Saturday - Coming home

It was before dawn when we left our little cottage, our suitcase wheels rattling along the cobblestones and echoing in the narrow lane. We’d had a fine week in this ancient market town, well off the beaten track. Many American guide books don’t even mention this part of England, and a number of our friends from nearby Cheltenham had never been there as well. Interestingly, Robert Frost and his family lived just four miles away for several years in about 1910. While there, he wrote The Road Not Taken. We were glad we took the road to Ledbury.

We tried to compute a reasonable amount of gas to put in the car so that it would be almost empty but still driveable by the time we reached the airport in Manchester, a bit over 200 driving miles to the north. Our estimate turned out to be much too timid, as we ended up donating over a quarter tank to the rental car company, at a bit over a pound a liter (about $7/gal!). It’s so much easier when they have you bring it back full. Maybe that’s why they do this.

We had allowed plenty of time for contingencies, and going through all the various procedures at the airport went quite smoothly. Until we got to security. Steve aroused their suspicions and got the shakedown. There was apparently a metal spine in his shoes that looked quite menacing on the x-ray—they even took him over to the machine to see it for himself—and they were also quite fascinated by the package of sardines and tube of Smarties (like M&Ms) in his backpack. Sue Anne and Bruce ate all their Smarties before we got to the airport!

After the authorities came to conclude that Steve was indeed one of the good guys, we ate lunch, sat around for a bit, read the paper, and finally went over to our poorly marked departure gate. People were packed in rather tightly there, the acoustics were bad, and the announcer had a local accent that was really tough to tune into. But Sue Anne and Bruce did manage to pick out our last name in the middle of one announcement. Upon investigation we found that we had been chosen for an upgrade to Economy Plus, this apparently because Economy had been overbooked. By then we had gotten separated from Aimée and Steve, so we weren’t able to advise them of this news. We spotted them getting the full shakedown at the random inspection table just before boarding, a procedure that was mercifully done away with in the US and Canada many years ago. And as Murphy’s Law (Sod’s Law in the UK) would have it, their inspection was completed just as we arrived at the front of the line, and we became the next victims.

It was nice to finally settle down in our front row, wider than normal, more foot room than normal, Economy Plus seats. Sue Anne’s feet couldn’t even touch the wall in front of us. And we were soon to discover that the seats came with unlimited free wine, something no longer offered to those in the back of the plane.

Considering our brief and fitful sleep of the night before, it wasn’t at all difficult to doze off for much of the flight. We arrived on time in Chicago, easy trip through customs, good byes all around. Aimée and Steve took off toward the bus stop for the ride back to Madison, and Sue Anne and Bruce waited a few hours till our plane left for Manchester—the one in New Hampshire this time! We ransomed the Forester out of the parking lot, easy drive back to New London, and found the house in fine order. Simon the cat was asleep on the upstairs bed. He’s not much of a watchcat any more as he’s pretty much lost his hearing.

Home! And this time the New Hampshire house, which we had just moved into for real after years of a back and forth existence with our house in Maryland, really did feel like it was home.

Thus wraps up our journey. But stay tuned. We’ve got lots of drawings, pictures, and videos to put up here over the next few days, and we also plan to summarize the major impressions we took from this trip.

Saturday - October 18

Friday - Cheltenham

It's our last day before the flight home. Time was running out on us, so we all started the day with a final run to places in Ledbury that we needed to see more of—library, Internet café, and various shops and other attractions.

Across the lane from our cottage and one building up the hill was a small but well done city museum. The building was once a school house, last used in about 1830. It was very old with Tudor timbers. There were several activities and learning areas for school children, appropriately enough. A lot of work in restoration was done by the people of Ledbury. We felt a lot of civic pride in the town, as they appreciated what they had and knew that work was required to maintain its ambiance and quality of life.

We had earlier been told about a sale at St. Katharine’s Hall, so we marked our calendars. It didn't disappoint, with a large selection of plants, crafts, and baked goods. Aimée and Sue Anne both bought soap, and Sue Anne purchased a few regional baked specialities. The selection of goods and general atmosphere was similar to a W.I. (Women's Institute) sale. Except that men were on the scene, and were involved in selling too, and it was called a country market. W.I. is a national women's club, founded in 1915. They have 6,800 branches currently. They achieved fame and notoriety with their groundbreaking nude calendar, which became the basis for the 2003 movie Calendar Girls with Helen Mirren and Julie Walters. We all wished we could have bought plants, and we all enjoyed our chats with the sellers.

Then we were off on a drive down the now familiar M50 to the M5 to the northern approaches to Cheltenham.

We spent a bit of time wandering through the Blooms Garden Center, part of a West Country chain run by the appropriately named Bloom family. It’s always fun to visit garden centers in foreign countries, or other regions of your own country. You learn so much and expand your horizons.

There was a fascinating mix of absolutely everything pertaining to gardens and landscaping there, plus lots more. Love those golden conifers that pick up the British sunlight so nicely. And so cheap they were. But it’s highly illegal to bring back live plants, so all we could do is take notes of the varieties and vow to see what we could find when we got back home. Steve did discover a big bin of soon to expire seed packets on sale at 10p apiece, so we pawed through it and succeeded in digging out some novelty seeds to give to our grandkids, along with some other varieties to try out ourselves.

