Sunday, July 11, 2010. Blenheim Palace Oxford, and Paddington Station

The front door of Blenheim Palace

Today I decided to go see Blenheim Palace, the "house" where Winston Churchill was born.  The common misconception was that Churchill lived here, but he didn't.  The house belonged to his uncle and passed to his cousin.  But Winston was born at Blenheim because his mother had gone to a weekend party at Blenheim and danced too much and took a bumpy pony cart ride.  Well Winnie was ready, and that's all the encouragement he needed!  We got to see the room where he was born and the little gown he was put into.  The 1880's onesies were very sweet!

The palace was built around a courtyard that was about
 the size of a small mall.  This is East Wing of the Palace.

The Palace defied description!!!  The land and money to build the house as well as the hereditary title, the Duke of Marlborough, were given to John Churchill, as a reward for winning the Battle of Blenheim. It turns out that Blenheim is in Germany.  I wondered about that because Blenheim doesn't sound or look like an English name.  The title of Duke, by the way, is the highest title in English nobility other than the royal titles.  Prince Phillip's own title is the Duke of Edinburgh.  So John and Sarah went from Queen Anne's dear friends, the Churchill's, to the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough.  Not bad! 

Isn't it astounding what lots and lots of money can do!

The Palace was enormous and very GRAND. It was filled with portraits painted by all sorts of famous artists.  There was even a full sized pipe organ at the end of the long, lovely library.  It was obvious that the library was well used and loved!  It did my heart good to see that! 

The house took 27 years to build, and the Duke only got to live in it for two years before he died.  It wasn't even finished.  His wife, Sarah Churchill didn't even like it!  I asked the guide why.  He said very politely, "Well, would you want to live here?"  I had to think about it a second, then I answered, "No, it's too big!"  And the lady next to me added, "I bet it's freezing in here in the winter time."  All the British people rolled their eyes and said, "Too right!" and "Cor blimey!"  It was adorable.

I also asked about the unusual golden color of the house.  The guide told me that the house was built from limestone, and over the years the embedded iron ore has leeched out to created this lovely ochre color. 

Blenheim was also one of the first great houses to join the National Trust.  It turns out that these grand houses were more of a curse for these rich families than a blessing.  The first generation was usually given lands and money to create the estate, but the future generations usually struggled, mightily, to maintain the house.  This was the reason some of the great families started marrying rich American heiresses in the late 1800's.  In their minds, they were marrying down, but exchanging a title for ready cash was appealing. 

The State Dinning Room

When England introduced the national income tax some time after World War II, many old families simply couldn't afford these grand properties any more.  Some just gave up and gave the house to the government.  That's when the National Trust was formed to preserve these treasures.  Some families like the present Duke of Marlborough's family, worked out a compromise.  They continue to live in their ancestral home, but in exchange, the property was opened to the public at certain times.  The money raised was, and is, used to repair and maintain the houses, the grounds, and the works of art inside.  Even with tourist money rolling in, these palaces are expensive to maintain.  But, the system seems to work well.  It would break my heart to see these art collections and beautiful homes broken up, or worse, fall into disrepair. 

Just one of the many gardens on the grounds.

I paid extra to take a behind-the-scenes tour. These "secret peek" tours are always worth every penny, and this one was no exception. A very posh, head butler type man took us into the section of the house where the current Duke of Marlborough and his family live. They're away on the continent right now. Cor blimey! The family lives in the same part of the palace where the first Duke and Duchess lived. It was the first wing to be completed and and the entrance was very low key. It's was a simple, nondescript, side door that looked like a servants' entrance.  We even had to walk down several steps to get to it like we were going through a basement door. How deceptive!  The inside looked like those pictures of English country houses you see in Architectural Digest and Veranda. Comfortable, squashy couches. Expensive tapestries and rugs. Pictures of kids and dogs in silver frames. And, incredible views of the rose garden and the Long Walk in the park. There was also an adorable marble lined baking room left from the original kitchens.  It over looked the rose garden and was full of light.  Now they use it to display all the different sets of china the family has collected over the years.  Our guide said that every time he takes tours into this room, all the women sigh and coo, and all the men roll their eyes.  It was my favorite room.  In my next life I want to be stinking, filthy, rotten rich! Well, maybe just stinkin' rich.

