst catchy "all together now" thing towards the end. But if she'd bought the Oxford Times each week, she's have seen the Charlbury panto, which was (in my unbiased view) streets - no, motorways - better
- This is probably the first time the National Herb Centre's made it here. Indispensable in North Oxfordshire for tracking down herbs the really rather average Banbury Tesco doesn't sell. But amazing in summer, because it's one of the few places in Britain you get lots of different butterflies (they've planted to encourage them) and terrific for the guided walks.
- Rickmav's too polite to point it out. But all our battlefields are boring unless you're a real battle freak. Because there's lots of really interesting stuff a few miles away, we almost never plant the sort of explanatory stuff around they do at Waterloo or in many places in the US. Trick - even at Hastings or Culloden - is to miss out the field and look at other stuff nearby. For Edge Hill (ie the English Civil War, Oxford is awash with relics of its period as the Royalist capital. Boscobel over in Shropshire (not too far away by M40, M42, M6 toll, M54), Worcester. Or best of all, follow the Royal Oak pub trail from Boscobel to Shoreham.
- Do not even dream of going within 15 miles of Warwick without seeing the parish church. Five stars in Simon Jenkins: worth at least six. One of the two or three finest churches in the kingdom.
Which said, triff thread. Look forward to the panto review.
- If staying in the English countryside in the winter, it's essential to get all the local papers. It looks - sadly - as if Rickmav has got into December 2006 without seeing the very finest pantomime ever put on in Oxfordshire. I look forward to her review of the Chippy offering - not least to see if she found any decent jokes or singable songs, apart from thst catchy "all together now" thing towards the end. But if she'd bought the Oxford Times each week, she's have seen the Charlbury panto, which was (in my unbiased view) streets - no, motorways - better
- This is probably the first time the National Herb Centre's made it here. Indispensable in North Oxfordshire for tracking down herbs the really rather average Banbury Tesco doesn't sell. But amazing in summer, because it's one of the few places in Britain you get lots of different butterflies (they've planted to encourage them) and terrific for the guided walks.
- Rickmav's too polite to point it out. But all our battlefields are boring unless you're a real battle freak. Because there's lots of really interesting stuff a few miles away, we almost never plant the sort of explanatory stuff around they do at Waterloo or in many places in the US. Trick - even at Hastings or Culloden - is to miss out the field and look at other stuff nearby. For Edge Hill (ie the English Civil War, Oxford is awash with relics of its period as the Royalist capital. Boscobel over in Shropshire (not too far away by M40, M42, M6 toll, M54), Worcester. Or best of all, follow the Royal Oak pub trail from Boscobel to Shoreham.
- Do not even dream of going within 15 miles of Warwick without seeing the parish church. Five stars in Simon Jenkins: worth at least six. One of the two or three finest churches in the kingdom.
Which said, triff thread. Look forward to the panto review.
Mar 20th, 2007, 01:44 PM
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Hi again Rickmav,
Since you mentioned a fascination with Agatha Christie I thought I'd point you in the direction of the Burgh Island Hotel in Devon. I figure someone as well travelled as yourself has probably already heard of it, maybe even stayed there - but just in case you haven't, here's the info:-
Christie stayed here a few times and has a room named after her. The hotel features in at least two of her books - 'At Betrams Hotel', and (I think) 'Evil under the Sun'.
http://www.burghisland.com/
Pricy - but it looks amazing!
Since you mentioned a fascination with Agatha Christie I thought I'd point you in the direction of the Burgh Island Hotel in Devon. I figure someone as well travelled as yourself has probably already heard of it, maybe even stayed there - but just in case you haven't, here's the info:-
Christie stayed here a few times and has a room named after her. The hotel features in at least two of her books - 'At Betrams Hotel', and (I think) 'Evil under the Sun'.
http://www.burghisland.com/
Pricy - but it looks amazing!
