Cheddar Gorge - Atumn 2001

Cheddar Gorge

On Friday afternoon Bob and Jenny drove over after they got off from work and we all drove to Cheddar Gorge.  The drive from Shepton Mallet to Cheddar ran along the edge of the beautiful Mendip Hills.  The Mendips as they are called locally are so....so ENGLISH.  One of these days I want to visit Wookey Hole simply because I like the sound of the name.  With luck I think I will be able to manage that since it is not too far away from Bob and Jenny's home.  Along the way we also passed large lorries’ that looked just like dump trucks to me filled with apples.  This is cider making country along with cheese making.

While researching on the internet for facts about Cheddar gorge I read somewhere that "it is the Grand Canyon of Britain." That is one of the silliest statements I have ever read and shows beyond doubt that the writer had never even seen a picture of the Grand Canyon, much less visited there.  Cheddar Gorge is a unique and wonderful place and doesn't need to be compared with any other place in order to promote its self. I would say that it's an ancient place, but heck, everyplace on this planet is ancient, some are just more recently inhabited than others.  The area in and around Cheddar show signs of being inhabited for a long, long time.  Recent archaeological finds show that the area  has been occupied by man for 100,000 years.  The high cliffs that make up the gorge are dotted with caves in which evidence has been discovered that prehistoric and bronze age peoples once occupied them. A large building (possibly a villa) stood somewhere near the site of Cheddar church in Roman times, while many other Roman farms have been found in other parts of the parish, revealed by the spreads of pottery left after the ploughing of their long-abandoned sites. Other Roman finds in the village imply that Cheddar may have been a small settlement even this long ago, and Alfred The Great had a royal manor here. 


Alfred is, in my opinion the greatest king that Britain ever had, and the only English king ever to have "The Great" tacked onto the end of his name.  It amazes me that he is so little known and appreciated by present day Britains.  If asked about him, most people here will get a puzzled look on their faces and say "Oh, right, he's the fellow that burned the cakes, isn't he?"  That "fellow" single handedly yanked Britain out of the dark ages, defeated the Danes against all odds and by doing so created a national identity that survived in spite of the best efforts of William in 1066, and all he is remembered for is burning some stupid cake.  That's sad.  But my appreciation of the gorge was greatly enhanced by using my imagination to picture him and his band of Thanes riding through the area.

On the way into the village of Cheddar we stopped at several places where space had been made for just that purpose.  I want to say overlooks, but since that is obviously not the case I wonder if you could call them up looks?  At any rate Ann pointed out a small mini gorge in the side of one cliff with a large cleft rock.  She said that the story goes that the person who wrote Rock of Ages was hiking through this area and took among these rocks from a sudden rain storm and was inspired to by that stone to write the hymn.

The village of Cheddar is nestled down in the bottom of the gorge and from what I saw had no side streets.  There may have been some further down from where we stopped.  This is strip shopping if I ever saw it.  We started at the beginning of the village and started down the street to be bottom of a gradual incline where there was a junction of three roads with a large and ancient market cross in the middle. There were lots of gift shops, tat shops and shops that sold a wide variety of, what else, cheese.  They also had lots of locally made chutney and jams.  If I lived anywhere within striking distance of this place, I would spend a lot of money here.  Somehow we managed to misplace Ann and after about 20 minutes she caught up with us.  It seems she had spied a jewelry shop and on impulse went in and checked out the silver chains.  They had just what I had been looking for. Since we had gotten a late start it was beginning to get dark on us so Bob walked back up the hill to the car and then picked us up down at the bottom. <

The next morning we drove to Heathrow Airport where I discovered that my flights had been changed without my knowing it.  I was not going to be able to make my connection in Chicago. After much haggling the airline paid for me to stay overnight in a hotel and gave me my choice of whether I wanted to stay in London or Chicago.  I opted for Chicago which in retrospect was a bad choice.  Just hours before our plane landed is when they had someone get through security with some knives in his possession and security was absolutely wigging out.  But after a somewhat restless night I boarded a plane the next morning for St. Louis where I changed for one to Little Rock.  I was sad to leave but also glad to be home.  

Glastonbury, Autumn 2001

 Well, another fabulous trip is coming to a close.  I am down to my last few days I have in the UK.  What a wonderful time I have had. But I have saved the best until last.  On Wednesday evening Phil and Ann came over and "collected" me.  This is such a treat for me, as I think they are some of the nicest people I have ever met.

The view from the top was just awesome.  I was going to say breathtaking but I didn't have even so much as a puff to spare at that point so I will settle for awesome. I tried to imagine what it must have looked like when it was all swamp and islands but my imagination just wasn't up to it.  There were quite a few people up there just laying around either snoozing or reading.  Ann and I went over to the edge that faces toward her house and waved.  We had given Phil an estimate on about what time we thought we might be at the top and he was going to go upstairs with a pair of binoculars and look for us.  When we compared notes later, he said at the time he looked he couldn't see us. At the bottom of the hill was a curious looking cairn with the mileage to Wells on it and some Celtic symbols on it.  We never did figure out that the point of it was.