The other entrance which provides a front view of the Palace.

Later in the tour as we were standing in a long hallway looking at a portrait of Winston Churchill, our guide told us that during World War II, Blenheim was never bombed, even though there were and still are several military bases close by. Of course, I asked why. He said that Hitler gave orders to leave Blenheim untouched because after the war he wanted to use his arch-rival, Winston Churchill's family home as his personal residence in England. He also planned to set up the headquarters of the Third Reich in nearby Oxford. Oxford was the first university ever created in the entire world.  It has been a home for free thought for over a thousand years.  The thought of Hitler setting up his Nazi empire in Oxford sent chills down my spine! Thank goodness for Winnie!

The Long Walk approach to Blenheim Palace. 
That's it in the distance!
Every other tree is a linden wood tree.

The house and grounds were so lovely and peaceful! When I arrived, I walked down the Long Walk about a quarter of a mile to the house. It's an old and very effective trick in the art of the power play. You look down this vast vista at this impressive house, and as you get closer, the house only grows in size and impressiveness! Ah the English! The Long Walk is lined with trees. I noticed that there was a delicious, sweet smell all down that drive, but I couldn't see any flowers. As I was leaving at the end of the day, a German man told me that the aroma was coming from the trees. Every other tree was a Linden wood tree. I had read about them, but I didn't know this was what I was seeing and smelling. It's been a little frustrating looking at all these beautiful and unfamiliar plants, trees, and birds. Most of the time when I ask someone what they are, I get a shrug and a, "Beats me, luv."

A picture of beautiful Paddington Station from the Internet.
I was so busy trying to figure out where to catch the train,
that I forgot to take a picture.

This morning when I left Paddington Station, the train was packed! There were three cars reserved for a huge group of French teenagers. Mon Dieu! There was no question of having an empty seat next to me; many people were standing in the aisle. A young girl from Malaysia sat next to me. Her parents were in London for a week because she was about to graduate from college. She studied law and is about to spend a year studying for the bar exam. She told me that since Malaysia is a British Commonwealth country (I didn't know that), if she gets a law degree in England, she can practice in any commonwealth country. That's convenient. She was very talkative and very up on American TV shows, movies, and celebrity gossip! I didn't know that that many of our TV shows were shown over here. And, why would anyone in the UK care about Miley Cyrus and Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie? No wonder they tend to think we are shallow if that's all they have to judge us with! Hollywood has a lot to answer for.

Tomorrow it is suppose to rain! I know it sounds crazy, but it has not rained, or even been overcast once since I got here.  I want some good old miserable English weather to complain about.  After all, I bought a new umbrella and I want to use it!

Sherrie

I'm pretty sure I saw this bridge on "To The Manor Born." 
I can just picture Penelope Keith strolling across.

At the end of the Long Walk, you finally reach the gates to enter Blenheim.
How's that gate for One-Up-Man-ship?

The inner gates of Blenheim just continue the suspense.  Where's the house? 
 If these are the gates, how grand is the house?

Saturday, July 10, 2010 "My Vicar of Dibley" and "To The Manor Born" Moments

Arundel Castle where they filmed parts of The Young Victoria

I seem to be seeing scenes from all the British comedies and Masterpiece Theater programs, and English period piece movies I have ever watched.

This village shop looked like it was straight out of Harry Potter.

Today, I took the train from Victoria Station to Arundel. The village of Arundel is about an hour and a half southwest of London and very close to the coast. I was reminded of this because the sound of the sea gulls screeching and fighting echoed all over town, and the humidity level was through the roof!  This area of England is called the South Downs.  I guess it got this name because the land literally rolls down to the sea. There was chalk under those hills. I saw it peeking through on some cliffs. Arundel Castle is still the home of the Howard family who have been one of the most powerful families in English History. One of Henry the Eighth's wives was a Howard.  The Howards have always been staunch Catholics. In fact, one of the Lords of Arundel (they all seemed to be named Thomas Howard) was declared a martyr because he refused to suppress his faith.  This didn't sit well with some king, probably Horrible Henry, so he had Thomas Howard executed. The church quickly had him declared a martyr to the faith and then a saint.

