End of the Journey: Back to Bristol, and Home

And so our adventure in England and Wales came to an end. Somehow arriving at our last bnb seemed anticlimactic, like a recording spinning on the turntable after all of the songs were played. But like many recordings, there was a hidden song here.

Because this bnb in Long Ashton, was a complete surprise and total pleasure. After our early adventures in Bristol I was afraid of where this place might be. Would we be in the hubbub and nightmarish traffic of the city? Would it be so noisy we would not be able to sleep? How difficult was it going to be to get to the airport?

 Once again the SatNav took us unerringly straight to the address, and I could not believe my eyes. This last stop was at the end of a dead-end lane, directly across from a beautiful old church named, of all things, All Saints--the same name as the church I'd grown up in. And the house! It was half of a duplex, old stone with flowers in front. A perfect, perfect place to end our travels.

Our hostess greeted us at the door. As we went to our room she told us that the pub at the corner did not serve dinners on Sunday. Uh-oh. We were counting on that, and we were hungry after a full day of travel. We decided that we'd go on up anyway to have a drink, and then see if we needed food.

To get to the pub, we had to pass the farm. Yes, right in the middle of this suburban village was the farm, which I think may once have belonged to the church? Not sure about that.

This inn was aptly named: The Angel Inn.

It was a lovely place to stop, comfortable and friendly like all the locals we'd been in.

On the wall was a photo of the Beatles--yes, they'd visited the Angel Inn too!

They did not offer Larry's favorite (Guinness) but the beer was welcome to him after driving all day.

After I finished my wine I decided to walk back down the lane to look around the old church. It was a beautiful place, as so many churches in England are. I savored the quiet in this tucked-away corner, just minutes from downtown Bristol.

As I wandered the graveyard, piano music drifted from the church, I went quietly inside and saw a young black man at the piano, playing intently and unaware of my presence. So lovely.

When I came back outside I met up with my hubby, who said he was going to walk down to a local convenience store for some food. He'd been told it wasn't far. I went back to the house and told our hostess where he was going and she said, "Oh no. I will go get him and take him to the store!" And off she went. They were soon back, Larry bearing wine and bread and cheese and fruit. We sat in the kitchen and talked and laughed for a good while with our hostess before turning in for the night.

Traffic going into  Bristol, and we squeezed past them on the left!

In the morning we were off after a sound night's sleep and an early breakfast. The amazing SatNav once again saved the day, taking us down narrow, twisting lanes away from Bristol and its traffic and in about 15 minutes we were at the airport and turning in our little car.

I was so sad to leave England. It was a memorable trip, my mind filled with images and faces and voices. For weeks after we came home, I dreamed I was still there, and sometimes when I woke at night, I would think I was still there, sleeping in some small stone house somewhere on Bodmin Moor. Even now I have moments that I feel the place all around me.

One day I will go back. One day I will stay longer, go out to the cliffs at night to listen to the pounding sea, wander the moors at dawn to watch the fog rise from the valleys, and listen to the wind whistle around the ancient stones. One day. It is a promise I am making to myself.

So it's only goodbye for now, sweet England.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Godmanchester to Aberystwyth

Thank goodness for the SatNav (or GPS, as we call it)!

We left Godmanchester early Sunday morning to make our way across England to Shropshire, where blog friend Gretel of the Middle of Nowhere blog lives. I've been following her artistic adventures and stories of life in a small cottage in the gentle Shropshire hills for several years, and when she heard we were coming to England and would be passing through her area, she invited us for lunch. I was thrilled and anxious it meet this talented lady.

Here's the thing about the SatNav: you put in a British post code and by golly that thing will take you right to the door. It's just amazing. I don't know if Google maps can do the same; when I plug in my zip plus 4, the directions are about as vague as it's possible to be. Gretel lives out a ways on a small lane and I seriously do not think we could have found her without the SatNav, and my phone, of course, was getting no signal out there.

But find her we did, and we had the most fascinating 3 hours of nonstop talking with Gretel and Joe. Their cottage is lovely, quite old and a work in progress as they renovate to make it their own. I didn't even think to take photos, but you can visit her blog and see for yourself. Her felt creatures are serious artistry, so very cunning and unique. And her kitchen---I could love that space, I really could.

Gretel made a lunch of a delicious casserole; I cannot remember now what she said was in it, but it was one of the best things we ate on this trip. She also made homemade rolls and a lemon cake with Devonshire cream. Oh. My.

Warm rolls, pretty plates, old wood table, friends--perfect.