Then we continued down into Cheltenham to Peter and Rosemarie Shortell’s (see blog for Tuesday). A delightful lunch of cheese, paté, salmon and leek quiche, green salad, crunchy British bread, ale, perry (alcoholic pear juice), chocolate cake, and coffee. Easily enough to keep us going for quite a while.

We left the car there and walked down to the London Road, turning right and following it as it morphed into the Upper High Street, which ultimately became a pedestrian zone. Engaged in a bit of people watching as we continued down High Street and turned left onto The Prom, or more formally The Promenade. Cheltenham is well known for its broad tree lined streets. This is where the elegant shops begin.

Outdoor market stalls from France and Germany were lined up along the side of the kerb (curb) in what we learned was a monthly event. Sue Anne helped Aimée purchase a tablecloth from a seller who spoke only French. And looked like she wondered how she ever got this job, coming to the UK once a month.

We continued our walk up the gentle hill to the Montpellier section of town. Grabbed an outdoor table at the upmarket, spacious, and modern restaurant and bar named Ha Ha (chosen to contrast with tiny old pubs, thereby expanding the experience) and waited for our friend Sheila Taylor to arrive. We hadn’t seen her for quite a few years, and this was our first meeting since the death a few years ago of her husband Alick, who had also been a great friend and neighbor of ours. Sheila had just gotten back from holiday in Crete. She really gets around, always in a southerly direction it seems. Weather in Crete had been atrocious, however, quite a contrast to the situation in England while she had been gone.

We quickly settled in to a discussion of old times, children, grandchildren, and the like. And a report of what the neighborhood looked like in the summer 2007 flood. It took a while to get the attention of the wait staff, but we finally succeeded in ordering our drinks. Steve queried the waitress about the advertised special £3 price for the normally £5 drinks, but she said it was only valid after 5 PM. The computerized till (cash register) wouldn’t let her ring up anything but the official price until then. But she earned her tip when she waited till after 5 to enter our check into the system. The mojitos were great.

We walked part way back with Sheila, saying farewell when we got to the fork in the road. Recovered our car and headed back up the M5 to Ledbury. Just as we got off onto the M50 we encountered a brief traffic jam that gave us the opportunity to grab our cameras and take a few quick shots of the magnificent and extremely short lived sunset.


While had initially planned to eat our last meal at the Prince of Wales, the accumulation of a rich lunch, a late afternoon drink, and the effects of being on the go for two weeks seemed to have caught up with us, and we were content with a light supper in our cottage. Final packing (it all fit!), set the alarm for 5AM, and we were off to bed. We didn’t sleep well, and regularly we heard the hours, and our insomnia, counted out by the church bells.

Friday - October 17

Thursday – Cotswolds

We drove past the Hobnails, scene of our lunch on Monday, turned right on a narrow road through Gretton, and ended up in the long, strung out town of Winchcombe. There was a Fun Fair being assembled there, quite possibly the one that had just been in Ledbury. The rides looked familiar. We turned left at a small lane, drove for a short distance, and were at Sudeley Castle, which we used to refer to as ‘our local castle.’ It’s a magnificent place, owned and occupied by a family that traces way back and is clearly dedicated to keeping it up and continually improving it. While many parts of it were destroyed by Cromwell’s followers after the Civil War and the rest was left for ruin, a family of wealthy wool merchants bought it a few hundred years later, brought the still existing parts of it back into habitable condition, and went on to live quite a life there.

The complete tour through the grounds and castle was quite expensive and wouldn’t have matched well with our schedule, so we opted for the ticket that would let us wander about the magnificent grounds and view the interesting exhibits.

The grounds featured informal gardens, heirloom vegetable gardens, amazing formal gardens, amusing and quirky contemporary sculpture, pheasants of all varieties, beautiful views out over the countryside, and the chapel where lies Katherine Parr, final wife of Henry VIII. Remember, ‘divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived!’ After Henry’s death she married the master of Sudeley and lived there for a few years till her death at age 37 from complications of childbirth.

View from the inside of Sudeley Castle - Cleeve Hill and farmers’ fields

The exhibits included relics found on the grounds dating as far back as Roman times, information on Henry VIII, all six wives, and other personalities of the day, and quite a bit on Emma Dent, the fascinating mistress of the house for many years who seemed to be a regular correspondent with just about everybody who was anybody during the Victorian era, a prolific diary keeper, and a committed walker who logged over 1000 miles a year as recorded on her trusty pedometer and documented in her diary.

By the time we finished at Sudeley it was definitely lunch time. We drove a few miles to the Rising Sun hotel and restaurant on the edge of Cleeve Hill, overlooking a sweeping view of the northern parts of Cheltenham, the valley to the west, and the start of the Malvern Hills and the hills of South Wales. Delightful lunch! Quality, creativity, and presentation have come a long way since the bad old days of British cooking.

A brief walk after lunch gave us the chance to take in more of the view. Interesting observations included a gorgeous con trail extending over at least half the sky, a bird hovering absolutely motionless over the hillside, and a glider apparently launched from Cleeve Hill and starting its descent into the valley.