The castle was a true military fortress built in 1067 to protect Norman England from invaders. Vikings? The French?  All the history was starting to swim around in my head! But, because it was built for defense, not cultural shock and awe like Windsor, it looked just like you would think a castle would look like. Thick walls, narrow arrow slits, towers, turrets, a castle close, and incredibly narrow spiral stair cases. You know those movies that show the Anglo-Saxon peasants running up and down the towers trying to defend the castle from invaders. Well, I don't think any running took place on those staircases! I was holding both walls for balance and looking carefully to make sure my foot made it onto the tiny pie shaped stair! Running was not even a question!

To get to the castle, we had to walk up and around a steep hill. I couldn't see the town or any paved roads. There were just tall trees, tall grass, and chirping birds. At one point, pictures from illuminated manuscripts of the Medieval peasants going about their work for each season popped into my mind's eye. It was so easy to picture. For a second I saw my own foot in wool stockings and pointy leather shoes! And, then the image was gone.

The other part of the castle has been lived in continually by the Howard family. It really looked like our image of a rich British family's ancestral manse. Very grand. But of course, since it was so gorgeous, we lowly tourist were not allowed to take any pictures!  It had it's own private chapel which was peaceful, serene and oh so expensive. The chapel had individual chairs instead of pews, since it was a family chapel.  After all, they weren't going to invite the locals in to worship services!  There was also a long hall filled with family portraits from the last thousand years, and finally, a gorgeous long library. The library was paneled in dark English walnut and even still smelled faintly of pipe tobacco. The west side of the room was filled with gigantic floor to ceiling windows each with it own private reading nook.  Quite the thing, I imagine, on a cool Autumn afternoon.  It was quite easy to picture myself as a Victorian lady of the manor, in a crimson velvet dress, worrying about the servants and the roses and trying to decide on a suitable husband for my daughter.  I've always thought I would fit right into A Room With A View. 

Cornflowers and Poppies

The gardens were fittingly fabulous. They were filled with a huge variety of salvias. That surprised me. I always think of salvias as hot climate, low water flowers.  In the kitchen gardens they had planted a large patch of fragrant  strawberries.  The scent was absolutely intoxicating.  I felt very tempted to steal just a couple of strawberries right off from the plants.  But my favorite part was a section of the garden that they had skillfully seeded with English wildflowers. There were daisies, blue corn flowers, poppies, and nasturtiums all mixed together and almost as tall as me! Gorgeous! I just wanted to send all the tourists home and lay down in my field of cornflowers.

Fields, hedgerows, and clouds.  Ahhh!!!

Because the castle was built on hill and the village was small, there were breathtaking views from every direction. In the distance were hills covered with a patchwork of fields in varying shades of gold and green. Each of the fields was separated by hedgerows and dotted with sheep and cattle. I kept thinking that the scene looked awfully familiar, but I couldn't think why. Suddenly, it occurred to me that it looked just like the English countryside they show at the beginning and the end of "The Vicar of Dibley." I wondered if it was the same place? It was beautiful, pastoral, and peaceful. I really need to learn some more adjectives!

On the way back to London, I realized that I only have a few more days left until I have to go home. Sad! But I am looking forward to air conditioning, large glasses filled to the brim with ice, and my own soft sheets and squishy pillows.

Sherrie

The private quarters of Arundel Castle where the Howard family still lives.  We were not invited into this section of the castle!

The River Arun and the surrounding countryside

Arundel Cathedral - in the village, not the castle.

Isn't he gorgeous!!!  The guy's not too bad, either.

Things That Are Bigger In England Than In Texas.

Huge Dahlias in St. James Park

Things That Are Bigger In England Than In Texas.