We found that we had very similar tastes in kitchen decor and dishes, and even had identical cameras, which we've both had for about 10 years and love. Her garden was sporting some gorgeous sedum so of course I had to take a photo, but forgot to take one of the rest of that restful space.

I hated to leave. Joe and Gretel made us so welcome, but our b&b was still some miles away, so we said goodbye and continued on our way.

And then, we saw this sign.

We were in Wales at last, a place I've wanted to visit since I was a child. Beautiful green hills surrounded us,

and we got a good look at some of them as we followed Peter Jolly's Circus trucks for a long, winding way.

Araf means slow in Welsh, and we had fun saying it like a pirate.

 Eventually we were able to pass them and we arrived in Aberystwyth (pronounced a-bur-ISS-twith) early in the evening. Then to find our b&b.

This one, I have to say, was a letdown. It was right in the center of town on a narrow street, and the place was just not what I envisioned, although it was fairly close to the harbor which was nice. We did learn that our room was once the home of the famous Welsh poet Waldo Williams, but the room had been quite modernized so there was no vestige left of how it might have been when he was there, except for the view of the back alley from the window. Not inspiring, I can tell you. However, I'd rented this room for two nights, so there we were.

We ventured back out after getting our bags inside, and found Aberystwyth Castle, high above the harbor. Built in the 13th century, the castle once was also a royal mint at one time, making silver shillings. We explored a bit, enjoying being by the water at last, before returning to our room for the night.

The bed was hard and uncomfortable so neither of us slept well, but early in the morning we wakened to the sound of seagulls calling. That was kind of nice, really. Our breakfast was a cereal-toast-and-tea variety, no fruit or anything extra here.

We were up and out early so that we could: a) find a grocery store and pick up some food for lunches and suppers (saving money that way) and b) get to the Rheidol Valley Railway in time for a journey into central Wales. We found the store, with prices more reasonable than expected, stashed our goods in the car, and then waited for the train.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Family: Visiting the Past

Our fourth day in England saw us on the road to the Cambridge area. It was a baptism by fire for Larry as far as driving. He'd been doing well on the smaller roads we'd traveled so far but now we were taking the major highways.

We got totally flummoxed at Oxford. The roundabouts were plentiful and frequent, the traffic fast-moving, and the signs still unfamiliar and confusing. Being lost is okay if you're seeing interesting things and I know there is plenty to see in Oxford, but we didn't see any of it, just industrial buildings and the like. However, like Bristol, the vortex finally spun us out in the right direction. At this point we were still navigating by map, with no GPS. In the end we made our destination about 2 hours behind schedule, partly because of rain, wrong turns, mostly because of slow, slow traffic. There had been a lot of rain in some areas and even some minor flooding, and with the heavy traffic it was a recipe for accidents and slowdowns.

So we were right glad to find our hotel, the Black Bull in Godmanchester, our base for the next two days. We got our bags in, then we were off again to Sawtry to see family.

The drive was totally worth it when we saw Aunt Grace and our cousins Robert and Julie at the door. Aunt Grace is my mother's sister and she is 95 now, a woman who was a teen during World War II and married a British airman. Cousin Julie is recording stories from her these days and her memory, sharp as a tack, is full of details we would never know without her. A true treasure.

Aunt Grace Swindells

My cousin and gardener extraordinaire, Robert, whose life story could be a book.

We had tea and a short visit, then Julie took us off to Caldecote to visit our cousin Philip's widow Hazel. More tea, some delicious cakes and mince tarts, lots of hugs and conversation, and then we went on to visit the grave of our grandfather, Ernest Thomas Hagger. I wrote a bit of his story in a recent post which you can read here. I cannot explain the connection I feel to this grandfather I never met, but it does me great good to visit his grave and think about this gentle, good man who died far too young.

Such beautiful, tranquil countryside. You would never know that the traffic to get here was backed up for miles, but Julie knew back ways so we avoided almost all of it. She made sure to point out this road name. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Afterwards we went back to Grace's for a fine supper of fish and chips. Truly no one can make them like the English! Grace had served the tea earlier, and now served and cleared up dinner, refusing any assistance. She is an amazing woman--still living on her own and doing most things for herself. We had a good visit with Grace and Robert before finally saying good night and heading back to our hotel. We stopped in the pub for a Guinness for Larry and met some interesting people from Birmingham, ending the evening much later than we expected but very contented and ready for sleep.

