Tag: Marks meandering’s

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Loving London

Not a war time cry across the wireless but a phrase from the lyrics put together by ‘The Clash’ and with which its song leads I feel ‘London Calling’. The Clash would follow up their leading line with ‘to the faraway towns’, and this is so as I sit on the train back from this incredible city and return to my faraway town.

Some would associate London calling with the punk record or look back at memories of when it was the leading line on the wireless before the BBC would deliver reports on the darkest periods of World War II. Relaxing by letting the train take the strain I start to ponder how on earth I can write a single blog about the ‘greatest city’ on earth, that has become the laughingstock around the world recently’ apparently. I will stay away from the politics, after all this blog is about travel, London has been calling me for a while now, but though my mission to visit every city has taken a hiatus, everything now looks to be getting back on track.

A city like many others on this personal journey, it is steeped in so much of Britain’s history, which is infused through every nook and cranny of this metropolis. It was the Romans who first established this city some 2000 years ago, before many ups and downs created what is seen today. The Black Plague, the Great Fire Spanish flu and even the German Luftwaffe tried to destroy it, but she still stood firm. These are just a few periods of its incredible history that have shaped the city seen today and perhaps are reasons for so many visitors.

London lures many people to visit, to work or even to in live in, I’m included in that number. What is the reason? Politicians strive for power, investors and bankers seek their fortune, some people arrive for a glimpse of the monarchy, or others just like to find fame in that ‘Instagrammable’) location. The facts surely speak for themselves. Before the pandemic struck, some 18 million people came to visit the city every year. This is further evidenced by London being voted the greatest city on the planet on numerous occasions. This, of course, is open for debate.

Someone wise once said, ‘Why, sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.’ Sadly, as I write this, I tend to disagree because, on this day, I am willing to leave London. Has the world changed greatly from the day that this was said? In my opinion it has greatly! In my eyes the hustle and bustle are okay for a day or two, but full time? Not for me! That’s a rat race I don’t want to win. Perhaps many Londoners shared the same view as they flocked away from the city during the pandemic. As I see it there is a call from afar of green and pleasant lands that offer a quality of life that the city can’t match. Full time bloggers dedicate their blogs to this city. I’m just an inquisitive individual trying to learn about these lands.

It’s that thirst for knowledge that has taught me London is two cities the City of Westminster and the City of London. The City of London is surely a far cry from the small fort the Romans would have established when they invaded these lands. When the Roman Empire fell and the Romans left these shores, the city has evolved from sticks and stones into the financial hub of the world (would need confirmation that this is still the case). Now referred to as ‘the square mile’. It is adjoined on the western boundary by London’s second city, the ‘bubble’ (sorry City) of Westminster (the chaos of that City is reflected in the daily news, and I will leave that for you to follow). These two Cities combine to form the central heartbeat (downtown – if you’re reading from across the pond) of what many people associate as being London.  The gothic grandeur sprinkled throughout as modern & medieval architecture stand side by side complimenting each other is a sight to behold. London’s addictive atmosphere evokes curiosity & excitement. This is true for me as a visitor, but for those who live here 24/7 they may have other feelings. These two cities, together with 31 boroughs, combine to form the Greater London Area (GLA). Camden, Hammersmith & Fulham, Richmond, Southwark, Greenwich to name a few. Six of these boroughs do not have “London Borough” in their names: the City of London and the City of Westminster, and the Royal Boroughs of Kingston upon Thames, Kensington, Chelsea, and Greenwich. For someone living in the countryside its astonishing to think that an incredible 9 million people call London home which is more people than live in Wales and Scotland combined or the entire population of Austria. This amount of people surely gives the city its rich & diverse culture. Over a third of this 9 million were born abroad which means London is probably as international as it is British.

These cultures combine to give a mix of cuisines like no other city. Forget ‘the best of British’, as food lovers are spoilt for choice. When visiting or living in London people are spoilt for choices. There are a remarkable 87 Michelin star restaurants in the city and 3 at the highest 3* level. There are even rumours that there are more Indian restaurants in London than in Mumbai and that the food is better than can be found in that city. A quick troll through Instagram will show you some of the famous ones, normally accompanied by a rooftop view for drinks – they certainly are the craze these days. If food isn’t what you seek, then perhaps a pint maybe calling you. Pubs are part of the very fabric of Britain, and it is claimed that in London you are never no more than 7metres from one (again how true this is I shall let you decide). The capital boasts some 7,000 public houses and inns. Afternoon tea is another very British tradition, and London (where it originates from?) does it like no other. A visit to the Ritz, Claridge’s, Browns, Dorchester and The Berkeley are all worth the financial outlay.

But London is more than food & drink. It can boast an incredible 4 separate world heritage sites. It has 2000 years of history. Meaning it has something for everyone. The Romans established it, it survived the dark ages before evolving through the Middle Ages, and now as technology advances at a rate of knots who knows what she might become. The great British Isles are blessed with many castles, London incredibly only boasts one these days, The famous and much visited tower of London. At one time there were 9 castles surrounding the city, but the only one remaining is to the west, which is her late majesty’s resting place, Windsor. A town not so far away, only a day’s march back in the day is well worth a visit but shouldn’t distract you from the time that would be lost to the vast amount of museums London has to boast. You could spend a couple of weeks in London and still not visit all the museums, as there are over 170 of them. The best thing is that most of them are free! Half of the 2 millennia (of the Christian era) have been ruled by the monarchy. Westminster Abbey (along with the Tower of London) dates back to the Norman invasion. Westminster Abbey is where our kings and queens are crowned. There is a fascination with the monarchy from old to young and far and wide, and while it gives us our rich traditions, values and pomp and circumstance the whispers grow louder for its very existence. London’s more recent history has been absorbed in political infighting that has come off the back of pandemic management. As we leave the ‘pandemic’ London, like the rest of the Europe, survived as it did the great Plague and fire. During the great plague some 40,000 Londoners were wiped out in 1665 and a year later the great fire tore through the city, but she still survived. As the city evolved from the turmoil of an epidemic and then ash, it rose again. The present St Paul’s Cathedral is testament to this. It left the medieval ages and golden years and went on to become the modern masterpiece everyone seems to love now. The impression I have is that much of London’s success can be put down to the Victorians. There may be similarities with the here and now as Britain looks to carve its new place in the world post Brexit. Perhaps some inspiration can be gleaned from its great and long-standing history. London is also home to some quirky street names.