View from Cleeve Hill of the Cheltenham valley, the Malvern Hills and Wales in the distance

We then continued down into Cheltenham. By then some of the schools were letting out, so we saw lots of children in their distinctive uniforms. We parked near our former house and gave Aimée and Steve a tour of the neighborhood, including the magnificent Pittville Park and Pump Room across the street. The Pump Room is a building where one came in the 1700s to sip the healthful sulfurous waters. It’s now used largely for events, receptions, and the like. All looked as we had remembered it, except that our former landlord certainly keeps his hedges trimmed a lot more neatly than we ever did, and the tree in the front garden had sure gotten a lot bigger.

Next we drove past Berkhampstead School, which both Karin and Sarah had attended as small children. Uniforms were still very much the same as then, except that the girls were now allowed to wear trousers. That used to be reserved for very cold weather and wasn’t really a part of the uniform anyway but a concession to necessity. Considering how school uniforms get passed down or recycled through the resale shops, we wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the uniforms we saw were indeed the same ones that existed during our time here! A new feature at Berkhampstead was a pair of small school buses, a likely recognition of the fact that many of the Mums who used to ferry the kids to school were now working and not available for taxi service. But there were still a lot of Mums gathered around.

A quick drive past Bruce’s former work place, now partially converted to commercial uses, and we were on the London Road, heading out of town. More school kids in uniforms. Drove a few miles to Northleach. It’s also long and strung out like Winchcombe, and like Winchcombe it became quite wealthy as a center of the wool trade centuries earlier. When we lived in England in the early 80s, the main road to London ran right through the town. It was a terrible bottleneck, but Northleach has become calm again with the construction of a bypass.

Love that golden British sunshine!

We looked through the church, wandered the back streets, chatted with various dogs and cats in the neighborhood, bought a few postcards and a snack. Steve left the postcards on the counter at the shop where we got the snacks, but fortunately as we were sitting in our car checking the map a woman came up to us and let us know about it. Everybody is so nice!

By then it was almost 4 o’clock and we had to decide whether to go to the rather well known Cotswold villages to the north (Swells, Slaughters, Stow on the Wold, Bourton on the Water, Mud in the Road (not really, but we did see that sign quite frequently!), Chipping Camden, Broadway, etc.) or the lesser known ones to the south. All are lovely! We opted for the latter, partly in anticipation of the opportunity to drive the car through a brook at the fords in a series of tiny villages called the Duntisbournes—Middle Duntisbourne, Duntisbourne Abbots, and Duntisbourne Leer. Sue Anne had been there before with a friend, Bruce only knew of the villages from signs out on the main road, and it was a brand new adventure for Aimée and Steve.

It was only a short drive from Northleach: down the Fosse Way Roman road, past the Fosse Bridge Inn which had been a treat dinner location for us in the past, along one of the longest and most beautifully constructed stone walls in the world, to the outskirts of Cirencester (Corinium in Roman times). Then a quick jog back north on another Roman road (Ermin Street, now the A417) brought us to the turnoff for the Duntisbournes.

It was a different world once we made that turn. The country roads were incredibly narrow—one car wide, and even that was tight! No room whatever to pass or turn around. The driving ethic was that you had to keep a mental record of the locations of the occasional wide spots in case you did encounter an oncoming car, so you knew whether it would be practical for you to back up or whether you had to hope that the other car would do so voluntarily. Fortunately we met only one car, occupied by teenagers, and they quickly volunteered to be the ones to back up. We exchanged happy waves with them as we drove by. There were also a lot of pheasants on the road. Most quickly volunteered to be the ones to move out of the way, though one certainly acted for quite some time as if she thought she could outrun us.

We negotiated two fords, each perhaps about 6 to 10 feet wide and no more than 6 inches or so deep, turning around and coming back through each in order to find all three of the villages.

Sue Anne was anxious to find Duntisbourne Leer, which has a long ford where the roadbed and the streambed are one and the same for a few hundred feet. Asking a local woman produced the answer that it was that road over there with the ‘Unsuitable For Motor Vehicles’ sign on it. And that we really shouldn’t try it. So we decided to start with reconnaissance on foot. A couple of local guys egged us on, and with the right vehicle (such as a Subaru Forester) we might just have tried. But the concept of explaining things to the rental car company, plus the size of a few rocks we could see in the water as we strolled along side on the path, was enough to make us think better of the idea. One of the guys said that they have been having problems with large trucks (‘lorries’ or Heavy Goods Vehicles—HGVs) navigating through the area by GPS (‘Sat Nav’ in British), unaware of what they’re getting into. A few got stuck at the smaller fords, and one actually went down the long ford and got trapped between the stone walls on each side. You can find lots of pictures and articles about this problem if you search for Sat Nav on Google and Google Images.

Yes, that’s the road! Imagine a lorry going through there.

You can read more about the fords at the Duntisbournes (and indeed about all 1803 documented fords in the entire UK if you wish!) at the site www.wetroads.co.uk. Click Gloucestershire to get to the page containing the Duntisbournes. Yes, there’s a Web site for people interested in just about anything!

As for the HGVs, we just read in the local Gloucestershire Echo that there is a proposal afoot to ban them from all minor Cotswold roads except for local deliveries.

We found our way out of the Duntisbournes without incident, enjoying the sweeping views along the way. On to the fast road that led to the M5 motorway near Gloucester, and back to Ledbury. Aimée and Steve had thought of attending a play in town tonight, but they found the theater unexplainedly dark. (Later: We learned that it was canceled ‘due to injuries.’) So we decided on a light supper followed by a super treat dessert of Pavlova, a meringue ring topped with strawberries and cream and accompanied by a bottle of red wine. It’s the final supper in our cottage, as we’re planning on eating at the pub tomorrow night.