The Black Bull, like most inns in England, reputedly has ghosts, but once again our tired bodies slept soundly, undisturbed by any wandering spirits. The next morning we we up early for a breakfast with a young cousin I'd not yet met, and her son and fiance'.  We walked to a nearby restaurant (our hotel served only continental breakfasts and only for guests) for a full English breakfast. It was such a delight to get to know Jenny, and her little son was such fun, very bright and entertaining, but also very polite.

Jenny, me and her son

Back at the hotel, cousin Julie collected us to go off for tea with another cousin, Shane, and his family. Julie's beautiful daughter Christine, was also there. We went to the most amazing garden center. I could have filled suitcases with Christmas ornaments of the most beautiful kind, but I behaved myself. I'd been Facebook friends with Shane's wife JoJo so we knew each other a little bit from that, but it was the first time I'd met my cousin and his family in person. Three energetic children were such a hoot! Very busy, they were, while we visited and talked a blue streak.

Me, Christine and Julie

Shane, JoJo, Larry and me

Julie dropped us at our hotel where we said goodbye to this sweet cousin, and we took off for a quick walk down the street. Godmanchester is full of charming buildings.

But we'd not got far before yet another cousin tooted his horn! This was Les, whom we had stayed with on our last visit to England, and we were off to spend the rest of the day with him, cousin John (who writes By Stargoose and Hanglands blog), and their mother, my Aunt Flo, who was married to my mother's brother, Uncle Ted.

What a time we had! A fantastic lunch with Les (and by this time I was SO full!) of Bubble and Squeak for me and more fish and chips for Larry, Then tea with Aunt Flo, a good walk with John and Les around beautiful Grantchester, more tea (this time with cakes, sandwiches and incredibly sweet tomatoes raised by John).

Me, John and Les with Aunt Flo.

Then an evening in Les' "local", the Green Man pub and visiting with a few of his friends, and finally back to the Black Bull for some solid sleep.

Because Sunday, we would be off to Wales...

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Calne, AirBnB and Ghosts

We stayed in Calne, a bustling market town not far from Bristol, for our second night and our first AirBnB experience.

I selected this b&b mainly for its proximity to Avebury and for being on the route we planned to take north to visit family. It was a perfect choice for us. Susan, our host, has a beautiful home right on the main route. It was noisier than we're used to but so convenient. And just down the street was the White Hart pub, perfect for one of our goals, meeting and talking to locals along our way.

We had a great time at the pub. We got into conversation with a younger local couple, and by odd coincidence discovered that the man's father was actually from West Virginia. This small world. It was such fun, and I am sorry that I did not get their contact information as I would like to have stayed in touch. They told us about a ghost in this 16th century inn, a young girl in Victorian dress who shows up unexpectedly in photos. I am sorry to say I took no photos inside the inn as by then my phone battery was dead and I did not have my camera with me. There have been a lot of strange happenings in this inn, and its long history includes suicides, murders, and possibly exorcisms. Part of the inn is built on a foundation of stones from Avebury.

There have been several ghost-hunting/paranormal investigators who have visited here and written accounts of their experiences. Another local tale involves a young boy,  nine-year-old William Granville Petty who was reportedly seen by Dr Alsop of Calne in January 1778. Before his death, the boy foresaw his funeral in a dream. He described the dream to Joseph Priestley, who was the Bowood librarian at the time (and later discovered oxygen--librarians do rock!).

Our host's home was well-decorated and so comfortable. We enjoyed breakfast with Susan, talking about her interesting life and travels and American politics, a topic that followed us everywhere in England. They're paying attention over there! Susan's garden was like a little jewel.

This little fireplace stove was in our room. How cute is that? We saw these all over England, inserted into fireplaces that probably once burned coal.

This first excellent AirBnB experience was a relief. We wondered how it would be. Hosts for AirBnB are usually just people with extra space to rent out for a little income. For Susan, it's a way to meet interesting people. At $55 for the night (which included a fairly large continental breakfast), it was a real bargain. It's becoming extremely popular and bringing some economic impact to communities that might otherwise never have tourists visiting. We loved this first night and looked forward to the rest of our stays during our travels.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Ancient Stones, Ancient Hill: Avebury and Silbury

I have wondered what the suffix "bury" means on a place name, since we seemed to see so many of them. So I looked it up on my return and learned that it means a fortified enclosure. There is a great website that explains many of the recurring prefixes and suffixes found on place names, so have a look here if you are also curious.

