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We tooled once around downtown Bristol, driving by the Cathedral and various sections and neighborhoods, then immediately headed to a grocery store. Lyn went in to get more supplies (20+ minutes) while I booted the PC, logged into the mapping software and uploaded latitude/longitude data points into the GPS. This was an emergency: we were running out of batteries and tea biscuits and Diet Dr Pepper! After she returned, we got a little turned around and accidentally ended up in a city park on a large knoll-like hill that had a breathtaking commanding view of all of Bristol, right out to the bay. We had barely started our day, yet we were already hours behind schedule. We stopped anyway, took in the view and shot half a roll of film. It was spectacular, with the sun shining (for 5 full minutes), and the Bristol City pitch and the suspension bridge visible in the distance. People were out walking and smiling and enjoying the beautiful weather so we took 5 more minutes to live life like a local.
We had read in the various guides about a small nearby town called “Castle Combe”. It was described as the “the prettiest village in England, unspoiled and nestled in a secluded wooded hollow”. We drove there, and the advertisement was absolutely correct. We took in the entire tiny village in 5 minutes by car, but then parked and shot half a roll of film of the narrow streets lined with little cottages with their stone walls with inset windows and little flowerboxes. We stopped at a pub for ‘lunch’ (at 2:30) then walked around and visited the church. It was built as a tower in Saxon times, enlarged to its present 'cottage' size across centuries. That meant the tower had been standing on that spot for over 500 years.
When we finished (two hours later) we returned to the van and to our surprise were graced with a parking ticket. That explained the easy convenience of finding the spot closest to the door during the rush hour congestion. It turned out it was clearly marked (in English, too) to be a 'loading zone'. Oops. We drove on to Cirencester, another town that traces its lineage back thru Elizabethan mansions, 15 century woolen trade, and all the way back to being a Roman fortress. We drove the town in 10 minutes during rush hour traffic and pressed on (telling ourselves we would stay longer during our "next visit to England"). It was now obvious that, between Castle Combe and Malmesbury, our day was done. We surrendered all further destinations, and turned the car toward the Uffington chalk horse, the only site left on our list that had not passed its 'closing time'.
In recent times, others have etched more modern drawing of horses, many quite realistic and, as you might imagine, of no particular interest to us. Why these modern relief artists chose horses is more of a mystery, and had they picked a subject relevant to themselves (like the artist of Mt Rushmore) instead of copy-catting the ancient peoples, we would probably have made a trip of it to see them. I would have driven a hundred miles in the rain to see a giant face of Prince Charles etched into a limestone hillside.
I drove on, into the darkness, while Jesse curled up and napped in back. We were lost only once, and had a full two hour drive to our hotel. We skimmed by Winchester, and marked certain points with the GPS so we could easily return on the following day. We had quite a trick finding the Marriott Chichester, as it is a ‘golf resort’ built on the land of a country estate – read that to mean: in the middle of nowhere and not well marked. We were within 2 miles of the place for over 30 minutes at 1am, and eventually stumbled into the parking lot. We checked in, learned that we weren’t entitled to breakfast (or even ‘morning coffee’) and went to our room. With two nights here, we hauled all the cases back in, so Lyn could repack us the next night. Grumpy and tired, we all went to bed. |
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Copyright, 1999, all rights reserved |
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Originally Written November 1999 |
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We
got a late start in Bristol (do I detect a pattern?) and
had quite a hassle lugging everything back down to the van. The hotel
layout made it convenient to leave the van ‘around back’
instead of retrieving it and being forced to snake thru arduous
one-way downtown streets. The bell guy shlepped the suitcases, bags,
packs, and ice chest for us, disappearing to the loading dock and
then meeting up with us at the van parked around back. It took 10
full minutes just to get everything loaded back where it belonged.