Mar 21st, 2007, 08:02 AM
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Hi flanneruk. Thanks for your comments. Good point about the newspapers. We did periodically check the local papers - the Stratford Herald and the Warwick News and Gazette and picked up some good information. There was a lot about local issues, which were interesting, but hard to completely understand without some background. But you're right, if you're staying somewhere for a week or longer, reading the local newspapers, particularly the upcoming events column or the ads - I got my hairdresser that way! - is a great idea. And bummer about the Charlbury panto. We didn't go into Oxfordshire until Dec. 22, but we might still have got tickets if we'd known about it. Loved the Chippy panto, what a hoot. That report should be next, I think.
I think the Herb Centre would appeal to a lot of people, we only knew of it because of the driving tour printout in our cottage.
To be honest, I'm not really a battle freak, so some of what I read about Edgehill, tactics and stuff, wasn't that compelling. But the views were pretty and the things dug up from farmers' fields, inside the Castle Inn, were interesting.
Mea culpa, we didn't see the Warwick parish church, and we were definitely within 15 miles of it. Top of the list for next time.
RM67 - Have never been to Burgh Island Hotel in Devon, although I have heard of it. But never looked at their website. Wow! When I win the lottery I'm definitely booking the room Agatha Christie stayed in. And 'Evil Under The Sun' is one of my favourite books. Although Peter Ustinov wasn't a very believable Hercule Poirot, he's my favourite. And the movie with him, Maggie Smith, James Mason and Roddy McDowell based on 'Evil Under the Sun' (even though the movie moves the action to the Adriatic, I think) is wonderful.
Thanks for the info.
I think the Herb Centre would appeal to a lot of people, we only knew of it because of the driving tour printout in our cottage.
To be honest, I'm not really a battle freak, so some of what I read about Edgehill, tactics and stuff, wasn't that compelling. But the views were pretty and the things dug up from farmers' fields, inside the Castle Inn, were interesting.
Mea culpa, we didn't see the Warwick parish church, and we were definitely within 15 miles of it. Top of the list for next time.
RM67 - Have never been to Burgh Island Hotel in Devon, although I have heard of it. But never looked at their website. Wow! When I win the lottery I'm definitely booking the room Agatha Christie stayed in. And 'Evil Under The Sun' is one of my favourite books. Although Peter Ustinov wasn't a very believable Hercule Poirot, he's my favourite. And the movie with him, Maggie Smith, James Mason and Roddy McDowell based on 'Evil Under the Sun' (even though the movie moves the action to the Adriatic, I think) is wonderful.
Thanks for the info.
Mar 22nd, 2007, 04:00 PM
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Part VIII A Christmas Tree in the Middle of a Stream, Cards From Home and Blame it On the Mince Tart
We are very excited today because we are going to Bourton on the Water (www.bourtoninfo.com/default.aspx), one of the loveliest villages in the Cotswolds. It's the annual 'turning on of the Christmas tree lights'. The celebration is held at 6 p.m. (or whenever everything comes together) on the first Friday in December.
The tree sits in the middle of the River Windrush and I can't wait to see how it looks once all the lights are lit. But first, we do some window shopping and wandering about. The town glimmers with twinkly lights and there is definitely Christmas enthusiasm in the air. I can't believe we get a parking space right in the centre of the village because the place is a madhouse. There are police officers trying to direct traffic but they don't seem to be that serious about it (as we learn later to our dismay!).
Since we had a big lunch, we aren't that hungry but decide to try a sausage roll from Norah's Pantry, plus some mincemeat tarts for sale at a table. (I have a taste of one of the tarts and it tastes like Buckley's Cough Syrup in a pastry shell. Yuk. Rick says it's okay this is known as foreshadowing!).
We eat as we wander, checking out the local shops decorated in Christmas splendour. There are booths selling candy cotton and light sticks, and a carousal made up of giant swans. It starts to rain a bit, and as we have come to expect in England, in a second everyone is carrying an umbrella. Like good boy scouts, we are prepared - we've brought two umbrellas. We decide to stop at the Old Manse (www.oldmansehotel.com/) for a pint, to keep warm and to dry out a bit.