Pavlova!

Tomorrow we start with a Bake and Craft sale at the local church hall and a bit more wandering and shopping in Ledbury. Then to Cheltenham for lunch with the Shortells (see Tuesday’s blog) and afternoon drinks and snacks with our former neighbor Sheila Taylor. Then it will be time to pack and get ready for the trip back home. We fly out of Manchester at 11 on Saturday, so it will be an early departure from Ledbury for us. Arrive in Chicago at 1:20 PM, say good bye to Aimée and Steve, and finally get back to Manchester, NH at about 8.

So this will be the final entry in the blog till we get home, as there won’t be any chance to post anything after tomorrow morning. Aimée promises to write up their trip to London real soon, and Sue Anne and Bruce will wrap up the final two days after we’re settled at home. Then we’ll go back through the whole blog, clean things up where needed, add further information or background links, and insert pictures, videos, and the pen and ink drawings that Sue Anne has been doing for the whole time we’ve been here. We’ll let you know as these things progress.

Thanks to all our faithful readers, thanks for the comments that some of you added here for us, and a special thanks to the friends and relatives who did lots of things to help us out while we were here.

Thursday - October 16

Tuesday and Wednesday – London

Aimée and Steve’s trip to London

by Aimée

Tuesday- In darkness we walked down our shiny cobblestone lane and then a few blocks on High Street to the train station for our 7 AM departure. After a relaxing 3 hour ride, we arrived at Paddington Station. The tube was shut down temporarily due to an accident so we strolled through Hyde Park where among other sights we saw the Princess Diana Children’s Park, then along Kensington Road. After an early hotel check in, we perused the tourist brochures (leaflets, as they call them) and decided to buy tickets for a show that evening. ‘Billy Elliot’ was our first choice. By then the tube was working and we rode to Victoria Station and the Victoria Palace Theater and were lucky enough to get the best seats we’ve ever had at any show (due to our age - yay!). We walked around London the rest of the day viewing all the famous sites in happy anticipation of the show, a musical based in a mining town in the north of England in the 1980s. Music by Elton John. We both had seen the movie a few years earlier and loved it.

For a late lunch we ate near Trafalgar Square at the Sherlock Holmes Pub, a good bet according to Rick Steves and not as touristy as it looked. The restroom key dangled from a large magnifying glass. A bit touristy, yes, but fun with great food. Stephen had baked salmon and I had cheese-stuffed mushrooms.

At the National Gallery we took in a couple of salons filled with 19th century European paintings before heading back to the hotel to get ready for our evening at the theater. We were packed into the tube as tightly as Stephen’s Scottish sardines.

The show was fantastic! Wonderful drama, a mix of lighthearted and teary moments punctuated by incredible dancing by sometimes unlikely characters (large, gruff old men, for example). Then we returned to our very nice hotel, the Park International on Cromwell Road.

Wednesday- A full English breakfast was served at our hotel which fueled us for the day of walking through a host of city streets surrounded by beautiful parks, fancy gates, many well dressed friendly folks. We walked along the Victoria Embankment from Westminster Abbey to the Tower of London. As the “mist” was getting quite heavy, we took a glass- sided tour boat back to Westminster Abbey where we encountered a a long parade of blind people (some with guide dogs or other helpers) protesting their conditions. We decided they were a very brave and/or determined lot to walk the streets of London without sight.

We, being less brave, but no less determined got to Paddington well before our 5:21 train to Ledbury so as to avoid the tube congestion. Since we couldn’t understand the train driver’s English, nor apparently could the locals, we struck up conversations with other passengers and learned quite a bit about our village area. One nice lady told us when we arrived at Ledbury station (her stop as well). Her 11 year old son met us as he raced along beside the train, while making silly faces.

We thoroughly enjoyed our short visit to London, but feel content to be “country mice” once again!

Tuesday & Wednesday - October 14-15

[Written by Aimée. Posted with a bit of assistance from Bruce, thus the misleading attribution below!]

Wednesday – Cheltenham

Aimée and Steve are in London, due back in Ledbury tonight. Sue Anne and Bruce started the day with a bit of wandering around town, including the little museum in a former school across the lane, last used in about 1830. The Fun Fair, which had been going full blast last night, had packed up and slipped away under cover of darkness. There was no trace of it left! We expect that they’re already open for business in some other town nearby.

Bruce went on-line for a while at the library and the Internet café. Posted blogs, read e-mail, and made our mortgage payment. Who would have dreamed!

This one is for you, Angie: We found Ben and Jerry’s in a store (only one or two flavors) for £4.49 (~$7.50) a pint! At that cost we didn’t even bother to find out whether they were US pints or Imperial (16 oz. vs 20). Or maybe metric. That’s a delicate subject in England at the moment. (Later: It was metric - 500 ml, about 6% more than a US pint, for more than twice the price.)

Then we drove to Woodmancote, a village just north of Cheltenham, where we joined our friends Bob and Phyll Shewan for lunch at the Apple Tree. We first met each other in the US in the late 70s, when Bob and Bruce were working together on the same project, and then they came back to Cheltenham at about the same time we moved there. Phyll was looking especially good, so soon after a mild heart attack. A daily walk to the pub or the coffee shop is part of her rehab régime!