1. The red footed pigeons, in fact, all the birds!
2. The trains.
3. The museums.
4. The flowers. They are enormous.
5. The capacity for dry, sarcastic wit.
6. The clouds!
7. The trees.
8. The amount of green grass and green trees.
9. The English sense of their size in relation to the rest of the world!
10. The size and variety of tourist groups.

Tourists and school field trips in St. James Park at 9 o'clock in the morning!

Things That Are Smaller In England Than In Texas

A Victorian Public Water Fountain!

1. The bathrooms!

2. The hallways.

3. The houses and sizes of rooms.

4. The fashion sense! Quite lacking!

5. Personal space.

6. Availability of ice.

7. Availability of public water fountains.

8. Sizes of fountain drinks.

9. Working air conditioning!

10. Capacity to realize that it is Hot and

      to deal with the hot weather.

A London laundrette

Today I sort of took the day off. The clothes dryer in my bed and breakfast was broken, so the owner, Glyn, told me where to find a laundrette. I had worn every shirt at least twice. It was time to do some laundry! Well, it's been years since I used a public laundromat, and I didn't have fond memories of going there in the first place.  But it wasn't bad. Very few people in London have washers and even fewer have dryers. The laundrette was staffed by a very nice local girl who walked me through how to program the machines. Just like almost everything else in Great Britain, the process is the same, but different. It's very frustrating.  What ever the task is, grocery shopping, flagging a cab, or doing laundry, the process looks familiar.  But actually doing it, is bewildering.  Just figuring out how to flush the toilets and turn on the water for the bathtubs is an adventure!  Who knew there were so many types of plumbing arrangements?

Well there were a lot of travelers just like me in the laundrette this morning doing their washing. I met a woman and her husband from Colorado who were half way through an Elder Hostel tour. They planned to return home to the U.S. on the Q.E. II.  I must admit, I felt a twinge of jealousy!  She was worried, however, because she had just discovered that the guests are required to wear evening clothes each night at dinner.  Can you say, "shopping trip?!?"  Then, I met a mom from Canada who was on a family vacation with her husband and two teenage daughters. She had a lot of laundry.  There was a very interesting young woman from Perth, Australia. The Aussie had been traveling around Europe for almost six months.  Must be nice!  And, finally, we all tried to talk to a young couple from Japan who couldn't speak much English. They were truly bewildered by the English plumbing!  It was fun comparing our trips and recommending places we enjoyed. It was also nice to let our hair down and just be tourist. Londoners don't really want to hear about our sight-seeing, but other travelers do!

Only "mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the mid-day sun."

The rest of the day I took evasive action against the heat. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was hot today. It got to a high of 83! I know! I know! At home 83 is a respite. But here, 83 with 66 percent humidity is hot. They, the sun loving British, are not set up to deal with heat. Everything is designed to keep the warmth in. For example, hardly anyone has air conditioning, and when they do, it's iffy at best. There are almost no public water fountains. There is NO ice tea! That's our mainstay against summer heat. When you find a place that sells soft drinks, they always ask if you want ice. I have been tempted to scream, "Duh!" in the voice of an obnoxious teenager.  And then, they put in about four cubes of ice! It's almost melted before you start drinking. Maybe the English are scared of cold drinks?!?  Another thing I've noticed is that no one fans themselves except for the tourists. Maybe it's considered bad manners. I don't know, but I am fanning myself! Every pamplet for royal palaces, every freebie tube newspaper, every piece of paper of any size becomes my fan.  I found that it's coolest in the parks under the enormous Plane trees. I bet the temperature drops fifteen degrees, at least.

Miss Marple and her chilling mystery helped keep me cool.

So this afternoon I sat on a bench in Brunswick Square eating my lunch and reading my Agatha Christie book...for several hours. My hotel was stifling, and the thought of standing in a long line with a hundred other sweaty tourist made me feel claustrophobic! The bench however, was cool. At one point I looked up and surveyed the garden. All the American and French and Spanish and Indian tourists, all the people from hot countries, were sitting in the shade fanning themselves and drinking water, while all the crazy British were sitting right out in the sun drinking coffee! I don't understand!?!  Ah well.  Viva la difference!