Years ago, my sister Vanessa and I stayed in Bourton for a week in a self-catering cottage and our 'local' was the Kingsbridge Inn, just down the street. But it's crammed to the rafters (it has a beautiful Christmas tree in one of its windows). The Old Manse is on the same side of the river and generally caters to an older crowd. Tonight, we get one of the last tables.
It always surprises me that the English, who seem to have such a rigid personal space barrier, completely abandon it when they go into the pub. Everyone cuddles in next to everyone else. Definitely worth a Ph.D. thesis.
We finish our pint, then go out to find our spot by the river. I try to figure out how the tree is anchored in the middle of the stream not only that, but it has to be one of the most perfect tree specimens I've ever seen. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, with official-looking people running about, the lights go on and there is a gasp from the thousands of people standing there. It is breath taking. Because the tree sits in running water, the reflection from the lights shimmers in the water, reflecting back onto the tree lights, reflecting back on to the water. It is exquisite. We stand there for a long time, after most of the crowd has left to listen to the carol singing or to see Father Christmas, and just hug each other. It's pure enchantment. (For an idea of what it looked like you can check out www.pbase.com/nordic/bourton).
That's the good news. The bad news is that we have to get out of town remember I said we found such a great spot in the middle of the village. Well, there's probably a good reason why people parked further away. It is absolutely agony to back up and turn around and we end up taking a wrong turn, waved on by a distracted police officer, and find ourselves driving down a narrower and narrower street or so we think until we end up on the riverbank and, strangely, the road has turned into a pedestrian lane. How we ever got here is beyond comprehension and we only had one pint! but we are completely surrounded by thousands of people and the only way to get out, is to back up. And the crowds aren't budging an inch.
One fellow helps wave people out of the way for a while, but gives up when the 'critical mass' becomes too much for him. Another nice fellow suggests we put our hazard lights on so people can see us, and that does help a bit. Finally, to my intense embarrassment, I realize I am going to have to get out of the car and 'shoo' people while Rick backs up behind me. It would have been hilarious if it were happening to someone else. It takes us a few days to be able to smile about it.
Then, in the middle of night, Rick gets very sick. I blame it on the mincemeat tart. Rick thinks it's the red wine he drank when we got home. I didn't partake of either, so I'm fine. It probably is a touch of food poisoning. Sadly, he's out of commission for two days. I want to take him to emergency, but he refuses, taking to bed and sleeping a lot. Of course, I baby him like crazy.
Over the two days, while he sleeps, I explore the village and take long walks along the canal. Margaret and Ted's grandchildren come to visit and buzz around the garden, taking advantage of the sunny weather. I catch up on my reading and eventually Rick returns to the land of the living.
What cheers us both up is that we actually get mail to our cottage Christmas cards from home! It feels as if we really live here, and yet I have a little cry when I read how much everyone is missing us. My mom has drawn a cartoon in her card, showing us travelling from cottage to cottage with our tiny, decorated, Christmas tree in hand.
We watch an interesting television documentary called 'Churchill's Girl'. It's about Pamela Harriman who was married to Churchill's son, then Leland Hayward, and finally, and most lucratively, Averill Harriman who she had an affair with during the war. She also had an affair with Edward Murrow, the famous American war correspondent and Gianni Agnelli. Fascinating woman, but in my opinion not that admirable. She ended up as Ambassador to France, appointed by Bill Clinton. I suppose if you live long enough - or have enough money - almost anyone can become respectable.
I'm reading a book right now called, "The Amazing Life and Outrageous Times of Grace Dalyrimple Elliott: Royal Courtesan," by Jo Manning. And Pamela Harriman was certainly a 20th century version of an 18th c. courtesan.
One of the weirdest things during the show is the interviews with her son, Winston Churchill II. It's so strange to hear this elderly man talk about his mother's affairs with an almost childlike admiration. He says, in that dry, English way, "My mother was not maternal."