I mentioned ‘wannabe‘ social media stars flocking to the city for the perfect location for food or spending money in the city’s fashionable drinking and eating establishments. Their arrival is clearly the city’s business gains. London is also one of the 4 fashion capitals of the world and is home to more shops than Paris. Oxford, Regent & Bond Street are famous as are Harrods in Knightsbridge, Saville Row or, my personal favourite, Covent Garden.  Fashion is so popular in London that it requires two weeks and not one in the calendar year for its fashion week. The city has also produced some famous names in the fashion world – Naomi Campbell and Kate Moss to name a couple.

With many people living, working or visiting the city, it needs a transport system like no other. Green taxes and overcrowded roads mean driving in London isn’t for the faint hearted. London is served by the largest city airport network in the world. The 6 airports that form this service to the city are Stansted, Luton, Southend, City, Gatwick and Heathrow. The London Underground with its famous map is an experience not to be missed when in the city. It’s the oldest metro system in the world, 402km long and boasts an incredible 270 stops. It is reported that 1.3 billon single trips are made each year on the ‘Tube’. It is also an interesting fact that more of the underground exists above ground. How could one write about transport and not mention London’s iconic Black cabs and red buses. They used to dominate the roads of the city, but now they are competing with uber, and bicycles as alternative forms of getting round. As the world looks to green alternatives, possibly the best way to explore the city is by foot. It’s certainly my favourite way to explore the place. You’ll hopefully be able to read my blogs soon of when I completed the Thames path which took me right through the heart of the city. The City is classified as a national forest. There are an estimated 8 and half million trees in the city with over 300 gardens. This equates to 40% of London being parkland.

So, as I draw this slightly longer blog to a close, I can only apologise for its length. Hopefully you can see how difficult I have found to condense this blog about the city, and I’ve barely scratched the surface. So, as I look to explore this great city in further detail, the capital of capitals, watch out for more and more blogs on this fascinating city. I will return to that famous quote ‘when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.’ I’m not tired and look forward to returning. Are you tired of London? Answers on a postcard (email) please….

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Eton Style

I love the Boatman for there I can eat in style. It is great to sit by the river in the grounds of the same pub mentioned in the piece on Windsor. I was in good company this time and the sun was shining. Lunch had been demolished and I toyed with the idea of indulging in some broken pavlova, mixed in with strawberries and lashings of cream. Instead I decided to cross over Windsor bridge and explore the town of Eton rather than indulge in its namesake dessert. My waistline almost expressed its gratitude for non-indulgence as I set about seeing if there was a link between the town and the dessert. It is rumoured that the dessert was to be served at some time during a cricket match between Eton and Harrow, it was dropped (hence the mess), and scooped up and served as it was.

I crossed the famous bridge, like so many have done before me. I expect that many visitors to Windsor have not gone on to explore the other side of river and the famous town but rather stay on the bridge and capture an image of the castle from there. Instead I left Windsor behind and started to make my way up the high street which is possibly like no other in the land but, sadly, on this day resembled more of a building site than a bespoke arcade. The ubiquitous British flags and bunting still adorned the street, providing much colour above as cars littered the street below. Whilst walking along the pavement I was drawn to some lonely books for sale outside a bookshop. I picked up one that said, “considered to be Dickens’ finest novel”. What a great purchase this may prove to be, as I look to create my own library and find a love of reading. Oh, where was this appetite when I was young? I went to purchase the book and grabbed a booklet regarding the “Eton walkway”. To my delight I was informed by the quaint man behind the desk that it was free. I was delighted that purchasing a book had resulted in the acquisition of a free guide to my afternoon of meanderings. So, I left with one of England’s finest works and a guide to show me the best bits of this town.

As I wandered up the high street, I was able to identify the points of interest as my step by step guide explained them all to me. A red pillar box, for example, once a common feature on the streets of our nation, only this one is a rare one indeed. Only 10 of these types of box exist in the country, and as a result it is grade II listed. A vertical slot for posting letters was puzzling to see. The guide took me further up the high street passing the Porny School towards Baldwin’s bridge. Just before the bridge are a couple of colourful shops that, on closer inspection, proved to be tailors. How does such a small town justify two tailors? Well this high street probably relies heavily on its ‘town and gown’ tag for just over Baldwin’s bridge lies Eton College.

The famous college was founded in 1440 by Henry VI and is dedicated to the Virgin Mary. As one approaches the college from the high street the first part one sees is the chapel. Not looking like a chapel, one can only assume what it’s like on the inside. The windows in the chapel were destroyed in 1940 during the bombing raids on England. On the outer edge of the chapel and, unlike much of the college, able to be seen by all is a plaque regarding William de Waynflete, a former bishop of Winchester, who paid for the completion of the chapel.

 

From here one approaches the main gates to the school.  It costs around £14,000 per term for education at the college. Originally 70 scholars were educated for free and provided with accommodation. Whether this is still the case in these financial times I’m not sure – I doubt it. Access to the school is very limited but a sneaky look through the grand gates will allow one to see the statue to the founding king in the centre of the quadrangle.