After we left the Tor we drove down toward Glastonbury and parked in one of the car parks and walked into the town centre.  Next stop was the Abby.  I am not sure what I expected, but I was quite surprised at what was there.  I think I had something more compact in mind.  The ruins cover all of 37 acres!  According to the guide book (I ALWAYS buy a guidebook) It is traditionally the first Christian sanctuary in Great Britain, visited, so legend has it, by Joseph of Arimathea and Saints David & Patrick. Many believe that the Holy Thorn tree that can be seen in the grounds originated from Joseph of Arimathea's staff and others are convinced that King Arthur was buried in the Abbey beside his lovely wife Queen Guinevere. We spent some time browsing in the gift shop and then set off to explore.

The first thing we came to was the ruins of the Lady Chapel.  This was the most intact site on the grounds.  We explored it rather thoroughly and then set off to find the spot where King Arthur is supposed to be buried.  We never found it but it hardly mattered.  We just wandered around enjoying the lovely day until a little inner voice started reminding us that it was lunch time. 



We had lunch in a great little vegetarian restaurant on the high street called The Rainbows End.  Out back there was a garden seating area where we enjoyed a delicious lunch.  Afterwards we shopped the High Street.  The tat shops, book shops and the Celtic jewelry shops.  Ann had three lovely silver pendents on chains of various sizes and I told her flat out that I wanted some just like hers.  So we went from a jewelry shop to jewelry shop looking for just the perfect little Celtic pendents.  I finally found just what I wanted except for the chains. 

My Glastonburry Pictures

 

Windsor, Autumn 2001

Windsor Castle from the Thames

Jenny and I "did" Windsor on Saturday while Bob and two of his cousin's husbands went to the local pup to watch football and drink beer. This was not my first trip to Windsor. The first time I visited her was in 1979 when the girls were quite young. My best memory of the castle on that trip was while on the guided tour Joanne, who was about eight at the time, took one of the tour guides to task over the state of one of the rooms we were passing through. No matter what they had on offer today, I doubted if it could top that experience and besides the cost has gone up to eleven pounds. (!) After a brief planning session in car park, Jenny and I decided we would take the 2 hour boat tour down the Thames.

Eaton College from tour bus

We had three hours to wait so we hopped on the green and tan tour bus. The tour operater on the bus was excellent and I think I learned more about Windsor this time that I ever have before. The bus took us across the river to Eaton college which appears to be a small community rather than what I would normally consider a "school" It was founded by Henry VI in 1440 and is probably the most famous school in the world. While we were riding past the playing fields I remembered that I had read somewhere that "The victory at Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eaton." I don't remember who said it, or where I read it but it came bubbling up from some dark and murky corner of my mind.
The bus came back across the bridge heading towards Windsor proper. We passed along the edge of Windsor's great park which is just below the castle. It was established as a park in 1360 as a hunting forest.

Henry VIII Gate

The oldest part of the town is located immediately opposite Henry VIII Gate and there are several cobbled streets here, dating from the 17th century. The Old King's Head in Church Street has a plaque recording the execution warrant for Charles I in 1648. The building is said (by some) to be the place where Shakespeare wrote "The Merry Wives of Windsor". We passed the house of Nell Gwynne, favourite mistress of Charles II. Next to the Crooked House Tea Rooms you will find Queen Charlotte Street, the shortest street in Britain ande Guildhall, built by Sir Christopher Wren (architect of St Paul's Cathedral in London) in 1690. The story of the Guildhall is that the councillors did not believe that Wren's design could stay up, and insisted that the central columns be added in the interests of safety - Wren built the columns, but made them an inch short of the ceiling!

Entrance to Royal Train Station

After a very pleasant and informative ride around the town we got off on the High Street just behind the castle and wandered towards the Royal Train Station. While it still has one track and functions, sort or, it's mostly been converted into a very upmarket shopping complex. Very posh!! The entrance to it makes you feel like you are entering Diagon Alley. I must have been in dire need of food and about to collapse because the picture that I took of the entrance is a little off kilter. We had a delicious lunch in one of the resturants and then wandered around just enjoying the sights until time for our boat trip.

Sculling on the Thames at Windsor

The boat trip down the Thames was lovely but brisk, and I took about 30 pictures. This journey passes through Boveney Lock, Sutherland Grange, Willows, Oakley Court, Bray Film Studios, Queens Eyot and Monkey Island, Eton College, the Mill House, Windsor Racecourse and the Brocas Meadows. I found all those names in the brochure because I guarantee you I would have never remembered them. It was a lovely day and lots of people were either out on the river in various craft, or were lounging around on the river banks. Everyone waved at everybody else. This is such a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours but there was so much to see that it was impossible for my mind to retain more than just sketches.