The Apple Tree was easily on a par with the Hobnails in all dimensions. From one perspective it could be called a country pub, as there was an occupied cow pasture on one side of the car park, but on the other side it butted up against gently encroaching suburbia. Lunch included typically good pub food and drink. And dessert, or ‘pudding’ as they call it. Or simply ‘pud.’ We never see what would be called pudding back in the States. The closest it comes is custard, and that is warm and runny and used as a topping.

Then we all walked back to Bob and Phyll’s nearby home. We swapped family stories, looked at albums of their kids’ weddings (two kids, just slightly younger than ours, we each have a daughter named Sarah Elizabeth), and played with their interestingly marked black and white kitten.

Next we drove down to Cheltenham, passed by our old house where we lived from 1980 to 1983, and parked a bit farther down the road. Everything suddenly became so familiar as we walked down Albert Road toward the High Street. Our street looked exactly the same, so we could easily remember our grown daughters as little girls with British accents. “Look, there’s the house where Bumble the dog lived. What were the names of his owners?” (Anne and Mike) “Look, there’s the pillar box.” ‘Pillar box’ is British for the classic cylindrical red mail boxes. This was an especially old one, marked with Queen Victoria’s initials, where we would pose the girls for a series of growth pictures over the years. It was Karin’s destination the very first time we let her cross the street by herself. Oh she was careful, looking in both directions so many times before making her move.

As for the rest of the way into town: some differences, much still the same. Sidewalks (‘pavement’) seemed much cleaner than we remembered. No smashed chips (fries) and very few candy wrappers. Likewise dog poop. Christmas lights (white) being installed along the Prom!

The Cheltenham Literary Festival was still in progress in the Queen’s Garden. The Prime Minister Gordon Brown had been there a few days before, ostensibly to discuss his new book but with the added motivation of burnishing his public image in light of his generally well thought of accomplishments with respect to the economic situation, which seem to have helped pull him out of the doldrums. We wandered briefly through the bookseller’s huge tent. Then we checked out the Queen’s Hotel as a possible location for afternoon drinks or tea on Friday with our former neighbor Sheila Taylor. While there we encountered John and Joyce Everett (see Monday’s blog), who had just come from a talk associated with the festival.

Further walking through the Montpellier district of town led us to the Ha Ha restaurant and wine bar, which struck us as just the right place for our get together with Sheila on Friday.

Dark by then. Back to the car, drove to Ledbury, light supper in the cottage. Aimée and Steve arrived back from London shortly thereafter, brimming with tales of their adventures in the big and bustling city. They scored big on an OAP (Old Age Pensioner!) discount for the most popular play in town, Billy Elliot! (Aimée didn’t actually qualify as an OAP, but they waved her in anyway since she was with Steve.) But we’ll let them tell their story themselves tomorrow.

First, here’s a brief account of the time Aimée, Steve, and Bruce just spent at the regular Wednesday live music evening at the Prince of Wales, across the path from our cottage.

It was fun! We got there just early enough to acquire some of the few remaining seats in the bar area where the musicians were situated. We procured an appropriate complement of brews, and the music started shortly thereafter. All very informal. There must have been a dozen or so musicians, some with guitars, one with an accordion and a fiddle, one with a mandolin, and a few singers. But it didn’t appear that too many of them constituted any sort of organized group, or had perhaps even met each other before tonight. Whichever person or combination of people had the muse would sing or play the next song. Sometimes the others would join in if they were familiar with the music, or if the muse struck them. There was ever more of this as the evening went on and the musicians became more comfortable with each other’s style and technique.

Much of the music was of the folk variety that we would recognize, though we probably had never heard any of the specific songs. One was about fishing. On occasion an older, white haired woman in a tartan skirt who was sitting next to us would offer a typical Scottish lament type of song. (Do the Scots sing happy ones? Yes, they do! Roaming in the gloaming is a happy song.) Her voice was beautiful. She still had it! She clearly knew all the melodies, but strangely she would read all the words from a rather large pile of lyrics that she had brought with her.

Despite whatever effects might have been brought about by the brews, we found our way successfully back to the cottage—a journey of perhaps five feet it was. Chatted briefly with two women who were gazing at our cottage in awe.

Tomorrow is devoted to exploring Cotswold villages and Sudeley Castle. It’s not a trip to England if you don’t see a castle, and life is not complete without seeing the Cotswolds.

Wednesday - October 15

Tuesday - Ledbury

Aimée and Steve got up at what we in the Army called ‘Zero dark thirty’ (real early!) and took off toward the railroad station to catch their 7 o’clock train to London. They’re due back at about 8 tomorrow night. Sue Anne and Bruce slept in! Such a treat it was.

Today we had a ‘petit déjeuner’ rather than a full English breakfast because we slept late. And then a short walk. The town was back to its normal weekday schedule, though traffic was a bit impeded by the carnival equipment that would remain in place for at least another day, and parking was tight. We just left our car alone, out at the edge of town. Bruce found the Internet terminals at the library and did a quick check of e-mail. They weren’t configured with access to the USB ports, nor was there wireless service, so it wasn’t a suitable setup for posting the blog.