The college dominates much of the town, with 24 houses providing accommodation for over 1300 pupils. The mind begins to boggle at the finances this school operates with – oh how different to the budgets in state schools. On the other side of the road lies the second main quadrant of buildings for the school. Immediately you are drawn to what lies in front of the centre archway. What school do you know that has a historic cannon on display? A completely different world. It does provide wonderful photo opportunities as the marvellous stonework behind the cannon adds to the image.

The walkway then started to bring me out of the town. It was here that perhaps the finest view of the college was captured. As I stood there and took the picture I wondered if I was actually taking a picture of a college in Cambridge. Is there a link between the two establishments? It was also at this point I had passed some surprising iron rungs in the wall with my guidebook informing me that these are there to provide pupils access to the top of the wall to watch the ‘The Wall Game’. This takes place in the autumn term and is perhaps unique to this college.

The next part of the walkway involved me getting a little lost as I tried to pick up access to more of the buildings across the college’s greens. I eventually found my way back onto Common Lane which brought me back to the main college buildings and the top of the high street. It was here that I found ‘the burning bush’. Designed to help the boys cross the road safely, it was moved from its original location when the cannon was put in place. Now a significant landmark of the town and photographic opportunity, it also takes its place in front of a doomed building which bears similarities to that of Radcliffe Camera in Oxford.

Pressed for time, I return towards the river, passing some other points of interest which include the natural history museum and the museum of antiquities before coming across the church of St John. The church is now a shadow of former glories and has had to find a new way of surviving, the school coming to the rescue and converting it into accommodation and a local doctor’s surgery. Oh, how the religious landscape of this nation has changed.

My return to the river beneath Windsor castle completed the ‘Eton Walkway’. It had been an incredibly informative and pleasantly surprising walk. I left with another book for ‘my library’ and many happy memories. Anyone who visits Windsor must plan a longer trip than those arranged from London as they only give the visitor a couple of hours here. Windsor and Eton are worthy of more than a casual glance. Stay a night and spend some serious time here and you never know what you might find for across the river lies the town of Eton, dominated by a famous school and the town is associated with a dessert we all surely love. Why wouldn’t you want to explore Eton?

Eton, England, United Kingdom

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Busted Bradford

The first sight of Bradford was of a lonely chimney billowing out white clouds into the atmosphere. Evidently smoke was pumped from the many chimneys that once “adorned” this market and industrial town. The single chimney was a poignant reminder of the past and of the changes that this city has undergone. My expectations for this city were very low. It wasn’t one of those cathedral cities that are so rich in history and beauty. It was a town for many years before that wealth of 100 years ago brought about expansion. Nowadays Bradford is associated with its diverse cultural population and industrial heritage.

My arrival into the city did not endear me to the place – lorries, dodgy ring road (how do you know where the cars are coming from on these things?) An industrial heartland clearly devoid of any real beauty. Rumour has it that if you were to leave Bradford you would find some beauty on the Ilkley Moor or in Bronte Country. The drive in was atrocious as lorries vied to control the roads. Somehow, I managed to follow signs for the cathedral and escaped the mayhem of the dual carriage ways. I dumped the car which was relatively easily in the city centre in affordable car parking. A positive. The city is perhaps one of the country’s youngest. Up until 1733 it was merely a sleepy market town surrounded by trees. Oh, how those days are long gone! My first point of interest was the cathedral. One of England’s newest and smallest perhaps? It certainly wasn’t part of the blueprint that Henry VIII created all those centuries ago. In fact, this church didn’t become a cathedral until 1919 as a new diocese was created separate from that of Ripon, which in turn had been created due to the vast size of York’s diocese. There is no mention of Leeds here, so I wait with anticipation to see what that city delivers as Bradford clearly is more than a close neighbour. It is almost like two cities merged together.

As mentioned, the cathedral is more like a large church. It is no way like the glamourous cathedrals that this country boasts. From the outside impressions this was not going to be one that would become a favourite of mine. Perhaps its beauty was to be found on the inside. I stepped inside with intrigue and was immediately impressed to see the welcoming sign declaring no entrance fee! Well done. My visit inside interrupted some form of gathering, so I rather silently and fleetingly made my way round the edges. The inside is not the work of art that others boast; this was clean and pristine and almost new. It still had some fascinating stained-glass windows. One in particular was of interest as at the bottom it looked like Fountains Abbey(?). My whistle stop tour was brief unlike other cathedral visits; this one had no real appeal. The outside on one side looked like it had experienced TLC, the other side a polar opposite. Weeds and overgrown grass covered an unloved graveyard.

I left the cathedral in search of what might be the city’s charms. Would I find any, who knew? Its reputation didn’t promise many. But, isn’t that the fun of travelling and exploring? I immediately came across the main shopping complex, a modern monstrosity which somehow seemed like a clinically clean establishment in an otherwise dirty environment. I was immediately drawn to ‘to let’ signs in a window. Was this a sign of things to come or the ever-increasing confirmation that our high street is dying. You could say that the internet is the cancer that is destroying town life. Every now and then councils and governments give these towns a fresh hope of new life after a makeover, but slowly and surely their chances of survival decreases by the day. To get to the city centre I came around the Kala Sangam, an art centre. Lying in between the new mall and Kala Sangam a statue to the WE Forster (who he is – I don’t know; a search on the internet shows that he was an industrialist, philanthropist and generally good guy). In passing I read about another good guy (still with us) from further up country who is trying to revitalise a town, the name of which escapes me. In an interview he described the word philanthropist as a ‘vomit-inducing’ word. Very interesting coming from one who wishes to plough some of his wealth back into society. Back to Bradford. In glorious sunshine this statue gave a positive feel to the centre. A quick walk through the modern hustle and bustle and I was off to find the city park and town hall. It was here that you can begin to see where Bradford’s reputation lies. Buildings not in use, lost souls wandering the streets aimlessly, a prolific police presence. Now I was beginning to see where the city’s tarnished reputation came from. I felt like a foreigner as two distinct cultures are evident. I was amazed to pass a cycle shop that displayed a sign claiming that this was the city of cycling. A thousand bikes in Amsterdam or Beijing it was not. I can’t recall seeing anyone pedalling.