Don't let their looks fool you
these birds can be very aggressive.

There are many lovely homes along the Thames and you can just imagine what one of those little gems would cost. A while back I read a book called To Say Nothing of The Dog." by Connie Willis in which the main characters take a boat trip down the Thames. I had this trip in mind the entire time I was reading it. We passed another tour boat that had obviously been chartered for a wedding reception. That was a very convivial bunch of folks. I hope that no one fell overboard. I am putting a picture of the swans on this page because I they made such a lasting impression on me. Not on this trip, but back on the 1979 trip Joanne and I were sitting on a bench eating our packed lunch at this very spot when one then hopped out of the river, marched over to us and demanded our sandwiches. Believe me these birds that look so lovely and peaceful in the water are in fact very large, vicious criminals. Naturally we gave up our lunch. We had no other choice. I didn't grudge the swan the sandwich, but I did resent the terroristic threatening part and I have never been able to gaze fondly on swans since.

Window Shopping

We did a little window shopping down the main shopping street and then got back to Paula's house about 7:30, just about the same time Bob and Steve came weaving in from the Pub. They had a wonderful time it seems drinking beer and eating curry and the team they had been rooting for won so they were a couple of happy, tipsy people.

On Sunday Paula fixed a sumptuous breakfast for everyone. She and Steve are the couple who got married on my last trip over in the church I was so impressed with. I wrote about it in my 1999 Windsor journal. I didn't get a chance to really know them at the wedding as everything was so confused, but this time we had a chance to sit down and get acquainted. They are such nice people. At noon we all left to go downtown Windsor to the Harte and Garter where we met up with other members of Bob's family for a Sunday "Carvery" which is what they call a buffet dinner that includes Roast Beef, Yorkshire Pudding, Ham and Turkey. The Harte and Garter is one of those old, old restaurants and very nice. You have to book a table at least a week in advance for the Sunday Carvery.

After lunch we all took a stroll heading down hill towards a Pub along the river that had outdoor seating. There were 11 of us and the route took us through the shopping district so it took quite a while for everyone to show up. But it was a lovely afternoon. The ladies all drank tea (just like in the novels) and the guys nursed pints and everyone just visited. Later on it got chilly and everyone moved inside until the end of yet another football (soccer) game.

While we were there a couple came in with a little boy about four years old. The dad was watching the game and the woman was chatting with the lady behind the bar and to keep the kid amused she gave him several 2 p coins and the kid entertained himself by pulling a chair up in front of the slot machine and putting the coins in the slot, and of course the machine wouldn't take them so it would dump them back out in the tray and the kid was pretending like he had won. The machine in the meantime was flashing lights and making noises and the kid was pushing buttons and I'll tell you, I have seen lots of adults playing the slots in Las Vegas who weren't having nearly as much fun as that kid was.

Link to Windsor photo's

 

Salisbury - Summer 2001

Tuesday I took my one and only guided tour, which covered all of the above. It left from Bath at 10 a.m. and returned at 6:30 p.m., which made for a long day for me since I left the house at 7:30 a.m. to catch a bus to the train station. The tour was in a minibus, which held twelve passengers, but there were only ten of us. Amazingly one of the couples was from Little Rock. A small world, huh I am seriously considering affecting an English accent for the word Bath. I just love the way they say it here. All drawled out..Baaaaaaaaaath. So elegant.

The first stop was a small village in the Cotswolds called Castle Combe. The population was something like 250 people and most of the houses had been built in the 15th and 16th centuries. I felt like I was on a movie set for Mrs. Miniver. I bought two postcards as back up if my pictures didn't turn out but this time my pictures are just fine so I am not bothering to scan them.

The next stop was Avebury, the largest and I think the oldest stone circle in Britain. It predates Stonehenge. We walked all around it and while I certainly enjoyed it, didn't get the same kind of feeling I got from Stonehenge. I think it was because it was so spread out and also it was freezing cold, damp and windy.

On the way to Stonehenge we passed several of those chalk horses carved out of the hillsides. But according to the guide they were done in the late 1800's. At first I thought that he meant 1800 AD, but on thinking about it I'm not entirely sure. He was throwing around dates both AD and BC. I will have to do a search on them on the Internet and see when they were done. I know for sure that there is one that is prehistoric but I don't think that one was in the same area as these are. While these were very interesting, it's the pr-historic one I particularly want to see.

The weather only got worse when we got to Stonehenge but I just couldn't see myself being at such a marvelous place and cowering in the bus. Only one person on the tour whimped out while the rest of us piled out into the wind and rain, paid our 3 pound fifty, grabbed up one of those hand held recorded guides and trudged through the tunnel under the road and took the walk around the stones. Very impressive in any kind of weather. It's a magical place but the magic is hard to describe. It's just there. So wet, hungry, shivering and happy I bought a ham sandwich and a cup of luke warm tea from the canteen (this was the lunch stop!) and crawled back in the mini van a satisfied person.