Sherrie

Crowds of summer tourists in Covent Garden.

A busker drawing even more crowds in Covent Garden

More tourists than pigeons in Piccadilly Circus.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010. Dazed and confused in Canterbury.

Canterbury Cathedral is covered with sculptures of important business men, saints, queens and kings, and gargoyles and grotestques.

The first view of Canterbury Cathedral

You know how your neck feels when you've been painting the ceiling all day? Well, that's how my neck felt after Canterbury Cathedral. Just like St. Paul's Cathedral, the town has grown right up to the cathedral, so you have to stand close and crane your neck to see the whole cathedral. It's impressive and old in a good way. The first Archbishop of Canterbury, St. Augustine, presided over the Cathedral in the year 572!  When I stepped into the cathedral, my eyes were drawn up to the ceiling irresistibly. The audio guide explained that this is because of the Perpendicular architecture used in the building of the cathedral. The cathedral is held up by a series of surprisingly thin columns that meet in the ceiling vaults to create a pattern of stars. It was gorgeous! There were some amazing stain glass windows, some of which are a thousand years old. That amount of age is such a foreign concept to me. I can't seem to get use to it!

This is looking from the entrance of the Cathedral
down to the Alter.  There is another huge section
behind this stone wall where the choir sings. 
It doesn't seem logical that the choir could be
heard from behind a stone wall,
but it works beautifully.

The overwhelming theme of the cathedral was, "Thomas Beckett - good; King Henry the Second and King Henry the Eighth - bad!". The first Henry casually mentioned to his murderously loyal knights, "It sure would be nice if somebody would bump off that worrisome Archbishop."  And then when they did and the people were shocked and horrified, he claimed plausible deniability! Pretty devious. He was finally pressured into making a public apology.  He walked on his knees from Richmond to Canterbury.  Once he was at the scene of the crime, the priests whipped him with a cat-o-nine-tails in the town square.  Now that's a public apology! Maybe some of our politicians would think twice if they had to make this kind of apology.

This is the actual spot where three of  Henry the Second's
 knights murdered Archbishop Thomas Beckett. He was
leading a prayer service in a side chapel when they found him.
  The knight who killed him, hit him with such force,
that part of his skull flew across the chapel and the sword
was shattered!

Then three or four generations later, the other Henry got annoyed by the popularity of the Archbishop's shrine. By that time, Beckett had an almost cult-like following. So Henry, always jealous, decreed that the shrine and any mention of Thomas Beckett be destroyed. That Henry, he was a rotter!

The cathedral is filled with amazing stained
glass windows. Some of them are about a
thousand years old.  In places, the windows
are so bowed that they look
llike bubble wrap. 

The cathedral was stunning! The town was not. Outside of the tourist pedestrian area it was dirty and smelly. It was clearly a working class town that just happened to have a world heritage sight right in the middle of it. Plus, because it is a medieval town, the streets expand out in a circular pattern from the cathedral. I got very lost, very confused. But I've adopted a Scarlet O'Hara philosophy. I am relying on "the kindness of strangers."  I asked the sweet girl at St. Augustine's Cathedral ruins to mark the most idiot proof way to get back to the train station in highlighter on my map.  She giggled a little, but helped me out.

The delightful village river and riparian garden.  They must be required because every town had them!
By the way, riparian is a fancy word that means "by the river."  I learned that from Hyacinth Bucket.  Who says t.v. is not educational?

Sherrie's Travel Tips

Because, you know, I'm such an experienced traveler now!