We decide to explore Leamington Spa (http://www.royal-leamington-spa.co.u...iles/frame.htm) when Rick gets better. I didn't realize what a huge place it is; I was expecting something about the size of Stratford. It's hard to see where Warwick stops and Leamington Spa begins, which makes it seem even bigger.
Our first stop is 'The Royal Pump Room and Baths' (www.warwickdc.gov.uk/royalpumprooms), built in 1814, although the Romans were taking advantage of the 'waters' centuries ago. The spa treatment was supposed to cure "stiffness of tendons, rigidity of the joints, and the effects of gout and rheumatism." The spa water is also a mild laxative -which is the last thing Rick needs! We've sampled the water at Bath, so don't feel the need to do it again, but do peruse the displays on the history of the pump room and some of the strange looking devices they used in the treatments.
We drop in at the library to check our e-mails (have I mentioned how much I love libraries?) and are impressed with the layout. Would be a nice place to spend a rainy afternoon in.
Leamington's Art Gallery and Museum are also located here, so there's a lot to see in one spot. (And it's pronounced 'lee-mington' not 'lay-mington'. I still can't get the hang of some of the English pronounciations.) The Tourist Information Office is here as well, and we discover from one of the staff that another of our favourite Brit-coms, 'Keeping Up Appearances', was filmed in Leamington Spa.
There's also a fascinating exhibit called '100 Faces'. Graceful ballet dancers and children from special dancing workshops are projected on large screens set around the walls, and the images are stunning. Makes you want to get up on your toes and move.
There's also an interesting-looking exhibit coming to the Museum later on in December called 'Play Time'. It's going to show all kinds of games and toys, old and new and examines the way children learn. And the old kids even get to play with the exhibits. We'll have to try and come back for it.
Have discovered another female artist I need to find out more about. There's a painting in the museum by Lucy Kemp-Welch, a Victorian/early 20th c. artist, called 'Winter's White Silence' and it is very beautiful. She was also the illustrator of 'Black Beauty'. Although, she mostly painted horses, which I'm not that interested in, I later came across one she did called 'The Circus Act', and it's brilliant. Her paintings have this kind of luminosity that is impressionistic and reminds me of Winslow Homer's work. Two of her works are in the Tate.
(I've tried to find a copy of 'Winter's White Silence' on the Internet to post here, but have had no luck. Here's a copy of 'The Circus Act' - http://www.leicestergalleries.com/pr...mp;a_id=13933; and another called 'Cart Horses on the Downs' - http://www.artrenewal.org/asp/databa...ge.asp?id=9930.)
We wander a bit in the Jephson Gardens, near the Pump Rooms. We walk along the River Leam, and you can just imagine an early summer's evening, with ladies in their long dresses and hats, music coming from the Pump Room, a soft breeze, the water splashing in the fountains, the weeping willows draped across the river. It's very pretty. And the Temperate House, which shows plant evolution from 500 million years ago to the present day, is fascinating. Great for kids and grown-ups.
On the edge of town, just off the A452, there is a huge conglomeration of furniture and home decorating stores and we walk through a few of them, pretending we are furnishing our own new/old cottage in England.
Then it's time to eat, so we head to Hampton Lucy for Sunday lunch at the Boar's Head. I have lasagne and it comes with a whole-wheat baguette and a small side salad with red and yellow peppers and tomatoes. Rick has the roast beef with roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pud, and an assortment of vegetables. It's a huge portion; he can't even finish it all. We each have ½ a pint.
Everything is delicious and the owners are very nice, frequently wandering among the tables to see if everyone's food is all right. And then the chef comes out to ask how everything is, too! I have this strange feeling that maybe they've been told that two food critics are coming in to review their pub (do you remember the Fawlty Towers episode with the Food Inspectors?). Everyone is so nice and professional. Most of the people in the pub seem to be locals there's a lot teasing and conversation going back and forth between tables and the bar. Two thumbs way up! (£15 for the two of us.)