But the highlight of the tour, at least for me was yet to come. Salisbury Cathedral. The tour guide wasn't all that enthusiastic about this Cathedral. He told us that while the exterior was, in his opinion the finest in England, he felt that the interior didn't hold a candle to the cathedral in Wells. I personally thought he was wrong.

It was certainly different from the Wells Cathedral, but just as good in it's own way. I am really impressed by these massive, ornate 12th century cathedrals. I feel such a sense of history when I stand inside them. I think of all the masses of people who have worshiped in them and then when I walk around and read all the inscriptions on the tombs it really gives me a sense of the past. All those folks who have walked on these same stones before me.

Outside Salisbury Cathedral in the Cathedral Close I tried to imagine all the wonderful characters from Susan Howatch's Starbridge Series bustling around going about their fictional lives. I looked up at the roof and tried to picture Nick, Christian, Venetia and the rest dancing naked on the roof and couldn't quite bring it up. Maybe I was looking from the wrong angle. And inside I tried to picture Neville, Charles and Lewis. It was wonderful to see the place that the novels were based on.

The tour guide on the Salisbury tour also said that in his opinion Britain's Cathedrals were the finest things they owned. I will have to say that after thinking about it, I tend to agree with him. I love the Castles, and Hadrian's Wall is right up in the running, but the Cathedrals are truly something to behold. The first one that I ever saw was York Minster back in 1979 before the fire and then again in 1995 after most of it had been restored and I thought both times that it was probably the most beautiful Cathedral in the world. I have since changed my mind. It's now a toss up between Wells and Exeter.

But one thing really has disturbed me, and it's the way some of them have in my opinion, ceased to be places of worship and have become businesses. I realize that the cost of maintaining them must be mind-boggling and I fully understand and support putting up a donation box asking visitors to help toward maintaining them. They are truly a national treasure. What does bother me is that several of them have gone to what I consider way too far. Salisbury Cathedral is the worst I have seen for trying to cash in on fund raising.

On entering the Cathedral the first thing you see is a turnstile with a person selling tickets thinly disguised as "donations.” Off to the right is a large gift shop, selling all sorts of what Jenny calls tat. Not just postcards and books on the history of the cathedral but tatty stuff, key chains, refrigerator magnets, tee shirts, carrier bags, etc. Through a door in the back is a full service restaurant! I am not a strongly religious person, but in my own way I am religious and I found all that commerce offensive. As I stood there in the middle of the entryway, looking at the turnstile I had a sudden visual of the scene from Jesus Christ Superstar where Jesus throws all the moneychangers out of the temple.

OK, that's my rant. I just needed to vent. I exempt Exeter and Wells Cathedrals from that rant. While both of them had small shops where you could buy postcards and books telling the history of the church, they didn't sell tat, burgers and chips or have turnstiles.

Jersey Island, Autumn 2001

I will have to qualify my earlier statements that this family does not to mornings well, to they do not do mornings well unless they have too. We rolled out of bed at 3:30 am and by 4:18 am were pulling out of the drive in the pouring rain, headed to Weymouth. We arrived at 6:30 am and met up with Gordon and Christine, long time friends of Jenny and Bob's.

One of the truly wonderful thing about visiting and traveling with Bob and Jenny is that while I never know where I'm going to end up next or by what method of transportation I will arrive there I know that wherever we do, I'm going to love it.

In 1995 it was the Orkney's via a small dirty ferry, in 1997 it was the Scilly Isles via helicopter and this time it was Jersey via ferry. Not just any old ferry but "One of the worlds most advanced wave-piercing catamarans that cruise at speeds of up to 41 knots." 

Ferry Interior

The ferry along with every other form of transportation has heightened security. The officials did a halfhearted search of the car, looking in the trunk and asking all they regular questions about had we packed our own bags, etc. We all stumbled up to the passenger deck and groped our way to the buffet and purchased a badly needed up of coffee/tea and some breakfast. The crossing was a bit choppy but I had taken some seasick pills as a precaution before I left home so I had no problems with my tummy. 




We arrived about 11 am and eventually, after many wrong turns and much hilarity found our hotel, L'Emerald. 

Jersey is the largest of the Channel Islands and gives its name to a type of pullover and to a breed of light brown dairy cattle that originated on the island. The capital of the island is St. Helier. According to the tourist information "Jersey is loyal to Britain, it is a Crown dependency and not part of the United Kingdom. The Island, which is located in the English Channel is about 15 miles from the French coast and 90 miles south of England, is small about 10 miles by five miles and has a population of about 85,000. It's a major international offshore finance centre holding deposits worth billions" and I've been told that unless you were born on Jersey you are not allowed to buy property there unless you can verify that you are worth at least a million pounds. That's to keep the riff-raff out I guess, but  it would hardly keep out the big time criminals who,  I would think,  are probably the richest of anyone. Oh well, that's not my concern.