We
drove off toward Bath, and got a immediate rude surprise with
bumper-to-bumper traffic jams on the heavily used one lane road from
Bristol. We passed by the 
“Bristol
Rover’s” home pitch, and it was just too cool to stop and
stand in all these strange places that I had heard about and read
about. I had never imagined that I would ever be standing in these
places, and I certainly did my part by acting like a tourist. We got
turned around and lost a little, and ended up entering Bath from the
wrong direction. We eventually found the ‘great circus’
areas, rowhouses built on a circular street facing into a circular
park. Bath is famous for these Elizabethan structures (guidebooks
actually gush about them) but we were unanimously unimpressed. I
mean, I get it. Nice photo-op and all, so we took a few pictures, but
we were ready to be on our way inside of 15 minutes. We had heard and
read about the ancient ‘Roman’ baths but they, too, had
been rebuilt in Elizabethan times. That kind of stuff, candelabras,
mirrors, frilly clothes and white wigs just don’t do anything at
all for me. So as packed double deck tourist buses drove by, we
simply circled the town once, took several pictures, then were on our
way north.
As
we left Bath, near 2pm. It became obvious that our
planned criss-cross path through the midlands and southern Cotswolds
was obviously pure fantasy. We looked at the itinerary and
reluctantly gave up 2 castles and 2 abbeys (telling ourselves that we
would see them during ‘our next trip to England’) and
needed to make a difficult decision about Stonehenge. We decided that
Stonehenge and the Winchester Cathedral were the most significant
sites (to us) in the entire area, and agreed to delay our visit to
them to the next day. This would mean that we would be free to focus
on whatever we could see of the secondary destinations today, then
head to our Marriott hotel in quite distant Chichester that night.
Unfortunately, we would now be required to completely backtrack from
Chichester the next day, all the way back to Stonehenge However, once
that difficult decision was made, it was a relief and seemed (and
later proved) to be a good one.
We
walked down to the combination post office / general store and met a
most charming and wonderful man. We had been wanting exact
instructions for posting our cards back to the states, and he was
delighted to help us (and delightful, too). We stayed and talked with
him for the better part of an hour. He owned several buildings in the
little town, including a B&B and the combination store and post
office where we were standing. He told us about the town, its
history, and the several more impressive structures including the
church, the market cross and the building now serving as his B&B.
He seemed to be the ‘mayor’ of town, either officially or
unofficially, and was well versed in its details, its history, and
was a well-skilled storyteller to boot. We ended up buying several
books from his shelf, about life in Britain, the town of Castle
Combe, and the midlands region. He helped me to understand British
driving rules (we also bought a traffic guide) and dramatically
demonstrated UK postal procedures for us, right down to licking our
stamps. We discussed the town's residents (many, he said, take the
train to work in London), and he boasted with the fact that his
B&B possessed the ‘oldest door’ in town (a fact that he
shared with pride). His stories correlated the construction of the
various structures and additions around the little town to the
various eras and events in England's history. We finally understood
Saxon, versus Norman, times. We were now very late, but had spent a
most wonderful (unplanned) 2 hours in this little picturesque hamlet.
From
Castle Combe, we headed on to Malmesbury, to visit its
famous abbey. We arrived in town and to our surprise the ruins were
located almost downtown instead of out in a nearby country glen. City
traffic was congested and all parking spots were taken. Of course,
the clock was ticking and we were rushing, too. We finally found a
place to park and were surprised to learn the the 'ruins' and been
rescued, so to speak, centuries previously, with some restoration and
some new construction performed to transform it into a working parish
church. It is hard to explain. The ruins were obvious, with standard
random tears in the huge, centuries old stone structure pointing off
in various directions. However, in the very center, a couple of
strategic smaller walls were constructed (centuries previously) to
make what is normally an exposed grass courtyard in other ruins into
a small enclosed church area. It could best be explained as if you
had owned a twenty bedroom stone house that caught fire and burned to
the ground. Later, looking at the ruins you might notice where adding
a couple new walls and fixing a couple others (then enclosing it with
a roof) would give you a two bedroom bungalow in the midst of the old
twenty bedroom ruin. It was strange to be outside, then inside, but
still outside.
Nice
historical signs explained the huge original abbey, and the life of
its various monks and abbots. Others highlighted the ruins that had
stood for centuries. Still others explained the 'restoration' effort,
maybe best called 'conservation' or 'conversion' instead. The new
structure served a modern purpose (as a parish church) but had no
rational connection to the walls of the original structure within
which it stood. Much like the way so many religious sights in the
middle-east are built one atop another for unrelated purposes. The
Malmesbury Abbey was simultaneously historic, scarred and confusing.