It must be a common thing in England to take your mother to a country pub for Sunday lunch. Whenever we've been in pubs on a Sunday, there's always tables full of the same grouping: a middle-aged man and woman and an elderly woman who's usually the mother of one or the other. I have to shamefully admit that I eavesdrop on their conversations. The most interesting ones are where the daughter-in-law and mother-in-law don't get along. They are so 'English' with each other civil and frosty all at the same time.
We pick up the Sunday papers on the way home and spend the rest of the day reading every story. There's a funny article in the Sunday Times 'Style' magazine about celebrities who 'slag' each other off with one-liners. Some of my favourites are:
- "She's so fat, she puts mayo on her aspirin." (Joan Rivers about Elizabeth Taylor)
- "She looked like a huge ball of fur on two well-developed legs." (Nancy Mitford on Princess Margaret)
- I always knew Frank Sinatra would end up with a boy." (Ava Gardner about Sinatra's marriage to Mia Farrow.)
The next day we go into Banbury again to shop for Christmas presents. Rick and I split up. I find a great second-hand bookstore, Books and Ink, on White Lion Walk (www.booksandink.co.uk/), not far from the Post Office. I buy Rick some Agatha Christies and also find a copy of 'Touching the Void' for his stocking. I sit in a comfy chair and look through a stack of old prints and antique postcards and buy one for Rick and one for my mom (she collects Christmas postcards).
There is a lot of great shopping in Banbury, including the charity outlets. I see the cutest set of Christmas lights in Debenhams (or Marks & Spencer, I can't remember) they are little fairy ballerinas with the lights inside. Another set has skating snowmen.
I buy myself another Christmas decorating magazine (I know, I'm suppose to be shopping for Rick) but this one comes complete with three Christmas CDs. (I love that about English magazines, you get such great stuff with them.) I try to buy some Tylenol at Boots, but they don't stock it. When I ask for something equivalent, the chemist gives me something called Codol.
On the way home, we stop at a miniscule village called Oxhill (www.oxhill.com/) to buy tickets to a local production of 'A Christmas Carol'. (We saw it advertised on a community notice board in one of the villages we passed through last week.) The production will be held in St. Lawrence Church, which is interesting, but when we get there, there's no one about. So we call the number on the poster from a little, red phone box in the village and the lovely lady that answers says she'll put two tickets away for us at the door. Tickets cost £6 each. The production is a musical which should be interesting. It is to be performed by Robert MacCall, with Ian Baxter on the mandolin. We don't know either gentleman, but that just adds to the fun.
Next...Part IX Checking Out Real Estate, Heavenly Henley and the Jolly Farmer Farm Shop
We are very excited today because we are going to Bourton on the Water (www.bourtoninfo.com/default.aspx), one of the loveliest villages in the Cotswolds. It's the annual 'turning on of the Christmas tree lights'. The celebration is held at 6 p.m. (or whenever everything comes together) on the first Friday in December.
The tree sits in the middle of the River Windrush and I can't wait to see how it looks once all the lights are lit. But first, we do some window shopping and wandering about. The town glimmers with twinkly lights and there is definitely Christmas enthusiasm in the air. I can't believe we get a parking space right in the centre of the village because the place is a madhouse. There are police officers trying to direct traffic but they don't seem to be that serious about it (as we learn later to our dismay!).
Since we had a big lunch, we aren't that hungry but decide to try a sausage roll from Norah's Pantry, plus some mincemeat tarts for sale at a table. (I have a taste of one of the tarts and it tastes like Buckley's Cough Syrup in a pastry shell. Yuk. Rick says it's okay this is known as foreshadowing!).
We eat as we wander, checking out the local shops decorated in Christmas splendour. There are booths selling candy cotton and light sticks, and a carousal made up of giant swans. It starts to rain a bit, and as we have come to expect in England, in a second everyone is carrying an umbrella. Like good boy scouts, we are prepared - we've brought two umbrellas. We decide to stop at the Old Manse (www.oldmansehotel.com/) for a pint, to keep warm and to dry out a bit.