Hotel L'Emerald

As soon as I walked into the lobby of the hotel my imagination went off on a tangent.  It was the kind of a place where you would not be the least bit surprised to see Hercule Poirot in the dining room having breakfast or some Nazi officer strutting in through the front door. It was circa 1910 (or earlier) My room was up 20 stairs, along a corridor, through a door, down five stairs, around the bend, up three more stairs and Voila! I had arrived in room six. The room was small, the carpet was shabby and non-too clean and the bathtub had a rust stain. But aside from that, the rest of the room except for the carpet was spotlessly clean.  The bed was very, very comfortable and the bathtub was larger than my cabin on the QE2.  It was so big I could stretch out and float in it and hot water gushed from the spigot. I loved this hotel.  The place had character. Much nicer to my mind than a cookie cutter Embassy Suites or it's ilk that until you go outside you could be any place in the world they are so much alike. There was absolutely no doubt about that hotel. It was BRITISH! 

After dumping our stuff in a heap in the middle of the room we set out to explore St. Helier. We walked all around the shopping area down near the waterfront. You would think you were in France if you went by the names of the stores and shops. Because Jersey enjoys duty free status it's a veritable shopping Mecca.

We found the most wonderful indoor market. It was sort of an up market market.  The market covered about half a city block and was crammed with all kinds of produce, meets, bakery goods and because Jersey's climate is very mild year round, fruits, vegetables, flowers, and of course dairy products are the major industries on the island, aside from sheltering money that is. 

Finally we all started feeling the effects of our very early start that morning and with some difficulty because we got lost again found our way back to the hotel for a shower, or in my case, long deep bath and a nap. Jenny consulted the tourist information booklet that we had picked up and did a very unscientific eeny, meeny, miney moe and managed to find what the taxi driver told us was the best food on the Island. I think he was probably right. Terrific dinner. I had the lamb.

On Sunday morning we visited the German Underground  Hospital, built during the German occupation of Jersey from 1940 to 1945 using forced labor. Originally planned as an artillery barracks and ammunition store.  Then when the Allies invaded Normandy the Germans,  figuring their turn was coming, converted it into an underground hospital and bomb shelter. Today it is operated as a museum and sets out the story of the appalling hardships the residents of the island underwent during the

After leaving the museums we circumnavigated the island, stopping at scenic overlooks and stopping and walking along the beaches. We had a terrific pizza for lunch and the Pizza Express and had an ice cream cone for dinner. I took sixty-seven pictures and bought a bunch of post cards.

My Jersey Album on Picasa

The ferry left at 9 pm, 25 minutes late but managed to make up most of the time on the journey back. We must have really been zipping along. I dozed most of the way back. We arrived back in Bristol about 2 am I think. </P>

Wells

The Cathedral at Wells

After getting all our mundane Saturday morning chores done, the three of us set off for Wells.  Wells gets its name from the many springs in the area, which in the Middle Ages, were thought to have curative powers. The town was originally a Roman settlement but only became important under the Saxons when King Ine of Wessex founded a minster church here in AD 704.

We arrived shortly after one to the ringing of a carillion from the cathedral bells and walked into the City Centre where the weekly market was in full swing in front of the cathedral. A medium size crowd of shoppers were leisurely making their way around all the stalls.

I can't imagine a lovelier, more historic setting for a market than at Wells. For 800 years the market has stood on almost the same site in the ancient market place, overlooked by the splendour of the ancient cathedral. Wells holds twice weekly markets in the market place (Saturday's and Wednesdays). You can buy a wide range of goods from clothes and jewellery to organic vegetables, plants and olives.

It was in the Wells market place in 1695, that the quaker, William Penn the founder of Pennsylvania preached to a huge crowd. He was arrested for unlawful assembly, only to return some weeks later to continue his crusade. 

 After a very nice lunch at an Italian Bistro type cafe called Ricardo's, seated outside on the sidewalk and being entertained by a pan piper who was playing from a doorway across the street, we briefly joined the shoppers.

Jenny, Bob and Emily

There were wonderful cheeses, and home made chutneys, relishes and jams for sale, needle work stalls that sold both supplies and completed craft projects, the proverbial jewelry, CD's, Video stalls and one stall that sold only boot laces. More lengths, colors, widths than I ever imagined existed. Apparently there is a great demand for bootlaces in Somerset. And last, but not least, at least 6 used bookstalls. I am ashamed to admit this but I was so fascinated by the cathedral and itching to go inside so I spared hardly a glance at the bookstalls. This has to be some kind of a first for me. 

The cathedral was just awesome. It is, in my opinion the most beautiful cathedral in Britain and one of it's best kept secrets.  The structure as it stands today was started in 1180 by Bishop Reginald de Bolun who pulled down the old Cathedral (circa 705!) and began building the current one. He was only responsible for the transepts, parts of the choir and nave and the north porch. His successors completed the project which took 250 years. Before 705 A shrine of some sort existed here long before Christianity came. Over the years it has been built up, torn down, and partially blown up (1552 during the Reformation).  It has survived throughout the years dignity intact. As soon as you walk inside you know you are in a place of worship.  It is one of the few cathedrals that has resisted being comercialized and turned into a tourist attraction like Salisbury. 