Our friends Rosemarie and Peter Shortell arrived from Cheltenham shortly thereafter. A major part of our initial conversation was an update on the activities of our children (two in each family) and grandchildren (three for each of us, including one in each family named Wyatt James!!). Then we walked a few steps over to the Prince of Wales where our guests treated us to lunch. Fish and chips with mushy peas (Yes, that’s what they’re called.) for three of us and sausage for Peter, followed by tasty desserts including the classic Spotted Dick. (Be prepared for a chuckle if you click the link.) Sue Anne had boozy berries with blackberry ice cream. Yes, that’s what it was called on the menu, and that’s what it was. So good.

Despite its proximity to Cheltenham, Ledbury was a new experience for our friends, so we spent a good bit of the afternoon wandering around town, taking in the sights, stopping into shops, and chatting about subjects too numerous to recall in their entirety. Rosemarie and Sue Anne are both artists, and Peter and Bruce have strong professional connections and a keen interest in things scientific and mathematical, so the conversation flowed easily across numerous topics.

We said goodbye with a promise to meet again when we’re in Cheltenham on Friday. We rested, then wandered about town a bit more. Bruce made a fruitless trip to the Internet café and ice cream shop, as it had already closed for the day at 5. A light supper in our kitchen accompanied by a pint of Theakston’s Old Peculiar. Such an odd name. The seal on the label says “The Official of the Peculiar of Masham (a place in North Yorkshire),” so we believe that it refers to an ancient personage of some sort, church or state or perhaps both as they were once largely indistinguishable, but it’s also not an inappropriate description for the brew itself. Strong and a bit quirky.

The bell ringers were at it again tonight, practicing for next Sunday or perhaps for a competition. It was a very different set of changes from what we had heard on Sunday, these with more of a ‘Joy to the World’ descending scale sound to the notes.

Tomorrow we’ll join our friends Bob and Phyll Shewan for lunch at their local pub, the Apple Tree in Woodmancote. Plans for the rest of the day are still loose but will probably entail a bit of reacquainting ourselves with the town where we lived for three wonderful years when our kids were young (and we were younger). We’ll get Aimée and Steve to sit down at the keyboard when they return and tell us all about their trip to London.

Tuesday - October 14
We didn’t go anywhere today!

Monday - Ledbury, Stratford

I’ll start by noting that I forgot to post the remainder of the blog from Friday (the trip from Helensburgh to Chester) when I posted Saturday’s and Sunday’s at the coffee shop in Stratford today. It’s there now, so scroll down if you’d like to take a look. There have also been a few small updates to Saturday and Sunday, the result of a bit more time to reflect on our doings and impressions.

Today started with a trip to the Ledbury railroad station to check the schedule for Aimée and Steve’s trip to London tomorrow. The train leaves really early in the morning! They’ll stay overnight in London tomorrow, coming back to Ledbury on Wednesday evening.

Then we drove down through the Vale (valley) of Evesham, a noted fruit growing area, to the village of Beckford, home of Beckford Silk. This company was started about 30 years ago by a couple living in the town, both interested in rediscovering old techniques for dying and printing of silk, and in developing new ones. Sue Anne had been there on a tour many years ago, bought two scarves, and was eager to get back, as was Aimée once she learned of the place.

The factory turned out to be in a state of transition. They had moved a while ago to a custom built (‘purpose built’ in British) building on the outskirts of the village, but they have currently taken some aspects of production back to their location in town while they expand and reconfigure. As a result they weren’t offering organized tours, but they kindly let us visit the printing room upstairs on our promise that we wouldn’t disturb the printer. He turned out to be happy to see us and glad to explain what he was doing. (We learned later that he has quite a reputation as an extravert.)

The table in the printing room must have been at least 25 feet long by 5 or more feet wide. Stretched securely on its full length was a piece of silk just starting into the printing process. Repetitions of a four feet square forest scene had already been applied to it in the first of what would ultimately become seven colors. The printer explained the process to us as he removed the screen that he had used for the first color, washed it, inked the next screen with the next color, and fitted it into the traveling frame that was to make its course along the full length of the table. After registering the frame in the appropriate location on its track, he operated a squeegee that forced the ink down onto the silk to print the second color onto it, and then moved along to do the same again and again, along the full length of the fabric..

But printing on silk isn’t over when the cloth has been fully inked, as the ink is in reality just sitting on the surface of the cloth. It needs to go through a heat process that pulls the dye into the silk fiber and rejects the carrier substance that formed the base for the ink, enabling the carrier to subsequently be washed away.

In summary, printing on silk is a complicated and extremely precise process. And we haven’t even gotten into the other related processes like dying and velvet erosion.

The proprietor’s wife was in the gift shop area, and she had a story for every scarf. Sue Anne bought a fabric remnant of day lilies, designed by the shopkeeper’s son. The lovely scarf that she chose was based on a drawing of the scene from the nearby hill Belas Knap, done by the husband. As it happens, Sue Anne has drawn from there too, on two occasions. And perhaps will do so again this week. And beyond the factory showroom, Beckford silks are sold in National Trust shops and other high end establishments. Custom designs (‘bespoke’ in British), some incorporating the work of artists famous in other media, are in the hands of private buyers and major institutions such as the Houses of Parliament. Beckford is a national treasure!