Years ago, my sister Vanessa and I stayed in Bourton for a week in a self-catering cottage and our 'local' was the Kingsbridge Inn, just down the street. But it's crammed to the rafters (it has a beautiful Christmas tree in one of its windows). The Old Manse is on the same side of the river and generally caters to an older crowd. Tonight, we get one of the last tables.
It always surprises me that the English, who seem to have such a rigid personal space barrier, completely abandon it when they go into the pub. Everyone cuddles in next to everyone else. Definitely worth a Ph.D. thesis.
We finish our pint, then go out to find our spot by the river. I try to figure out how the tree is anchored in the middle of the stream not only that, but it has to be one of the most perfect tree specimens I've ever seen. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, with official-looking people running about, the lights go on and there is a gasp from the thousands of people standing there. It is breath taking. Because the tree sits in running water, the reflection from the lights shimmers in the water, reflecting back onto the tree lights, reflecting back on to the water. It is exquisite. We stand there for a long time, after most of the crowd has left to listen to the carol singing or to see Father Christmas, and just hug each other. It's pure enchantment. (For an idea of what it looked like you can check out www.pbase.com/nordic/bourton).
That's the good news. The bad news is that we have to get out of town remember I said we found such a great spot in the middle of the village. Well, there's probably a good reason why people parked further away. It is absolutely agony to back up and turn around and we end up taking a wrong turn, waved on by a distracted police officer, and find ourselves driving down a narrower and narrower street or so we think until we end up on the riverbank and, strangely, the road has turned into a pedestrian lane. How we ever got here is beyond comprehension and we only had one pint! but we are completely surrounded by thousands of people and the only way to get out, is to back up. And the crowds aren't budging an inch.
One fellow helps wave people out of the way for a while, but gives up when the 'critical mass' becomes too much for him. Another nice fellow suggests we put our hazard lights on so people can see us, and that does help a bit. Finally, to my intense embarrassment, I realize I am going to have to get out of the car and 'shoo' people while Rick backs up behind me. It would have been hilarious if it were happening to someone else. It takes us a few days to be able to smile about it.
Then, in the middle of night, Rick gets very sick. I blame it on the mincemeat tart. Rick thinks it's the red wine he drank when we got home. I didn't partake of either, so I'm fine. It probably is a touch of food poisoning. Sadly, he's out of commission for two days. I want to take him to emergency, but he refuses, taking to bed and sleeping a lot. Of course, I baby him like crazy.
Over the two days, while he sleeps, I explore the village and take long walks along the canal. Margaret and Ted's grandchildren come to visit and buzz around the garden, taking advantage of the sunny weather. I catch up on my reading and eventually Rick returns to the land of the living.
What cheers us both up is that we actually get mail to our cottage Christmas cards from home! It feels as if we really live here, and yet I have a little cry when I read how much everyone is missing us. My mom has drawn a cartoon in her card, showing us travelling from cottage to cottage with our tiny, decorated, Christmas tree in hand.
We watch an interesting television documentary called 'Churchill's Girl'. It's about Pamela Harriman who was married to Churchill's son, then Leland Hayward, and finally, and most lucratively, Averill Harriman who she had an affair with during the war. She also had an affair with Edward Murrow, the famous American war correspondent and Gianni Agnelli. Fascinating woman, but in my opinion not that admirable. She ended up as Ambassador to France, appointed by Bill Clinton. I suppose if you live long enough - or have enough money - almost anyone can become respectable.
I'm reading a book right now called, "The Amazing Life and Outrageous Times of Grace Dalyrimple Elliott: Royal Courtesan," by Jo Manning. And Pamela Harriman was certainly a 20th century version of an 18th c. courtesan.
One of the weirdest things during the show is the interviews with her son, Winston Churchill II. It's so strange to hear this elderly man talk about his mother's affairs with an almost childlike admiration. He says, in that dry, English way, "My mother was not maternal."