The Cathedral Garden

Bob opted to sit on a bench in the very lovely and peaceful garden behind the cathedral. The garden was very much a place where people just came to relax. There was one lady napping on a bench, a couple on the other side was having a very quiet row, (that's an argument to us) and two ladies with toddlers who were visiting with each other while the tots played. So peaceful and beautiful.

The cathedral clock
that has chimed every quarter hour
 without fail for the last 650 

Inside Jenny and I wandered, mouths almost hanging open at all the sheer splendor. We read inscriptions of some of the dignitary's buried under the floor, peeked into all the small chapels that ring the nave and stopped and watched the clock in the north transept ring the hour. A figure of a bearded man in red (Jack Blandiver, whoever he was) sitting above and to the right of the clock, rings the clock's bells with hands hammering and feet kicking. A mini-castle is immediately over the dial. Four mounted knights come out. Two move to the left, the other two go right. They revolve and at each revolution one knight is knocked backwards on his horse. This happens several times and then the tournament is over for another quarter of an hour. According to one of the guides, this has happened without interruption every fifteen minutes for the last 650 years.

Outside and to the right was the ruins of the old Bishops Palace which are still ringed by a real, honest to goodness moat, complete with swans.

After we exhausted ourselves drinking in all the splendor we had a brief cup of tea. Under one of the archway's leading into the cathedral there is a sign that read "poor arch". Since the building of the cathedral this is a spot has been set aside for beggars. A Busker (street performer) was playing his

guitar and singing much to everyone's dismay. He was so awful it's impossible to describe. We quickly drank our tea and moved on. 


All of these pictures were taken by myself in the summer of 2003

The North of Scotland, Autumn 2001

On Tuesday night Nicky and I went to Cardross to Rhona and Iaine's house for dinner. I have known Rhona since she was a little bitty girl as she and Nicky have been close friends since 2nd grade. Nicky has known Iaine the same length of time but he was a year behind her and Rhona in school.

Cardross is a lovely little village that has apparently been a settlement on the banks of the Clyde since the beginning of time. It is believed that Robert the Bruce died here from leprosy in 1329. The picture is of Kirkton Chapel, a 12th century chapel which is one of the oldest religious sites in the area. The chapel is dedicated to St Mathew who is said to have lived before the time of St Columba. The simple much restored chapel was rebuilt in 1467 and was used as a school after the Reformation until the mid 19th century. It then fell into decay but was restored by the Roman Catholic Church and rededicated in 1955. While restoration work was being done part of a standing stone bearing an inscribed cross was unearthed. This has been attributed to the earliest Christian period. The stone has been re-erected in the vestibule of the chapel. Some ancient tombstones can still be seen in the ground.

Cardross

I learned that another interesting ruin that I have been admiring for years as we zipped back and forth through Cardross does not in fact date back to Robert the Bruce as I had assumed but only goes back to WWII, as a ruin that is. Obviously I am not very good at dating ruins! Rhona informed me that it was the village church and was hit by a bomb. Clydebank is just down the road and because of the ship yards there it was heavily bombed. Sometimes the Germans would dump left over bombs that somehow didn't release over the target indiscriminately and on one particular occasion they got the village church. I guess the village just let the ruin stand because in a country dotted with picturesque ruins they didn't feel the need to tear it down and put something modern and ugly in its place. Besides there are lots of graves surrounding it so I suppose that was a factor as well.

On Wednesday morning Nicky and I loaded up and headed out for "The North.” That's what the signs on the Motor Way coming to Scotland say. Just "The North." I love it. No messing around with fancy highway signs, just straight and to the point. We didn't get a very early start as this branch of the family doesn't do mornings all that well, but by 11 a.m. we were finally on the road.

Glen Coe

We took the A82 along the entire length of Loch Lomand, past Loch Tulla and Loch Ba and through Glen Coe. It was such a beautiful drive, through Luss, Tarbet and Ardlui but when we got to Glen Coe it not only took my breath away, it almost brought tears to my eyes it was so achingly beautiful. It's one of those places like Culoodon and Stonehenge. You can just feel the history of the place all around you. Of course it doesn't help that the weather can be particularly broody there. We were right in the heart of the Grampian Mountains and the west of Scotland gets so much rain that there are almost always low clouds brushing the peaks and the glens stay misty a lot so it all combines to give off a sense of drama. Whatever it is, I am always moved almost to tears in Glen Coe.