I won’t say this was my most treasured or favourite city walks, there was a fear that accompanied my every step. There was no clear heart and soul of the city. Instead a trail of mess, abandoned stores, homeless people and carefree individuals strolling about the place. Also throw in an evident mixture of cultures and it made for a diverse spectacle. I walked round, passed Bradford’s idea of the flatiron building from New York and made my way to the town hall which was something that you would associate with our friends across the pond than a city in England. This is clearly a focal point of the city centre. Next to it lies the modern enhancement of a Mirror pool. On arrival I thought it was a puddle left by the heavy rain, but it was put there on purpose. When the wind died down it did provide puddlegram opportunities of the highest order. A park in the city centre naturally attracts all that’s good and bad with a city, people happily mingle on lunch breaks on one side as rowdy and noisy kids boom out their modern rap music for all to hear. A pleasant and yet equally forgettable experience.

From here I made my way to the theatre Alhambra. Its appearance is more in line with that of a mosque than a west end theatre. It was perhaps surprising to see my favourite west end shows advertised on the outside – ‘The Lion King’. Directly next to it is the science and media museum. If more time was available this should be visited as it’s free to enter and has links to the city’s history of film and photography. Lying in between the two (the museum & the theatre) are the war memorials and a Victoria statue.

Bradford became wealthy in Victorian times. Perhaps they thought she was recognisable. The wool mills that made it a virtual capital of the world clearly brought wealth and prosperity. Sadly, this wealth looks a thing of the past. A visit to the industrial museum shows the power that once was associated with this place. Old machinery is now a thing of heritage keepsake as more modern advancements mean these machines are redundant. A visit to the museum shows the size of these enormous, “satanic mills” that were surely a death trap to most but, the sale of the products they made lined the pockets of a few. There are many information signs confirming the perils and dangers of working in such an environment. Children were sold to the mills in order to grow personal income. How times have changed! Health and safety, slavery, equality and working rights personnel, had they existed, would have had a field day. There were other exhibitions in the museum that provided insight to Bradford’s association with cars. It was a pleasurable to admire the quality of craftsmanship. My short visit gave me enough of an insight into the tough and hard upbringings that the people of the city must have endured.

So, my voyage into the unknown has provided me with much food for thought. With expectations low, a reputation it clearly needs to shake up, the city provided many a good photo, but that shouldn’t muddle the mind. For this is a place that shouldn’t be visited alone and with your senses focussed. It has given me some sight into the industrial revolution some 200yrs ago, but as we now encounter a technological & social revolution, the similarities with a past industrial revolution might soon be there for all to see with the demise of the high street.

Bradford, England, United Kingdom

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Lexicography in Lichfield

It was on a cold and wet winter’s day that I discovered Lexicography in Lichfield. By the time I had left I felt a warm affection for Lichfield. I still can’t believe that I have found another cathedral city. I thought I had visited most of them already, but this is another one to add to that list.


The term ‘city’ is a word we associate with large metropolitan monstrosities like Birmingham or Southampton, but England’s unique history allows for some truly interesting places to be called a city. How can a city with 10% of the required population for modern towns applying for city status be called a city?? A quick tour of Lichfield is just that. It is obvious to realise that it’s not very big but for a couple of centuries it had something its more illustrious neighbour didn’t have. When Henry VIII redrew the religious map, Lichfield was one of six towns which was given city status based on it having a cathedral. It now sits in the shadows of England’s second city Birmingham; whose growth and wealth meant its population of well in excess of 300,000 would ensure it was given city status. By the way, this rule was brought in by King Edward VII. Now hidden by its noisy neighbour it further illustrates the decline in religious power conceding it to that of commercial and population factors. Surely it is for this reason that the very existence of this charming place is known by only few people. I certainly knew nothing of it until I discovered it on a work trip and as part of my mission to visit every city in England.

The city itself has some interesting history associated with it. Once a prominent pilgrimage site, it was laid to siege three times during the civil war and is the birthplace of Dr Samuel Johnson. More on the cathedral and the good doctor later, but Dr Johnson claimed that Lichfield was a city of philosophers!!

Lichfield was founded around 600AD. There is some evidence to suggest that this was a trading post for the Romans on their way from London to Chester. Evidence is scarce for this hypothesis. St Chad later in the same century set up his bishop’s seat here. This led to it becoming a focal point of Christianity in the Kingdom of Mercia. Mercia was one of 7 Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in the country and along with Wessex and Northumberland was considered to be in the top three. It is argued that its capital, Tamworth, was the capital of the whole of England at a time. As a result of its high profile the town of Lichfield becoming a pilgrimage site as the remains of St Chad were buried here.