We decide to explore Leamington Spa (http://www.royal-leamington-spa.co.u...iles/frame.htm) when Rick gets better. I didn't realize what a huge place it is; I was expecting something about the size of Stratford. It's hard to see where Warwick stops and Leamington Spa begins, which makes it seem even bigger.
Our first stop is 'The Royal Pump Room and Baths' (www.warwickdc.gov.uk/royalpumprooms), built in 1814, although the Romans were taking advantage of the 'waters' centuries ago. The spa treatment was supposed to cure "stiffness of tendons, rigidity of the joints, and the effects of gout and rheumatism." The spa water is also a mild laxative -which is the last thing Rick needs! We've sampled the water at Bath, so don't feel the need to do it again, but do peruse the displays on the history of the pump room and some of the strange looking devices they used in the treatments.
We drop in at the library to check our e-mails (have I mentioned how much I love libraries?) and are impressed with the layout. Would be a nice place to spend a rainy afternoon in.
Leamington's Art Gallery and Museum are also located here, so there's a lot to see in one spot. (And it's pronounced 'lee-mington' not 'lay-mington'. I still can't get the hang of some of the English pronounciations.) The Tourist Information Office is here as well, and we discover from one of the staff that another of our favourite Brit-coms, 'Keeping Up Appearances', was filmed in Leamington Spa.
There's also a fascinating exhibit called '100 Faces'. Graceful ballet dancers and children from special dancing workshops are projected on large screens set around the walls, and the images are stunning. Makes you want to get up on your toes and move.
There's also an interesting-looking exhibit coming to the Museum later on in December called 'Play Time'. It's going to show all kinds of games and toys, old and new and examines the way children learn. And the old kids even get to play with the exhibits. We'll have to try and come back for it.
Have discovered another female artist I need to find out more about. There's a painting in the museum by Lucy Kemp-Welch, a Victorian/early 20th c. artist, called 'Winter's White Silence' and it is very beautiful. She was also the illustrator of 'Black Beauty'. Although, she mostly painted horses, which I'm not that interested in, I later came across one she did called 'The Circus Act', and it's brilliant. Her paintings have this kind of luminosity that is impressionistic and reminds me of Winslow Homer's work. Two of her works are in the Tate.
(I've tried to find a copy of 'Winter's White Silence' on the Internet to post here, but have had no luck. Here's a copy of 'The Circus Act' - http://www.leicestergalleries.com/pr...mp;a_id=13933; and another called 'Cart Horses on the Downs' - http://www.artrenewal.org/asp/databa...ge.asp?id=9930.)
We wander a bit in the Jephson Gardens, near the Pump Rooms. We walk along the River Leam, and you can just imagine an early summer's evening, with ladies in their long dresses and hats, music coming from the Pump Room, a soft breeze, the water splashing in the fountains, the weeping willows draped across the river. It's very pretty. And the Temperate House, which shows plant evolution from 500 million years ago to the present day, is fascinating. Great for kids and grown-ups.
On the edge of town, just off the A452, there is a huge conglomeration of furniture and home decorating stores and we walk through a few of them, pretending we are furnishing our own new/old cottage in England.
Then it's time to eat, so we head to Hampton Lucy for Sunday lunch at the Boar's Head. I have lasagne and it comes with a whole-wheat baguette and a small side salad with red and yellow peppers and tomatoes. Rick has the roast beef with roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pud, and an assortment of vegetables. It's a huge portion; he can't even finish it all. We each have ½ a pint.
Everything is delicious and the owners are very nice, frequently wandering among the tables to see if everyone's food is all right. And then the chef comes out to ask how everything is, too! I have this strange feeling that maybe they've been told that two food critics are coming in to review their pub (do you remember the Fawlty Towers episode with the Food Inspectors?). Everyone is so nice and professional. Most of the people in the pub seem to be locals there's a lot teasing and conversation going back and forth between tables and the bar. Two thumbs way up! (£15 for the two of us.)