Nicky Loch Ness

So, onward then up the road that borders Loch Linne, through Ft. William and then the A87 cut off at Glengarry toward the Kyles of Lochalsh. I can only repeat myself and say over and over how beautiful it all is. We passed Loch Lockey which I always like the sound of as it's spoken. Loch Lockey...has kind of a ring to it, don't you think? Along the A87 between Loch Claunie and Loch Duich a small river cavorted along beside the road. It darted back and forth under the road, first on one side, then the other, ducked into a natural rock tunnel beside the road, then jumped down a couple of small waterfalls, and as a grande finale turned into a miniature roaring rapids. When it finally reached the bottom of the hill, with a soft gurgle and a happy sigh, it gently emptied its self into Loch Duich.

At Dorney we stopped at Eilean Donan Castle and had a cup of tea in the tea room, took a couple of pictures and decided to head back toward Inverness. It was getting late in the afternoon and the rain that had been spitting down on us all day decided to get serious, thereby limiting our viability. One bonus that came with the on again, off again rain was that we almost always had a rainbow somewhere in line of vision for the whole trip. It followed us around so persistently that Nicky and I started to wonder if Jim had decided to come along with us. (Surely you have all heard my rainbow story at least two or three times by now).

Inverness

It was right at dark when we got to Inverness so we decided to return the next by the say route except for cutting off to the Kyle of Lochalsh. We checked into the B&B which was clean, convenient and had a comfortable bed. Down along the river front we spotted an Irish Pub called Johnny Foxes and decided to settle for pub grub for dinner. Well, that turned out to be not much of a "settling for" situation. We had steamed mussels, rib eye steaks with some kind of out of this world whiskey sauce, accompanied by a salad that was in actuality a chef's salad and topped it off with a Café Mocha. We could barely make it back to the B&B!

The next morning we did a quick wander around Inverness, checked out the Victorian Market and this time headed toward "The South" along Loch Ness. It was a glorious morning but the sun was so bright it almost blinded me. Nicky says that it's because this far north the sun is so low that it aims its self right into your eyes. I'll buy that I guess.

Fort William

We stopped in Ft. William this time and wandered around the town center, took a few pictures and I bought myself a real dorkey hat. Nicky couldn't believe I would actually wear it out in public but I love it! She kept walking a little to the front of me like she had never seen me before in her life, laughing and shaking her head in one of those "Grandma's really lost it this time" kind of ways.

The Drover's Inn

Our gorgeous morning suddenly left and the weather sulked and brooded all the way through Glen Coe. We stopped for a late lunch at The Drovers Inn in Ardlui, just at the head of Loch Lomand. It was established in 1705 and probably hasn't had a good cleaning since. There was a brass (I think it was brass) salmon over the huge fireplace in the main bar that has apparently been being smoked for the last 297 years. We had steak pie, chips and veggies. We remarked that this is seemingly our week for pigging out on red meat.

We arrived back in Dumbarton tired by happy and the odometer on Nicky's car said that we had traveled 401 miles.

Tomorrow I am going into Edinburgh with Joanne. Nicky is going to go around a pick up the kids from school so that Joanne and I can have a one-on-one day. We are going to take the train from here as parking in Edinburgh is a nightmare. Then the next day we are all going into Glasgow to the Barrows, the huge flea market. I need to by a bigger suitcase!

Stratford, Autumn 2001

I set off on my grand adventure bright and early on Thursday by first catching the city bus down to the City Centre where I transferred to a Rail Link bus that took me to Bristol Temple Meade Station. I am getting quite proficient at finding my way around via public transportation. Bristol was a little daunting to me at first because it's a large, cosmopolitan, very  European city, but I just sucked it up, ventured off and discovered it's no problem at all. Whenever I'm not sure I just ask someone and people are extremely helpful at pointing you in the right direction. I had to change trains AND train stations at Birmingham and found that once again the phrase "short walk" is strictly a relative term. What a Brit considers just a "short walk" is what I consider a "rather long walk." But I made it, through a construction zone, up a flight of steps, through a shopping mall, down another long flight of steps
across a busy street in plenty of time to catch my breath before my train to Stratford came screeching in.


I arrived about 1:30 p.m., took a cab from the station in Stratford to my B&B, checked in, deposited my overnight case and set off on foot to explore. The entire downtown area of Stratford was being turned into a carnival, complete with large rides and about a thousand (that may be a very slight exaggeration) food stalls and game booths. They were setting up for the 805th Annual Mop Fair.

 I found this on the web and think it's worth the trouble

of copying so here goes: "For centuries Statford-upon-Avon was the place for a hiring fair, to which farmers, tradesman and householders came to meet and engage their servants for the coming year. It was customary for those wishing to be hired to indicate their trade, e.g., carters and wagoners wore a piece of whipcord twisted round their hats, thatchers a fragment of woven straw and shepherds held their sheep-crooks. The custom continues to this day, with the Stratford Mop being amongst the biggest, brightest and busiest in the Midlands, occupying the length of Bridge Street, High Street, Wood Street, Rother Street, Greenhill Street and Meer Street.