1. Buy the best noise canceling ear buds you can afford. They help
    not only on the plane, but in the hotel and the tube.
2. Be kind to your feet! Wear the comfortable shoes. Pamper your
    feet in the evenings.
3. Smile and talk to everyone who shows an interest. You never
    know what great stories you will hear.
4. Go grocery shopping. This is where I see the biggest cultural
    differences. And, it's fun! Do you know milk is not refrigerated in
    the U.K.?
5. Don't get a bed and breakfast down the street from a hospital and
    across from a university. Both make for some noisy nights.
6. Don't panic! There will be problems; there will also be solutions.
7. Eat the dessert!
8. Follow your nose, but remember your toes. Exploring is great! But
    there is always a price to pay.
9. Watch the local television. The commercials are sooo different.
10. So what if you are a tourist. Enjoy it! You paid big bucks; you
      have the right to walk slow, take a million pictures, and gawk at
      the sights.  Those locals, the ones rolling their eyes, they would
      do the same if they came to our towns.
11. Go to the bathroom every time you see one, even if you don't
      really need to. You never know when you will see another one.
11 1/2. Wash your hands with soap every chance you get!
12. Fend off homesickness by emailing home and by listening to your
      favorite music on your I-Pod. It's amazing how a little Willy
      Nelson can restore a girl's equilibrium.
13. Don't avoid people. We are all here for each other's
      entertainment!
14. A big, friendly American smile is your secret weapon!  The drawl
      doesn't hurt, either.
15. Don't shave your legs with a new razor when you're jet lagged!

A view of The Thames which is  still a working river.  In the midground in the HMS Belfast which served in combat during World War II.  You can take tours of it.  And of course in the distance is the most beautiful crossing, Tower Bridge.

Thursday, July 8, 2010 My boyfriend, Bill's, hometown.

Anne Hathaway's House

Today I took the train to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see the home of my boyfriend, Billy Shakespeare. The train left from Marylebone train station located down very close to Baker Street.  That's right! The mythical home of Sherlock Holmes.  I walked down a street that looked just like the one in the Sherlock Holmes series starring Jeremy Brett.  I could almost hear the sound of the Hansom cabs and horses hooves clicking over the cobblestones.  The area and the train station were lovely examples of good Victorian architecture.

William Shakespeare's birthplace.

We got on the train and headed northwest out of London. As soon as we got past the yuck of London train station, the countryside started changing. The land started rolling. Rounded wheat fields and frolicking sheep started peeking out of the trees. Then the train slowed down, shifted into a lower gear, and we started climbing. I wasn't expecting that. The fields were really beautiful, yellow squares divided by green hedgerows instead of barb wire. I'm sure I imagined it, but the cows looked more serene. I guess not all the happy cows live in California.  Some of them live quite contently in English meadows.  Another thing, it was so startling to be looking out at this pacific scene and see a castle turret through the trees! It surprises me every time.

A statue to honor Shakespeare's fool, Faustus.

Stratford is a town that long ago bowed to it's inevitability as a tourist town. They seem to have made peace with it, and with true Shakespearean cheekiness they have capitalized on their claim to fame. The pedestrian area around Shakespeare's birthplace is filled with eateries and pubs with names taken from his plays: The Food of Love, The Hair of The Dog, and the Romeo and Juliet Love Shack (purely PG rated!).  Instead of resenting the tourists like some towns, Stratford wisely embraces us and makes the most of it.

Old Bill's birthplace was surprising. For one thing, I had heard that he did not live there as an adult, but the latest research shows that he did live there on and off. He also expanded the house and used part of it as a financial enterprise to provide for his two daughters after he died. It was big even by today's standards; not big rooms, but lots of them. The gardens were lovely! There is no better word for it. They were filled with so many lavender plants and roses that I could smell their scent inside the house over the bus exhaust!

The gardens at Anne Hatheway's House

Next, I took the bus tour out to Anne Hathaway's farm. A descendant of Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway lived at the farm until 1913 when the house was bought by the Shakespeare Trust. She also sold them the Hathaway furniture that had been passed down from even before Anne Hathaway. And, she cleverly talked the Trust into hiring her to be the caretaker for the property so she was able to live out her days in her family home.  Shakespeare would be proud of her business skills. 

The house was so Tudor it could have been a stereotype.
Thick oak beams, huge stone fireplaces and hearths, and scary narrow twisty stairs which have taken out more than a few ankles. But the best - ah - was the gardens!  They were breathtaking!!! Hollyhocks taller than me.  Roses as big as my head.  And, 37 varieties of sweet peas!!!  The aroma just sent me over the edge.  The calm reserved British people must have been amused to see me stopping and smelling ALL the roses and sweet peas and lavender. 