It must be a common thing in England to take your mother to a country pub for Sunday lunch. Whenever we've been in pubs on a Sunday, there's always tables full of the same grouping: a middle-aged man and woman and an elderly woman who's usually the mother of one or the other. I have to shamefully admit that I eavesdrop on their conversations. The most interesting ones are where the daughter-in-law and mother-in-law don't get along. They are so 'English' with each other civil and frosty all at the same time.
We pick up the Sunday papers on the way home and spend the rest of the day reading every story. There's a funny article in the Sunday Times 'Style' magazine about celebrities who 'slag' each other off with one-liners. Some of my favourites are:
- "She's so fat, she puts mayo on her aspirin." (Joan Rivers about Elizabeth Taylor)
- "She looked like a huge ball of fur on two well-developed legs." (Nancy Mitford on Princess Margaret)
- I always knew Frank Sinatra would end up with a boy." (Ava Gardner about Sinatra's marriage to Mia Farrow.)
The next day we go into Banbury again to shop for Christmas presents. Rick and I split up. I find a great second-hand bookstore, Books and Ink, on White Lion Walk (www.booksandink.co.uk/), not far from the Post Office. I buy Rick some Agatha Christies and also find a copy of 'Touching the Void' for his stocking. I sit in a comfy chair and look through a stack of old prints and antique postcards and buy one for Rick and one for my mom (she collects Christmas postcards).
There is a lot of great shopping in Banbury, including the charity outlets. I see the cutest set of Christmas lights in Debenhams (or Marks & Spencer, I can't remember) they are little fairy ballerinas with the lights inside. Another set has skating snowmen.
I buy myself another Christmas decorating magazine (I know, I'm suppose to be shopping for Rick) but this one comes complete with three Christmas CDs. (I love that about English magazines, you get such great stuff with them.) I try to buy some Tylenol at Boots, but they don't stock it. When I ask for something equivalent, the chemist gives me something called Codol.
On the way home, we stop at a miniscule village called Oxhill (www.oxhill.com/) to buy tickets to a local production of 'A Christmas Carol'. (We saw it advertised on a community notice board in one of the villages we passed through last week.) The production will be held in St. Lawrence Church, which is interesting, but when we get there, there's no one about. So we call the number on the poster from a little, red phone box in the village and the lovely lady that answers says she'll put two tickets away for us at the door. Tickets cost £6 each. The production is a musical which should be interesting. It is to be performed by Robert MacCall, with Ian Baxter on the mandolin. We don't know either gentleman, but that just adds to the fun.
Next...Part IX Checking Out Real Estate, Heavenly Henley and the Jolly Farmer Farm Shop
Mar 23rd, 2007, 03:09 AM
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Rickmanv - Bourton-on-Water - So glad you posted the link to the Christmas tree in the water, just couldn't imagine, it did look lovely.
I laughed about how pleased you were to find a parking spot in the middle of the village and subsequent outcome. Thanks for sharing such a delightful story.
Sorry to hear about Rick being ill. Did he just eat one mincemeat tart? For those who don't know no longer will you find any meat in the tart, it is not savoury but a pastry filled with minced fruit, raisins, sultanas, apricots, apples etc mixed with spices. Quite delicious. You can buy the filling in jars already prepared. Were these tarts freshly baked and perhaps home made? I am quite hungry for one now.
I love your review of books. Please start posting what you are reading on the music, movies, books forum here at Fodors.
Sandy
I laughed about how pleased you were to find a parking spot in the middle of the village and subsequent outcome. Thanks for sharing such a delightful story.
Sorry to hear about Rick being ill. Did he just eat one mincemeat tart? For those who don't know no longer will you find any meat in the tart, it is not savoury but a pastry filled with minced fruit, raisins, sultanas, apricots, apples etc mixed with spices. Quite delicious. You can buy the filling in jars already prepared. Were these tarts freshly baked and perhaps home made? I am quite hungry for one now.
I love your review of books. Please start posting what you are reading on the music, movies, books forum here at Fodors.
Sandy