A special tradition is that after The Worshipful the Mayor has read the customary Proclamation at Market Cross, the Master of the Mop escorts the civic party on an inspection of the fair - and on whatever ride The Worshipful the Mayor goes (attended, of course, by the Beadle, Macebearers and Town Clerk in full ceremonial dress) all children from the town may go free of charge for that morning. The proclamation reads: We do enjoin all whether ye be townspeople of the town or strangers from other parts and places, that your behavior be seemly at all times and in all respects, that ye bear goodwill towards one another and ill will towards none, that ye spend this day of merrymaking and frolic to that recollections on the morrow may be without regrets or repinings.
And we do further ordain that on this day ye shall have full liberty and licence so desiring to remain in the fair until the stroke of midnight, whereupon at that time, and no later, we do strictly enjoin your quietly and peaceably to return unto your dwellings, having proper regard to the comfort and happiness of friends and neighbors who may be within their abodes. On the Friday week following the Mop comes traditionally the Runaway Mop, a smaller version of the original hiring fair at which those who were ill-suited to their new employment may seek another employer" Now, wasn't that an interesting bit of trivia? And wasn't it nice of Stratford-upon-Avon in the year 1196 to schedule this fair to exactly coincide with my anticipated visit?  So, you can see I had plenty to look at.

After grabbing a sandwich and a cup of coffee, I trudged back to my B&B in a light misting rain to get ready for the performance of Twelfth Night. This production apparently got rave reviews when it opened, and they were, IMO, well deserved. There were several stars, but Guy Henry, the actor who played Malvolio was absolutely wonderful. The show was sold out and my seat was in row H in the circle off to the far left. I was a little worried about it but when I got there I discovered that the way the theater was designed, there wasn't a bad seat in the house. When the performance was over, I was still floating on my happy cloud, the rain had stopped and I walked back through deserted, dark and misty streets, past all the old Elizabethan houses, transported me right back too sometime in the 1500's. For an old lady like me to walk alone at that time of night may not  the smartest thing to do, but I just couldn't spoil the mood by thinking about practical stuff like muggers and things. Anyway, a highwayman shouting "Stand and Deliver" was what my imagination was running to and who can be afraid of an imaginary  man in tight pants, a ruffle around his neck and an ostrich feather in his hat?

The next morning the weather was just glorious. Reams and reams have been written about the British weather and everyone has their own feelings about it. Personally I think it fits in the manic-depressive category. It's either stormy, brooding, or sulking, spitting rain at you or as I have heard it put pretty succinctly in Scotland, pissing down on you. Then it suddenly gets over it, and the sun comes out and gives you a day so beautiful it takes your breath away. That's the kind of morning I woke up to. Leaving my overnight case at the B&B to be collected later, I set off once again on foot down to the river Avon. Again it was like being on pages of some book. I bought myself a cup of tea at a corner shop and carried it down to the river and sat down on a bench and just enjoyed! It was so peaceful. A couple of scullers rowed past, inconveniencing the swans and ducks who had to break out of their lazy drift and swim out of their way. There was a young lady riding down the pathway along the side of them shouting instructions to them so I assumed she was a

coach and not just a pushy passerby

There was not much point in trying to see all the downtown Shakespeare tourist places since the Mop Fair was going full blast and all the streets were closed so bought myself a ticket on the green and cream tour bus that gave me a lovely tour of everyplace notable, I was assured, except right down in the City Centre.  Afterwards I just wandered through the Fair, browsed the bookshops, window shopped, and bought postcards until it was time to walk back to the B&B, collect my suitcase and call for a cab to get me back to the train station.

 I checked with the ticket agent to see if there was any possible way to avoid the Birmingham mess and he suggested I catch a slightly earlier train that took me though Oxford instead. It was better way to go. The change in Oxford was merely getting off, standing still for about four minutes and getting on the next train which stopped in the same spot for Bristol Temple Meade. Piece of cake.
I sat behind a couple of really pretty girls who were sitting in seats that face each other. I could see them plainly in their reflections in the window. The one who was also facing me, (in the reflection) spend most of the entire trip fooling around with her face. Apparently her looks are really high maintenance. She plucked her eyebrows...twice. I thought about Kathy's remark about people who do things to themselves in public and really wished she was with me on. She would have a lot to remark on, let me tell you. The girl put on make up, fiddled with her lipstick, took it off, put it back on, and so on and so on. A good looking young man got on a couple of stops down the line and although there was a bunch of empty seats in the carriage, sat down beside the girls. Then he managed to lean back and put on such a marvelous bored expression on his face that you just knew he had been practicing it in front of the bathroom mirror, glancing briefly through slitted eyes at the girls every few seconds. It's such fun to watch young people and their mating rituals.

 Arrived back in Bristol, safe and sound and after some good nights sleep I was ready to hit the roadways and footpaths once again. I am staying until November 3rd if my airline is still flying by then. If it's not, I will have to call Cunard and ask them what their plan B is for getting me home.