When the Norman’s took over the rule of this country, they commissioned a Norman cathedral to be built at the site. This cathedral would evolve over the years and would appear to have been a fortification as much as a place of worship! It took over 150 years to build and is apparently one of England’s smallest. This is always hard to gauge when you visit these places. The vast size of them is awe inspiring and one dares to think about how on earth they were ever built. Walking around the cathedral you notice that the spire looks hollow. Perhaps it fell down and an alternative was put in its place. The front façade is captivating. There are 113 figurines that have been carved in stone. The people represented are a mixture of kings of the lands to bishops most of whom I had never heard. A visit inside this huge space makes you feel very small in such a vacuum. Henry VIII of course had to have his say – he removed the shrine to St Chad. Some of the relics destined for destruction at that time were preserved and can be found in nearby St Chad’s in Birmingham. Upon leaving the cathedral and directly opposite it is ‘the close’ which is a collection of old cottages. The cathedral is on a slight hill and it was no doubt built here as the higher ground was chosen to build a stronghold to wave off attacks. The town was loyal to the king during the civil war. The town had been a staging post since Roman times, so was of importance for conveyance of troops and supplies. The hardships of the war were evident. By now Lichfield had become a city and one that was fought over and bruised. The cathedral itself was no different. Throughout its long history it has changed hands more than once. Lichfield’s troubles during the Civil War were exacerbated by the fact that the people were loyal to parliament and the authorities loyal to the king. A visit to the cathedral is fascinating as tales are shared with rumours of shots being fired from the spire and evidence of damage to the spire by way of shots fired in retaliation.


I finally managed to drag myself away and make my way into the small city centre. At its heart is the guildhall which is now a library.

It was next door to the guildhall that I discovered a fascinating museum. The rain was pouring down now and heavier than previously making a tour of unpleasant. I was looking for some respite and the mention of free entry on the sign enticed me in. Lichfield is the birthplace of Dr Samuel Johnson. To my shame, I knew nothing of this man. The grade 1 listed building was a trader’s townhouse but is now a museum dedicated to the great man. In 1777 he had this to say, “Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”

A pleasant man provided an enthusiastic welcome and I was in!! An informative video along with many information display boards meant for an educational visit as I learnt what a lexicographer is. Lexicography is the compiling of dictionaries.

The doctor was the son of an impoverished bookseller before he made his way to London to make his fame and fortune. Before he made that trip to London, he took on the role of a teacher. One of his pupils, David Garrick, was to go on and become one of the leading actors of that time. The theatre in the town is named after him I believe. The doctor made many other memorable sayings. There was one in particular that stood out and was quoted on the wall, “You can never be wise unless you love reading”. I will admit to never have loved either reading or wanting to be wise, but, in a depressing modern world, inspiration has to be taken from these philosophical words. I must make another visit sometime for further inspiration.

So as my time in Lichfield draws to a close and further travels have to be made, I leave with this thought taken from a conversation the doctor had with James Boswell (he wrote his biography – it is said to be greatest in the land and surely something to add to my reading list), “I lately took my friend Boswell and showed him genuine civilised life in an English provincial town. I turned him loose at Lichfield.” What a sensible and profitable thing to do.

Lichfield, England, United Kingdom

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Excellent Exeter

My meanderings take me to another of these small and charming English cities, excellent Exeter. This city oozes much charm and packs a lot of character into its relatively small city centre which is enclosed by a wall. Comparisons could easily be made with other cities that have recently been visited in these shores – their similarities are startling. It’s surprising, that in my mission to visit every city in England, I haven’t been here sooner. About an hour’s drive from my current home, it is the birthplace of my mother and as a result was a regular destination for my school holidays.

Surrounded by beautiful Devonshire countryside, the city’s location has been founded and forged over the centuries close to the river Exe. Unlike other cities the river doesn’t run through its heart, but the river has still played a key part in the city’s rise and fall. Perhaps the city centre is on raised land that overlooks this river and would therefore provide a strategic position. A walk down to the quayside would confirm its elevation above the river. The river and quayside like most other places in England would provide much of the wealth and regeneration of the city over the centuries before the railways came.

Exeter’s wealth was built around tin in the 11th century and wool in the 18th century. Exports at this time relied heavily on waterways and ports. Exeter is a good way from the English Channel so use of the estuary (at Topsham) and eventually manmade canals gave it two thriving ports. The first port used in Exeter wasn’t the quayside that I had discovered in the city centre but at Topsham on the outskirts. If more time was available perhaps a walk from the city to Topsham along the river might be advised, to explore and learn about this key part of the city’s history. When the Romans arrived at Exeter, they used Topsham as the port, although the river was navigable into the city centre. Over time, arguments ensued, greedy people who owned the port did strange things (weirs, mills and the like), ownership traded hands, which eventually led to a canal being built in the 15th century. This was expanded and developed in the 16th century as trade with Europe had grown. Due to the canal bypassing Topsham its port was ignored, and boats now embarked at the quayside near the city centre. This resulted in the first brick building in Exeter, the customs house. What was once a place for weighing and paperwork of imports and exports, it is now home to a museum/activity centre documenting this part of the city’s unique history. Sadly, time or access didn’t allow me to visit it. The rest of the quayside represents nothing of a port these days, canoes and kayaks the only noticeable boats in the harbour but it has undergone regeneration as quirky shops, eateries and drinking establishments adorn the industrious quayside to amuse this modern generation.

The quayside was a fascinating discovery to make about the city. I’d imagine I had been as a kid but it’s an area that I have rather disappointingly overlooked in recent times. As you leave the quayside you have to walk upwards towards the city. This confirms the raised hill that would have overlooked the river. It is here that you get your first glimpses of the city walls. The charm of the city is encapsulated like other favourite cities by these protective city walls. Exeter’s walls certainly aren’t as glamourous or accessible as others seen. They certainly seem a thing of nostalgia and neglect. The best views of the walls can be found situated in between Northernhay and Rougemont gardens. I rather stumbled across this tranquil set of gardens as I tried to get off the bustling high street. It was here that I discovered Exeter’s castle. Not much to report as I firstly found signs and information relating to history of the Castle and the former gatehouse. Access beyond this wasn’t easily found and not much sign of a keep. The parks are a combination of the former city walls, flowers and several statues. I would imagine on a nice summer’s day a perfect spot for relaxation and views of the city. Sadly, on my rainy autumnal day the views were washed away and I had the place pretty much to myself, each and every cloud.