I had a chat with the head gardener who was originally from Italy.  He bemoaned the drought they were suffering.  It hadn't rained for three weeks, he said.   Everything was drying up, he complained.  My mouth just dropped open.  The garden, the grass, the orchard looked lush and fresh and green to me.  But then again, this is a country where people never water their grass and seldom have to water the plants.  That is almost unimaginable to me.  He told me that he took a trip to Miami once, and that was the first time he saw lawn sprinklers.  It's a different world! 

Mary Arden's Farm.  Look at the buckling walls.  That's what
400 years of foundation problems will do for you!

I didn't want to leave, but I'm glad I did because the next bus stop was Mary Arden's Farm which belonged to Shakespeare's mother. As we drove out to the farm, I believe I died and went to heaven!!! The farm was seven miles out of Stratford in a little village in the Cotswold. It was so beautiful!!! Now I know why people talk so glowingly about the Cotswolds.  Why would anyone want to live anywhere else?!?  I'm sure I don't know!  More tears, by the way. Sherrie's trail of tears.

The gorgeous rolling hills of the Cotswolds during a drought!

I had the best sandwich of my trip in this little village.  It was about 2:30 in the afternoon when I got there.  My camera batteries were dead and my own batteries were running low, as well.  I stolled down the block and went into the post office of this tiny village.  It was the post office, but also the local farmer's market and convenience store as well.  I bought a sandwich in a plastic triangle from the lady behind the counter who was politely intrigued by my accent.  I guess they don't get many Texans wandering around the lanes of their village.  I took my lunch across the street and sat on one of the benches under a tree.  I certainly wasn't expecting much from a convenience store sandwich, but boy, was I surprised!  The sandwich was Red Leicester Cheddar cheese on locally made bread.  It tasted kind of like a pimento cheese sandwich if the cook had trained in Italy and had been kissed by an angel.  Yum, yum, yum!!!  I didn't share any of the crumbs with the local Magpies.

A working well in the middle of the cutting garden.

Later, when I went to pay my admission at Mary Arden's Farm, I started talking to the man at the counter and a little girl came and stood next to me. She was looking at me intently the way kids do when they notice something new. I said, "Hello." She smiled, but kept staring at me. I leaned over and said kind of quietly, "Have you ever heard anyone talking in an American accent before, besides on t.v.?"  She kind of started but keep gazing at me. "You know what's worse?  I'm from Texas."  She just grinned at me and her mother laughed and said, "You've gone all shy Katherine. Say hello to the lady."

Ah. A lovely day in a lovely village in lovely countryside!

Sherrie

English Longhorn Cattle.  Who knew?!?

In Elizabethan times, all the single women in the house slept on the top floor in a room like a dormitory.  The room was usually under the eaves and not tall enough to stand up completely.  It was kind of like sleeping on a shelf.  As the women got married, they left the shelf.  Any poor spinster who didn't married was "left on the shelf."

Mary Arden's Farm is working farm where the guides dress in costume and run the farm using techniques and practices from the 1500's.  They told me that this is a midden heap.  I've seen that word in old books and plays, but never knew what it was.  It's a dung hill!  The billy goats were playing King-of-the-Midden.  The chickens really, REALLY liked it.  Organic gardening is just so...Natural!

Tuesday, July 6, 2010 Jane Austen's House!

The entrance throught the garden to Jane Austen's house.

Yesterday I made the pilgrimage to see the last home of my soul sister, Jane Austen. The house is in a little village named, Chawton, in Hampshire. The train doesn't go there. You have to take the train to Alton, a slightly larger village, and then take the bus to Alton. Or, at least that was the plan.

Flowers from Jane's garden.