The parish church was a working compromise that provided for
financial support for ongoing maintenance to the ancient building.
The parish church roof was set at the original abbey roofline and
decorated with standard flourishes. I presume this meant that the
destruction of the abbey in the 1500's must have been done poorly,
leaving enough support walls in place to rebuild. However, the parish
church length was necessarily much shorter than the original abbey,
leaving the abbey church's nave outside among the ruins, and placing
its alter in the original location of the center vault. The very
front and very back of the main abbey church building were destroyed
and could not be easily preserved. Besides, the 'parish church'
simply would never need nor could afford to maintain all that extra
square footage.
We
walked around the grounds and enjoyed reading about the various
gravesites and events associated with the abbey and its successor
church. The main doorway is quite famous from Norman times with
carved stonework of biblical scenes. Sadly, time and the elements
have taken their toll on the archway, but they were detailed in the
historical guidebook. Malmesbury is the final resting place of
Athelstan, the Saxon king in the mid-900's that united and ruled all
of England.
With
the sun setting, we drove on to the ‘chalk horse
country’. I had read about this area only since our arrival in
England, but I guess it is very famous (well, obviously, not THAT
famous). The area is peppered with rolling green hills, reminiscent
to me of the picturesque smaller hills in Pennsylvania or the
Carolinas. There are also open flat expanses, such that many of the
hills are visible from quite a distance away. The hills are primarily
limestone, under the grass or covering crops, and somewhere a few
millennia ago, somebody figured out to scratch the grass away and
draw a picture on the hill to such a scale as to be visible for miles
and miles around. The so-called ‘chalk horse’ diagrams are
a total mystery, with theories including a tribal territory marker, a
superstition for good luck, or a sign to invite passers-by to enjoy
hospitality. The one hill in particular, one theory goes, may have
been used only during a certain ‘festival’ time each year
and the horse would mark where everybody should go for the party.
The
ancient ‘chalk horse’ drawing was really quite abstract,
and we discussed for quite a time if it looked more like a bird or
other subjects. You are provided only a few scratched lines, white
from underlying limestone, and your imagination. We took some
pictures with the long lens, then drove closer. Eventually we were at
the actual hill, then driving up the hill, then found a tourist
parking area. Lyn stayed behind with one communicator while Jesse and
I hoofed it up with the other. At the top of the hill was nice
signage explaining how the entire bluff seemed to be a hand made
manual enhancement to a natural fortification. The flattened top area
was large enough for over a hundred people to pitch tents and live in
relative safety at the top of their ‘earthen fort’,
surrounded by an earthen berm and moat. We walked around to the side
and part way down the hill and found ourselves suddenly directly next
to the limestone etchings. I was saddened to learn the quite obvious
fact that after years and decades grass would naturally overgrow the
scratched picture so local residents (since time immemorial) have
popped out and refreshed the limestone every five or so years. That
distraction aside, I still considered the artifact to be
‘authentic’, whatever that means.
By
now it was very late, getting dark and overcast, and we were all
quite testy. Young Jesse started describing what abstract animals
were represented by the various random tire tracks and footpaths
crisscrossing the area and proposed that the flat hilltop was
probably used by the ancient people for frisbee competitions. Lyn
disappeared, in among a flock of sheep and simply refused to come
out. Later, she called to us on the PCD and gave us detailed
directions to stand here or there, walk back up the hill, then wait
for a party of people to pass by (logical instructions, assuming she
was taking pictures of us) but when we met her at the base of the
hill she did not have the camera. As darkness came upon us at past 9
o’clock, we were almost 100 miles from our hotel, and had
already committed to backtrack 40 of those miles the first thing
tomorrow morning. Suddenly it seemed (to me) that everybody went
brain dead. We had several discussions about priorities, schedules,
and drive times (each discussion attributed to the others) and
generally picked fights and made snippy quips with each other for the
rest of the evening. Now, for sure, this trip was starting to feel
like a family vacation.
