“Travel opens
your heart,
broadens your
mind and
fills your life
with stories to tell.”
– Paula
Bendfeldt
The morning was velvety; soft sunshine,
breezeless and with a total lack of any early morning dew. Outside the backdoor
the overgrown garden was songbird-filled noisy. Sure, it was mid-June, but in
the English countryside the weather can be unpredictable and summers can
sometimes last no more than just a few good weeks in July and August. An umbrella
should never be too far away. But the ten days we spent in England would turn
out to be different, with no rain and the hottest weather in years.
Our rented Airbnb lodging for our stay
in Stow-on-the-Wold was near the historic town square, which these days’ looks more
triangular and hotchpotch than square. Stow, as it is affectionately known, is in
the northern part of the Cotswolds, a romantic English countryside region about
an hour and a half’s drive northwest of London. The Cotswolds is crisscrossed
with many honey-hued, chocolate-box villages, built from local yellow Jurassic
limestone, and is bordered on the west by Bristol and Gloucester, the
university town of Oxford to the east, William Shakespeare’s
Stratford-upon-Avon to the north and the old Roman city of Bath to the south.
Traffic and flowers on Sheep Street in Stow-on-the-Wold.
Our cottage on Park Street, built
sometime during the 19th Century, was all yellow-stone with thick
walls, a crooked slate roof that looks more than a hundred years old, a large
fireplace and uneven red tile floors downstairs. A squeaking staircase led to
an upstairs with creaking wooden floors and 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, one
featured an old porcelain-enameled cast iron claw foot bathtub surrounded by
ugly avocado-green bead board paneling. Next door to the cottage is an eyesore,
the only building on all of Park Street whose façade was not left the natural honey-hued
stone of the region. Greedy’s Fish & Chips was painted white with a red
door. Their fish and chips though, were very good. We tried it on one occasion.
From the front window, the only window
downstairs, I could see the restaurant staff of The Old Butchers across the
street was already wiping tables and moving chairs into their proper place,
getting ready for the lunch crowd that was soon to follow. Tourists were
already parading up and down the street, some downhill while others went towards
the top where Park Street forks, Sheep Street to the left and Digbeth Street to
the right and further along Digbeth onto Market Square.
Stow-on-the-Wold
Market Day
After I made a breakfast of pan fried eggs,
English country bread with local butter and some savory, buttery Cotswold cheese,
all graciously provided with the cottage by the Airbnb hosts, we locked up and
walked towards Market Square. It was Thursday, market day in the Stow. At the fork
we went down the narrow Digbeth Street, past the Porch House, with a plaque upfront
claiming it to be oldest inn in England, dating back to 947 AD. Further along
we passed The Old Bakery tea room, the Cotswold Garden Tearooms and the New
England Coffee House until we got to the square with its historic Market Cross.
Here we kept to the right onto Market Street, passed the Kings Arms hotel, The
Stag Lodge Inn, more coffee houses and Roly’s Fudge Pantry until we reached the
north end of the square where several tent stalls were erected next to a small
grassy park area with benches under large trees.
Market day in Stow-on-the-Wold
St. Edward's Church in Stow-on-the-Wold.
The north door is flanked by two very old yew trees.
On the day of our arrival in London the
drive from Heathrow Airport was nearly uneventful. Driving on the left side of
the road is a skill I nearly forgot after 20 years in the USA. It used to be
natural driving on the left during the years I stayed in South Africa. But in
England I had to remind myself all the time, stay left, stay left. After some
grocery shopping at a Tesco in Stow I exited the parking lot on the right hand
side of the road at the very moment when a car was turning into the lot. I
didn’t immediately realize my mistake and it was M that said, “You are on the
wrong side of the road.” Luckily the other driver was patient, no hooting or
cursing while I apologetically nodded my head and waved and drove to the left
side of the road.
So when we left Stow-on-the-Wold via
the A429 north (alternatively known as the old Celtic path, The Fosse Way) that
message of “stay left” was uppermost in my mind. But luckily the day’s and for
that matter, the rest of the trip’s driving were uneventful. Except for the few
times we got lost or took the wrong turn off. But that’s nothing unusual in a
foreign country.
Stratford-upon-Avon
William Shakespeare's Tudor England in Stratford-upon-Avon's High Street
I had no preconceived idea about Stratford-upon-Avon
or its attractions, and after little more than an hour’s drive we entered the
city, found a parking spot near the commons next to the River Avon and started
to explore on foot. Our motto was “Let the city surprise us!” After crossing
the river via Bridge Foot, we walked down Bridge Street and soon found
ourselves on High Street and in the heart of William Shakespeare’s Tudor
England. As usual, we purposefully got ourselves lost in the city. We gaped in
wonder at the many old black and white framed Tudor buildings along High,
Church and Chapel Streets. Every now and then some restaurant or shop owner had
turned an old façade into a quirky alternative with a modern or colorful touch.
At Chapel Street’s end we turned left onto Old Town Street and followed the tourist
signs to the Holy Trinity Church, the oldest building in town, dating back to
1210 and the church where Shakespeare was baptized and buried.
Entering the church yard, the pathway
to the gothic entrance is flanked by twelve old lime trees, thought to
represent the twelve tribes of Israel or the twelve apostles. Although it is
one of the most visited churches in England, it is not a very large church nor
very elaborative, but it does boast an interesting nave with a decorative wooden
ceiling, a few large stained-glass windows, a very old 19th Century
organ and, in front of the altar, the graves of William Shakespeare and his
wife Anne Hathaway.
The Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon
From the church we took a leisurely
stroll through a park all along the river towards where we parked our car. Our
last stop was at a memorial site for William Shakespeare with a statue of the
poet surrounded by more statues of some of the main characters in his plays,
among other, Hamlet, Lady Macbeth and others.
Our visit to Stratford-upon-Avon was a
brief one, by intention, because we planned to visit several other villages that
day on our way back to Stow-on-the-Wold. But it seems to be a wonderful town
with many architectural, historical, theatrical and leisure attractions.
Our first stop after Stratford was in the
small village of Mickleton, where we found a tiny square with a small fountain,
a single tree and 2 benches and we ate the pies and quiche we bought at the
Stow market earlier that morning.
Chipping Campden's High Street
Chipping
Campden
From there it was a short drive down
the B4081 to where it meets the B4035, where we turn left to our next
destination, Chipping Campden. What a little jewel! The crown on the curved High
Street with its honey-colored buildings is the Market Hall halfway down the
street. The Market Hall, still in use today, was built in 1627 by Sir Baptist
Hicks, the 1st Viscount of Campden and for whom there is a memorial
inside St James’ Church, at the top of the hill overlooking the village. The
church was our first stop.
Chipping Campden's Market Hall on High Street
After we parked our car near the top of
High Street we saw a tourist marker towards the church and went to investigate.
We walked back uphill along Cidermill Lane, passed the historic Almshouses to
our left, the Court Barn Museum to the right and beyond that, the impressive East
and West Banqueting Houses, which are private property and off limits to
tourists, until we got to St James’ Church. Except for the external
architecture and the Hicks memorial, the church’s inside
was rather non-descripted.
We meandered down the west side of High
Street. Every English town it seems has a High Street, the American equivalent
of Main Street. We popped into a quaint china shop, but found nothing
interesting to purchase. We browse through a stationery store that doubles as a
postal office, bought some postcards, and near Sheep Street (it seems every
village in the Cotswolds have a Sheep Street,) M felt the need for some clothes
shopping. While she entertained herself inside a charity shop, the American
equivalent of a Goodwill store, however the quality of goods inside the English
charity shops seemed far superior to the flotsam and jetsam in a Goodwill store,
I further explored High Street down to St Catherine’s Catholic school, and
other hidden alleys and side streets.
Inside the Market Hall. If walls could talk...
Broadway
After M’s shopping and a visit to the
Market Hall, we explored the east side of High Street until we got back to our
car. Back on the road agin, heading south I saw a turnoff to Broadway and the
Broadway Tower and thought “Why not, we’re here.” We did a drive through of
Broadway, which was actually a pity because it was quite a little gem and then
onto the tower. By now it was nearly 5 pm and unfortunately it was too late in
the afternoon to get access to the tower, but the café was still open (only
just) and we enjoyed some scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream. I love
scones this way! However, from the parking lot we were able to drink in some
great vistas of the Cotswolds’ rolling hills thank to its elevated location and
upon our return to the main highway south, we saw some beautiful sheep-filled
verdant countryside. A quintessential Cotswolds scenery!
Near Broadway Tower.
Lower
Slaughter
It was after 6 pm when we reached
Stow-on-the-Wold again, but instead of turning from the A429 into Stow, I
remembered from previously researching a Cotswolds’ map there were some small
must-see villages only a few miles south of Stow. By now some off the day’s
heat has worn off a bit and a comfortable mellowness has descended upon the
young evening. After a few minutes’ driving we turned off onto a narrow country
road with no road markings and tall hedgerows on both sides, which led us to
Lower Slaughter, which is linked to another village called Upper Slaughter by
the River Eye that flows lazily through this leafy little hamlet.
With only 3 or 4 streets in the village,
there wasn’t much to see, but a leisurely stroll under old majestic trees along
the river allowed us luxurious views of quaint cottages with beautiful tiny
flower-rich gardens until we reached the Old Mill Museum with its waterwheel
and tall chimney. Lower Slaughter was well worth a visit if only for its
unhurried and gentle atmosphere as dusk approached.
Lower Slaughter Collage
Bourton-on-the-Water
Thank goodness for the late sunsets in
England during summer months because there was time for one more stop to round
off the day. A few miles further south from Lower Slaughter is another
honey-hued village, little less chocolate-boxy and a little more commercial. According
to historians, Bourton-on-the-Water (doesn’t these Cotswold villages have the
most beautiful descriptive names), has been occupied for the past 6000 years.
The Windrush River meanders through town at a snail’s pace and along High
Street you will find businesses with quirky names like The Small Talk Tea Room,
The Mousetrap Inn and the Forget Me Nots Florists. In the commercial hub of the
village, on a grassy patch between High Street and the river, in the long
shadows of the day, adults filled benches, watched their children play on the
grass or catching up on the latest social news on their cell phones, or both, while
others, like us, sauntered along the river path past imposing old houses turned
into restaurants, inns and bed and breakfasts.
By the time we arrived back at Stow dusk
has settled in and we were rather exhausted from the day’s walking and not in
the mood for a restaurant dinner. We went and ordered fish and chips from
Greedy’s next door and then put our tired feet up in front of the television
with a bottle Bellingham Chardonnay from Franschhoek in South Africa, which I
found on the shelves of a Tesco. The Bellingham was a case of drinking nostalgia
over quality.
With an open front door to let in some
coolness we couldn’t escape the twinkling of glasses, happy conversations and a
general atmosphere of indulgence drifting in from across the street from the
Old Butchers restaurant. We felt pretty much like the diners after a day indulging
ourselves on the beauty of the Cotswolds.
Lower Slaughter