Exeter was thriving in the 11th century, tin trade brought wealth and prosperity. In turn there was a  church established. This led to Exeter boasting as many as 30 churches in the city centre. Clearly not all remain as England’s turbulent history would impact on their legacy. I have discovered that as a result of this one of the streets in the city housed religious people and was referred to as ‘street of priests’. At the heart of the city lies its impressive cathedral. England is perhaps blessed with so much history. These cathedrals are a great demonstration of England’s turbulent and interesting past. The cathedral is surrounded by a close, entrances and walls. There is much to learn and discover about the cathedral and this particular area. It involves plots, executions and a royal visit to sort the mess out. As a result of that 12th century drama the building of a wall was commissioned by the King around the cathedral which had some 7 gates to provide access not only to the cathedral but the building yard that had caused the drama. A step inside the cathedral will lead to the discovery of a disappointing £7.50 entrance fee. The damp and wet weather outside meant that exploring this cathedral was a must, so payment was made to avoid traipsing around in the wet. Once the customary photos had been captured and the whole place had been explored it was time to get back outside. There is a green that surrounds one side of the cathedral which on sunnier days surely would be much more appealing. Along one side of the green is a row of houses that lead from one of the mentioned gates and merge into a warren of other buildings now housed in the city centre. A fire ravaged a hotel here recently (the oldest hotel in England?); building work has begun as it tries to return to former glories.

 

Exploring this intertwined maze of buildings is an absolute pleasure. Modern buildings hide the old ones. It is difficult to view these now as Exeter’s appeal for shoppers has enticed everyone in and people walk past carrying loads of bags. The new modern shopping complex is built a stone’s throw away from the cathedral yet has still managed to keep the ruins as part of its meandering landscape. Exploring here leads to many points of interest – alleyways, ruins, etc. – and my inquisitive nature leads me to explore some old churches and pubs. St. Martins church was a particular favourite and rumours are one of the oldest in the city. Its close proximity to the cathedral I found rather puzzling. The city has undergone some serious renovation in my short life time that I can visualise and remember. It is regarded as a excellent place to shop, wine and dine. How many of those enjoying those leisurely activities are blissfully unaware of the intriguing history and beauty in the city.

So excellent Exeter, a regular childhood destination, and place of former work has been added to my ever growing list of favourite English cities. I look forward to returning and exploring it again and again.

Exeter, England, United Kingdom

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Ripon Rising

Here I was leaving Ripon after a pleasant evening spent there after work and blissfully unaware that I was leaving an English city until I walked pass a sign that said, “cathedral city of the Yorkshire dales”. On this mission to write a blog about every city in England I really should do some study and form a definitive list in order to start planning rather than just stumbling across these places. As I walked around, I genuinely thought I was in a small town that boasted a cathedral but had not got city status. My mind was a muddle as I tried to think about what gives a city its status and ultimately forgot that this might just be one. In an attempt to enjoy my evening, I wasn’t going to turn to my phone to give me the answer, although I did ultimately.

This small and charming cathedral city has left me a little dumbfounded. So small in size and in the middle of nowhere – how did it come about? Was it created as part of a religious area? How comes a large cathedral was placed here? There are no initial and clear signs of industrial links, albeit that as I left there, I could see a canal and railway. Could its existence be traced back through farming and markets? How blind to some things I had been as my eyes were focused on a safe arrival into the city much earlier. I have so many questions as to its creation.

Upon leaving my car, the first stop was the cathedral. It seemed small compared to some, simplistic even, with nothing grand about its appearance apart from the autumn sunshine gently warming its outer shell. This is written not to take away from Rippon’s cathedral but there are certainly more attractive cathedrals in these lands. I took those dreaded steps towards the doors to see if I was going to be charged to enter. Donations only!! Well done, but once inside one is immediately drawn to the way by which these places now have to find a way of surviving – in Ripon’s case it was an art gallery on either side of the main aisles. Diversification.

Some time was spent around the cathedral capturing pictures and finally I was led to the crypt. Although I went around it backwards (entrance not that clear) I wasn’t that interested in what I saw. Upon completing some research later, I discovered that this was in fact a 7th century crypt!! Its small size meant pictures were not achievable, hence my lack of interest. Not one to fuss, I didn’t return to take a picture upon hearing rumours that this is the oldest in the land.

As these autumn evenings start to draw in, time was pressing and as this was a work trip in what I thought was a town, I marched on in search of dinner rather than fully exploring this charming Yorkshire delight. In my search of dinner, I came across the Market Square. Almost completely surrounded by buildings, there are modern roads that now enlarge the breaks in the complete market square vista. A tall and commanding pillar/statue guards the square around it. The city still to this day is full of tradition as at 9 o’clock town’s horn blower blows his horn to the four corners of the square. This tradition (the world’s longest-running unbroken daily ceremony) spans some 1100 years as is referred to as “setting the watch”. As I walk around, I notice a sign that states about rebels gathering in the square in November 1569, after capturing Barnard Castle. By January 1570 hundreds of these rebels had been hung in the square for their rebellion against Henry VIII’s dissolution.

Close to the city lies Fountains Abbey, something that must surely be explored upon returning to this area. This is a fine example of the footprint/legacy that Henry VIII left on this country. The ruins that remain still show the sheer size that abbeys/monasteries once were and, consequently, the power they once had. I would imagine that if they could be lined up against each other that Fountains Abbey would dwarf Ripon’s cathedral. It adds a layer of intrigue and one that must be explored upon returning. Was the cathedral created after the destruction of the abbey or do their histories coincide? Clearly there are signs of a church being at the site of the cathedral for many years. I look forward to discovering more of this history.