Our goal for our second day in England was to find two prehistoric sites, Avebury with its stone circles (similar to Stonehenge) and Silbury Hill, a large manmade earthen mound.

Through the window so odd reflections. I was so excited to finally be there!

There is nothing like driving through the English countryside. The greens are indescribable, the roads almost all edged with trimmed hedges, fields of sheep and cattle. I have never seen so many sheep in my lifetime, I swear. Even though there are about 53 million people in the country, there is still much open land and very active farming. I think this is because of their long-entrenched custom of living in villages and towns, in smaller homes than we Americans are used to. Many of the homes are what we would call townhouses or row houses. Villages have most of the essential services. There is no real need for a large plot of land to call your own because the country is crisscrossed with public footpaths so people are free to almost wander at will across farms and private land. It goes back, I suppose to the early days when almost all travel was by foot or by horse, and those old paths have remained in place for centuries. Today they are very much in use both for pleasure and just getting about. I wish the US had such a system of trails. We're getting more every year, but we have a lot of catching up to do on this one--because here, of course, we did not have centuries to develop the network before the advent of the automobile which quickly became our main mode of transport.

We found Silbury first. It wasn't hard to find for sure, since it dominates the landscape around it. A bus full of Italian tourists were at the site when we arrived, apparently on a spiritual rather than a historic tour. They stood for a long time very quietly, most with their hands stretched toward the hill. We were quiet too, so as not to disturb whatever experience they were striving for.

No one knows who built Silbury or why. There have been some excavations over the years to determine if it was a burial mound and some of these caused some serious damage to the limestone structure of the hill. Fortunately those efforts have stopped and repairs were done to stop the effects of the digging. Silbury is the largest manmade mound in Europe at almost 100 feet high. The mound was built around 2500-2000 BC and may have been used for defensive purposes. The odd thing is that there were several other intriguing structures, such as the Avebury henge (stone circle) built in the area at about the same time.

In West Virginia we have the Grave Creek Mound in Moundsville, which is almost as big as Silbury, at 62 feet tall. Grave Creek was definitely a burial mound, as excavations in the 1800's discovered, and was built about 1000 BC. It does make one wonder, doesn't it, if that British mound-building culture somehow traveled to the Americas? What cultural beliefs inspired the building of such labor-intensive, time-consuming structures?

It was time for lunch so we stopped at a pub along the way. Good soup, bread, tea and coffee in front of this pretty window was just right.

 We moved on to Avebury and its stone circles. I've not been to Stonehenge but many people assured me that Avebury was far better, because it was less crowded, you could walk freely about the stones, and it was a larger site with several stone circles within the area. We did try to get to Stonehenge on our last day in England, but the place was jam-packed with people and that was not the kind of experience I wanted or needed. But Avebury--yes, that place was just amazing.

There were people at Avebury, but the nice thing was that it wasn't crowded, there was no guide to control how long we could stay at any given place, and we could take our time. Which we did! The Italian tour was here, too, touching and leaning on the stones with their eyes closed. I hope they found what they were seeking.

Some photos of what we saw here:

It was difficult to get a photo that really shows the massiveness of the stones and the site. Aerial photo needed! 

This is actually one of the smaller stones in the circle. Old man added for size comparison ;)

Odd little things embedded in the stones, like this, which looks like a seashell.

All around, green rolling fields.

 Old farm buildings gave us an interesting look at thatch.

 A fairy tree stood on a small hill. We saw several of these in our travels. The roots on this one, which I believe was a beech, were beautiful patterns.

Looks like mossy rows in a field, doesn't it? But actually, 

it's the mossy roof of an old building.

The church on the grounds was beautiful too. That is one thing I grew accustomed to--lovely old churches are everywhere in England. This one is Saxon, about 1000 years old. Difficult to comprehend in America, isn't it, that such old buildings could exist?

The oak parish chest dated 1634, which would contain all church records--baptisms, deaths, marriages, etc.

The round font is also old, and full of history. From the church website: "The tub font is possibly of Saxon origin but has detailed carving of the first quarter of the 12th century. It was apparently done by a local stonemason and probably shows Christ trampling on two dragons, representing evil and sin. However the figure holds a crosier and so has also been held to represent a bishop, although Professor George Zarnecki believes that the rustic sculptor misunderstood the picture that he was copying and added the crosier."

We ended our visit with a cream tea at the cafe onsite, where we had a lovely chat with an elderly couple who had returned because they had left some purchases behind the day before. Someone had turned the bag in and they were quite happy about it. It was a nice way to end the day's exploration.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.