When I got to Alton, a lady told me where to wait for the bus. I went to the bus stand and dutifully checked the posted routes and schedules. When the bus got there, just to be on the safe side, I asked the bus driver if this was the right bus. He looked at me as if I were speaking Chinese! Now I know I slur my speech, but come on! No one has had that much trouble understanding me. I tried several times to get an answer one way or another out of him. He never spoke above a whisper and never gave me a straight answer. So, I didn't get on the bus! Fortunately, I spied a taxi service close to the bogus bus stop. An intelligent cabby, who had no problems understanding me, zipped me right over to Chawton, no sweat! He said, "Don't worry lovey, the buses are rubbish!"

This is the chair and table where she wrote her
 most famous books.  Can you believe how
small and delicate it is?!?

And there I was, at Jane's house. It was beautiful and peaceful and so English. You couldn't say the village was untouched, but it had preserved it's essential English spirit. It wasn't hard at all to imagine Jane and her sister, Cassandra, walking down to the village church or a few houses over to the thatched cottage where the blacksmith's family lived. The house was considered a large house in Austen's time. We would think it was a medium sized or small house today. They had the house set up with important letters and documents from her day and furniture, china, and DRESSES from their home.

I cried, of coarse! I knew many of the plot points in her novels came from her life and the lives of her family, but seeing where she lived brought it all home. Did you know that she fell in love when she was 20, but neither she nor the young man she loved had money, so they didn't marry. That means that her novel, Persuasion, is a sort of, "what if things had gone differently" novel. So poignant!

This is the bed that she shared with her sister, Cassandra, her
entire life.  The beautiful dress was one of her own.  It looks just
 like the dresses the women wear in the movies of her novels. 
 At least Hollywood got that right.

The most touching part were the letters Cassandra wrote to the family when Jane died and the doctor's analysis of Jane's death. She was only 41 when she died! She was sick the last 16 months of her life. But the symptoms would come and go; she would have a bad spell, then start feeling better. How cruel to have hope over and over again. Today, doctors think she had Addison's Disease. Ironically, they can make this diagnosis because she did such a good job recording her own symptoms. The Austen Trust had those letters on display. True to her spirit, she down played her considerable pain to her family, making sarcastic, playful remarks about it. She was more honest in letters to her doctor and to her favorite sister, Cassandra.

St. Nicholas Parrish Church in Chawton where Jane's
mother and sister were buried.  Jane was buried 
at Winchester Cathedral. Even then, even though she
was a strange, spinster writer, they knew she was special!

Afterwards, I went down the road a bit and saw her church and the graves of her mother and Cassandra. To be honest, it was a little creepy. I was alone in the church and it was old, but not beautiful. It smelled of incense, which I don't like, and water damage. The church yard was beautiful, but I think a vampire would find it quite cozy! Not my cup of tea.

Well, if you go to Chawton, just remember that the village pretty much shuts down at 4:00 P.M. (16:00 in British time.). You can't get food, but you can get a pint and skittles?!?, and the rubbish buses are doing the school runs! So, I thought, "Hey, I'll call my friendly cab service!" and went to the village call box. Well, it turns out that 4 PM is rush hour in Chawton.  "Madame, we'll send a driver to get you as soon as we finish the school runs."  It's that kind of village. 

Just as I finished the call, the nearby primary school dismissed, and I walked down a couple of blocks behind second and third form kids and their moms and dads.  The conversations were remarkable similar to any you would hear in any American home town.  "How was your day, sweetheart?"  "Good!  I got to feed the turtle today!  But then Anna said I couldn't sit next to her because she was saving the seat for Ian.  What are we having for tea, Mum?"  Somehow the accent made the conversations a little more exotic.  I was sorry to leave Chawton. Suddenly, London seemed noisy and frantic and exhausting.

But London didn't let me down. When I got back to London Bridge Station, I followed the crowds over the Hungerford pedestrian bridge. There were street performers playing some decent Jazz at the base of the bridge, a light breeze was ruffling my hair, and the sun was kissing the waves on the Thames. Not a bad end to a beautiful day!


Sherrie

The garden was the epitome of a truly lovely English garden, and I felt truly jealous!

The British just can't bring themselves to be truly blunt.

The graveyard at St. Nicholas Church.  Cozy, if you are a Victorian vampire.

The next door neighbors have a nice house!