So, as I sit and write this blog, I’m still in shock that I have managed to visit another city without realising I was even in one. I’ve already stated my desire to return to Yorkshire and explore this part of the country in greater detail. Ripon has given added incentive as clearly there are some delightful areas to explore within a 10-mile radius. So, as Ripon builds to be a part of the cycling world championships, I hope I find the time to be able to recognise it on TV as the cyclists fly by. Ripon Rising I look forward to returning.

Ripon, England, United Kingdom

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Characterful Chester

It has taken two thousand years to create the Chester of today! The Romans established it as a port some 2 millennia ago and set up a fort here. The area was the ideal location for a gateway to the north. A lot has happened in Britain in the intervening time but there are still some Roman remains to be seen throughout the city. Parts of the wall are 2 millennia old. An amphitheatre can just about be made out along with some foundations in another location. Notes by one area close to the present town hall declare that the ruins on display are the remains of the heart of the fortress located at Deva.

 

My knowledge of English history prior to 1066 is much weaker than that of the post 1066 era though this says very little. It was in Saxon times that Chester’s first cathedral was built; it remains to this day but in the form of ruins next to the St John the Baptist church. Entry to these ruins is free and there are notes on display boards to assist people like me who have little understanding of this part of British history.

What was incredible to believe, as there was no evidence to back it up, was that this was once a key port! Chester sits on the river Dee which back then had not silted up, so it was accessible by boat. It was possible to reach Ireland by boat from here. During these times the city of Liverpool was nothing but 7 streets so, at that time, it was strategically more important than its famous Mersey neighbour. I have no idea what silting is (the dictionary says, ‘the process of becoming filled or blocked with silt and further says that silt is fine sand, clay, or other material carried by running water and deposited as a sediment, especially in a channel or harbour), but this was the main cause of the decline of Chester as a  harbour. As a result, docks were removed with the last one going as late as the 1960s.

The river passes around half the city and the city’s racecourse. This charming setting seems to be slightly neglected. There is a noticeable lack of waterfront pubs and eateries which mean that there are not large gatherings of people here. That is to be considered as an advantage. Perhaps this will come. After walking along the riverbank for a short while, the path and banks are overgrown. Perhaps this is the reason for people staying in the city centre. I can see that improvements could be made along these banks to entice folks away from the hustle and bustle.

In spite of this there are some iconic bridges to explore. The Grosvenor bridge, from which, incidentally, a superb view of the racecourse is possible, is impressive. It is one of 3 main bridges across the river Dee with the majority of traffic crossing into the city via this Grosvenor bridge. Walking across the Old Dee bridges gives a view of one of the four gates through the city walls. The city boasts the most complete walls in the country and are a wonderful way to start exploring the city as they give an idea of its size, structure and layout. With all walls there must be entrance points, and as my meanderings grow, I will begin to learn more about this, but a common theme might be that these gates are located at the points of a compass.

And so to the walls. As I trod along these walls it made me think about their very existence. Were they built to keep an enemy away and protect all that was encompassed by them? Why have they not remained in all cities? When walking these walls don’t be afraid to leave them for you never know what you might find either side of them. A castle? A blue coat hospital? Cannons that were used long ago? Walking along the walls as best as I could (repair works while I was there) I came across a round tower in the north eastern corner. It was constructed during the reign of Charles I, and now aptly named King Charles Tower. The city was loyal to Charles during the Civil War during the 17th century. It is alleged that Charles stood atop this tower and watched his army defeated at the battle of Rowton Moor. It would be difficult see as far as Rowton from this vantage point, but it may well have been that back then he saw soldiers returning from the affray.

Inside the walls is where Chester’s true charm is to be found in, believe it or not, its distinguished shopping area!! The iconic black and white, half-timbered, buildings have lower levels that are shops. It is almost as if delightful architecture and functionality have become entangled through dreamy, though no doubt deliberate, design and that these buildings have stood the test of time. The double delight of the 700 year old row galleries captivate your immediate attention. Their brilliant design was surely light years ahead of its time. These black and white façades still remain in the modern dysfunctional British high streets. Chester seems to have a lure for shoppers and results in busy and overcrowded streets. As these old designs have remained, they were clearly not designed for the amount of people that now overcrowd these streets and there is a definite sense of being hemmed in.

Not one for shopping and always pressed for time in these city visits I made my way to its cathedral. These cathedrals are located at the centre of most cities, and what were once the places where the heartbeat of the city was felt, now, sadly, sit as mausoleums. Chester’s cathedral was not one of my favourites. It is dark, dingy and ugly and could do with a good sandblast. Inside its dark nature owes much to its Victorian ‘restoration’. It’s home to colourful windows and is perhaps famous for its choir. It has weekly organ recitals, but, sadly, my visit tied in with some rather loud and dreary practice. A dour organ practice aside, there was the dreamy shopping mall, still sturdy walls that give the city a real sense of stronghold and leaves you captivated. A city etched with parts from the whole of Britain’s 2000-year history is really a ‘must do’ visit for all.

Chester, England, United Kingdom

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Central Coventry

The mission is to blog about every city in England. It has gathered pace recently assisted by my work taking me to “Central Coventry”. The title of this blog has been chosen as it is to do with the most central city in England.

 

As my meanderings take me around the country to see each city, I’m sure that there will be winners and losers. My views for each place may not be shared by all but here goes as far as Coventry is concerned which I rank down at the bottom of the list of best cities. Perhaps it was depression brought on by the rain bringing a damp end to the finale of another summer or an emotional state brought on by the civil war and battle lines that MPs were drawing up at Parliament. Whatever the cause, Coventry did not do anything to ameliorate the situation and was a major disappointment. Perhaps another visit in more favourable light and with stability in the political world to bring the mind on an even keel may do it justice….