Next we drove a sort distance to meet our friends John and Joyce Everett at the Hobnails pub in Little Washbourne, which had been our favorite during the time we lived here. We knew that Steve Farbrother, the publican at the time who was so friendly to us and our children, had retired a while ago, taking the pub out of family hands for the first time in many centuries. We had heard tales of it going downhill, being severely damaged in the July 2007 floods, and being nicely restored under new ownership.

It was great to see John and Joyce again, both doing well. Our experience with the pub itself had a bittersweet touch to it. Everything about the place was very nice—appearance, staff, food, drink, bathrooms. (The latter much nicer than before!) If we had simply stumbled on it for the first time we would easily have given it high ratings. But it wasn’t quite the Hobnails that we remembered. The skittles (primitive bowling) alley was gone, as was the settle chair in the front room. Some familiar items were gone from the menu, and some had been replaced with upgraded alternatives, all a casualty to changing tastes. Ah, you can’t go back. But you do have to buy new furniture every few centuries.

The overcast cleared while we were in the pub. The drive through the Vale of Evesham to Stratford-upon- Avon was especially pretty. Big Sky country! We parked the car near the downtown area and walked to the closest of the Shakespeare attractions. There we split up, Bruce to check e-mail and post the past few days’ blogs, and the others to explore Shakespeare’s local haunts. Starting with his birthplace.

Bruce’s Internet experience was totally satisfactory. A wireless connection in a pleasant coffee shop, all for the price of a good cup of coffee. Among the e-mails awaiting us was the announcement of the engagement of Sue Anne and Aimée’s brother Ted to his girlfriend Christine! Much happiness to both of them!

The other three of us got combined tickets that would allow them to view Shakespeare’s birthplace, Nash’s House (home of his granddaughter), and Hall’s Croft (home of his eldest daughter). They didn’t have time to visit the latter, but the first two were very interesting. Nash’s House is next to a garden that was the site of Will’s last home, built at age 33—a grand house built on his earnings from London. Unfortunately, that house was torn down in 1759. The story goes that the owner at that time was tired of being pestered by people wanting to see the house and take cuttings from the garden. He could have charged admission and opened a gift shop!

The four of us then rendezvoused at the appointed street corner for the drive back to Ledbury, with a quick drive-by look at Anne Hathaway’s cottage on the way out of town.

We had to park well short of downtown Ledbury due to the ‘Fun Fair’ (a modern day augmentation to the traditional harvest celebrations) that was in full swing along the side of High Street. Rides, food, loud thumping music. Despite all of this we managed a successful call to our friends Peter and Rosemarie Shortell from a phone booth right across the street from all the action. They’ll be coming out here to join us for lunch tomorrow. Our plans for the rest of the day are pretty much open and will probably feature a degree of relaxation.

Ledbury Hops Fair, traditionally held at the end of the growing season. The 15th century market hall on stilts in the background with our little lane on the far left.

Bruce nipped across the path to the pub with a genuine, official pint glass from our cupboard and returned with it nicely filled with a local brew. Others imbibed from the stock they had brought with them. Tasty dinner of good bread, homemade tomato and vegetable soup, and Brussels sprouts. We all like Brussels sprouts!

Monday - October 13

Sunday - Ledbury, Gloucester

Today was one of those great days that sometimes happen on vacation, where you start out thinking you’re going to do one thing and something else much more interesting falls into your lap.

It began when we heard the bells ringing at the church up the hill from our cottage. It was more than just a brief call to worship; they were ringing changes. Permutations, in the language of math. It’s where a group of trained bell ringers goes through a sequence, each person pulling his or her own bell at the appropriate time, and then the sequence is altered slightly, and then again, and again, and again. There are many well established, codified, and named changes in the genre—Cambridge Surprise Major, Reverse Canterbury Pleasure Place Doubles, Little Bob Minor, and many more. Not all are suitable to any specific church, as each requires its own complement of appropriately tuned bells. It’s not that easy, as each bell has its own physical characteristics that govern when and how hard you have to pull to get exactly the right sound at exactly the right time.

We found this interesting site after we got home. Just click and you can compose your own bell changes and play them back, or listen to a synthesized rendition of the classics! You can find everything on the Web!

Sue Anne grabbed her camera to record the sound on a video (which we will insert here when the opportunity becomes available), only to have the bells stop the instant she stepped out the door. Shucks! But it turned out to be just a rest break for the bell ringers. They started up again, and she captured some good samples. Steve decided to head up the hill to see what was going on, returning with the news that it was harvest festival, complete with lunch after the service.

Religious considerations of any sort aside, we thought it would be an unmissable experience, so we joined the throng heading up our lane to the Parish Church of St. Michael and All Angels. The mayor, recognizable by the ceremonial chain of office draped around his shoulders, and his wife (and her lovely hat), were there to greet the townsfolk on their way in.

It's a magnificent old church built from the 12^th through 16^th Centuries. It takes time to build a magnificent church, and some are never really finished! There’s a strangely detached, ground level bell tower there. We learned later that nobody knows why it was built a few yards away from the church itself, rather than making an attached high spire. It’s an FAQ (Frequently Asked Question) in town. We also found out why the tower was padlocked while the ringing was going on. No, it wasn't because nobody was really there and the ringing was being controlled by a computer. They had found it necessary to lock the tower in order to prevent the curious from coming in and distracting the bell ringers.

The church at the top of the lane, where we attended Harvest Service - Ledbury

The ancient church of St. Michael and All Angels - Ledbury

The service was very informal, as was the dress of most all present. We counted only three ladies wearing hats, one of whom was the aforementioned mayor’s wife. We recognized the traditional harvest and thanksgiving hymns, while others were of quite recent origin and contemporary in their words and music. The Lord’s Prayer was a contemporary version. Music was a mix of organ, guitar, and a quartet of string and flute. The family in the pew in front of us had been chosen to present a prayer to the congregation, each member delivering his or her portion of it, culminated by the well rehearsed Amen! provided by the youngest.

The rector involved the children of the parish in a few amusing activities, both of which illustrated a message related to the readings of the day. One included piling up cardboard boxes and the other identifying bird songs.

We enjoyed our outing to church, admittedly a rare event, for two reasons. One, it was a harvest festival and Ledbury is a farming center for apples, pears, hops, corn, and probably other delicious things. Children carried potatoes and cauliflowers, other vegetables and flowers too, to arrange on a small table as part of the offering. It was a thanksgiving service at actual harvest time rather than in late November, when it is really past that season. (Our 150-year ago New Hampshire neighbor Sarah Josepha Hale of Newport was the force behind Thanksgiving’s declaration as a national holiday in the US, but why in November? The Canadians do it in October, closer to harvest time.) Secondly, the service theme spoke of being thankful, living simply, trusting, and—here it comes—not worrying excessively about the upsetting financial climate. The rector was clearly of the ‘God is good’ school rather than the ‘We are sinners and miserable wretches awaiting the wrath of a vengeful God’ persuasion.

At the end of the service the rector announced that there were still a few seats available for the harvest lunch, and that anybody interested should speak to one of the people stationed at the back of the church. We did so, and being immediately recognized as visitors and from overseas we found ourselves in the good care of a wonderfully nice woman named Phyllis, who shepherded us through the rest of the event. It was held in the 14^th Century St. Katherine’s Hall, just over on the other side of High Street, and attended by maybe a quarter of the number who had been at the service.

Phyllis found a table for all of us, where we were joined by her husband Malcolm and two of their friends. All were so very pleasant and friendly. Each had something in common with us that made for interesting conversation. One had recently visited Charleston, South Carolina, as had Sue Anne and Bruce. Another was born in Halifax, where we had been last week. Malcolm was a self-taught expert in the capitals of the 50 states, and proud of his ability to stump people who think that the well known big cities like New York, Miami, Baltimore, and Los Angeles just have to be the capitals of their states. They also brought the one American in the parish over to meet us, a woman from New Jersey who had come to England on a college exchange program, got married, and stayed.

The lunch consisted of a very generous buffet of food, with an equally generous array of desserts, accompanied by wine and wrapped up with coffee. Sue Anne and Bruce recognized a number of favorites, and Aimée and Steve took notes of new discoveries worth remembering and recreating with locally available ingredients once they got home.

After lunch we invited our new friends to see our cottage. While they probably walk past it many times each week, none had ever had the opportunity to see it from the inside. Then it was handshakes, thank yous, goodbyes, and a group picture.

After a brief rest the four of us got into the car and headed south to the city of Gloucester. We spent a good bit of time touring through the magnificent cathedral. Check out the powerful Anne Frank exhibit which we saw there. Then we went down to the restored area at the Victorian era Severn River docks. After that, a visit to the New Inn (That name always signifies that it’s a very old place, preceded in time only by an establishment that simply needed to be known as The Inn.), whose claim to fame is that it’s where Lady Jane Gray got the news that she was about to become queen. Lady Jane’s was a brief queenship, however, sadly terminated by the loss of her head. There was a lot of that going on at the time.

On a lighter note, it is said that Shakespeare and a traveling troupe acted in the open, U-shaped, street-level courtyard, with the audience watching from the open corridor one floor above. We tried hard to visualize this while we consumed ale and lager and delightfully flavored crisps (potato chips). We didn’t realize it at the time, but we found out later that the New Inn is operating as a hotel; it’s not just a pub. You can stay there. Click their link above for further detail. Then there was a final stop to look in the window of the nearby Beatrix Potter, Tailor of Gloucester shop, already closed for the day, and we were on the road back to to Ledbury.

We have parked a bit farther out than usual due to the congestion brought about by the setup for a carnival that begins tomorrow. AKA a Fun Fair. It’s a very large operation with rides strung out for quite some distance along the side of High Street through the center of town. We’ll get some pictures tomorrow.

After a light supper at our cottage, Aimée and Steve headed off to a phone booth (‘phone box’ in British) to try their luck at calling home, as we have both struck out on being able to make our cell phones (‘mobiles’ in British, with a long I) work. Success at last for their phone after a toll free chat with customer service, confirmed by a conversation between Aimée and Steve, one on the pay phone and the other also inside the phone box talking on the mobile! With a long I.

Our agenda for tomorrow is a visit to the Beckford Silk factory, lunch at our favorite country pub with old friends, and then to Stratford upon Avon. A full day.

We have had poor luck in getting to the Internet. We hoped that we might find a shop or café in Gloucester, but to no avail. All the WiFi signals in the area were either too weak or encrypted. We hope we can find something tomorrow. It takes extra time and effort to upload pictures and videos, and we might not be able to do as much of that as we hoped to till we get home. But stay tuned.

Sunday - October 12