I had been many times before. There is a family friend who lives there, and an educational childhood meant that I had been privileged to see the place from earliest days. Sadly, memories of the city itself do not abound (where is that childhood blog?).

I managed to find some free parking. As an aside, free parking in city centres might make people more inclined to visit. I strolled towards the city centre via an underground pass presumably under the ring road. It was here that the first impressions were made. One never gets a second chance to make a good first impression. Coventry’s first impression made a lasting impact and left me feeling rather uneasy and, for the first time in a while, unsafe. Homeless people were living in the shelter provided by the pathway under the road. Their ‘beds’ were made up and, clearly, there were no facilities.  Obviously, there was no bathroom and the stench of urine was pungent. Their contribution to this walkway was to leave needles for, no doubt, drug habits. What a terrible sight. As I discussed with a friend the other day, how did our society let it get to this?!

Rapidly leaving what seemed like a crime scene, I followed the signs to the city centre. I noticed a half-battered statue which looked like it had seen better days. This was another proof of the ignorance of our past. I had some strange looks as I tried to get a picture. Further investigation showed the statue to be of James Starley, creator of the bicycle. Coventry became a major bicycle manufacturer which then led to Coventry becoming a major centre in the British motor industry. This led to the formation of a British brand of car, Rover. I can still recall seeing many of these cars on the road when I was younger but as more countries have created their own car brands, so the British ones have almost disappeared, as we now import cars from all over the world. There are still some surviving parts of this legacy; Jaguar has its headquarters in this area and the transport museum shows the motor history associated with the city.

The city centre is now a polar opposite to bygone days with shops selling modern fashion brands, intertwined with coffee shops and abandoned stores. There are people off their heads screaming and shouting about needing a toilet for all the word to see and hear. All round homeless people lie waiting for the generosity of many, yet so few of that many are prepared to give. People are connected like robots, but, alarmingly, with an inability to switch off and see what is all round them. Where did it all go so wrong? What can be done? I was very harsh about Vancouver having this problem, but I also said that this city didn’t stand alone in this world.

At the heart of the city centre is a statue to Lady Godiva. Legend has it she rode through the city naked, only covered by her long hair to stand up against the taxes her husband placed on the city. The event took place circa 1066-1086, and the statue is there to remind the interested visitor the history behind the city. Although history is perhaps a big game of Chinese whispers, the legend has been remembered to this day. Leaving this statue you are immediately drawn to the dominating features of this city, the last remains of part what was once England’s finest medieval city. Hitler and the Nazi air raids led to the “Coventry blitz” or “operation moonlight sonata” and this onslaught put paid to the major part of Coventry’s past as the blitz was one of the most destructive of its kind. Coventry’s central location and supplier of many things required for the war meant it was a prime target. The devastation caused is particularly shown by the old cathedral the remains of which still stand. Sadly, a lot of the damages caused were beyond repair and a new city needed to be rebuilt.

Perhaps the best way to describe the old cathedral is walls but no roof. It is as if the roof has been blown off with the outside wall structure being defiant. Perhaps this has been left as a reminder of not just the human life that was lost in the war, but the devastation of lands. The city decided that instead of rebuilding the cathedral it would build a new one next to it. A step inside this soulless modern monstrosity confirmed my opinion that we really must appreciate those incredible cathedrals that have survived time, and carve such an identity on our cityscapes.

Located around the edges of the cathedral lie the 14th century guild hall and Holy Trinity church. Both buildings are excellent displays of ancient architecture. I would appeal to anyone to visit both, not just for a civic ceremony but to witness such architecture.

So it is with slight sadness in my heart, that Coventry didn’t steal it, but instead left me questioning the state of the world in which we live.

Coventry, England, United Kingdom

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Magnificent Montréal

Founded on an island by the French in the 17th century on the confluence of the Rivers Ottawa and St. Lawrence is the Canadian city of Montréal. An incredible amalgamation of cultures cut a new identity in this modern Canadian landscape. What was once an economic powerhouse Montréal is now associated the harmonising of English and French speaking communities despite their obvious cultural differences. You’d think that there would be rigid divisions between these communities, but they’re one proud city.

 

I won’t focus on the cultural aspects but on old and new Montréal. I will be brief on the new as it is not my cup of tea. It possesses many of the issues seen all too frequently around the world -pollution, waste, drugs, ignorance, commercialisation and globalisation. I don’t know what the problems were when the new Montréal was built, but to be digging most of it up illustrates that planning and wastefulness is not a modern phenomenon. So lets put to bed my disdain of this area and focus on the area I loved.

Old Montréal has somehow managed to retain its character. The old town was established as a catholic village along the banks of the St. Lawrence river. Missionary efforts failed to flourish meaning it needed a new way to survive. That came, as so many places in Canada, through fur-trading. The wealth and prosperity that particular boom brought meant that fine stone buildings and houses were built. Montréal also established one of the most important inland harbours in North America by the 19th Century. Booms don’t and can’t last forever – world history testifies to that. Montreal was no exception. By the 20th century the city had fallen into decline. From 1980 the city has had its own renaissance. Many of the 18th century buildings were saved and given a new lease of life for what was built back then no longer fitted in with what is needed today.

What there is now is a remarkable combination of old and new, as restaurants, bistros and boutiques merge with wonderful architecture. Yes, you still have your tourist shops, littered with ‘Canadian’ products made in China. My suggestion is to search for and buy the authentic Canadian goods that may be found on the shelves. A conversation ensued with the shop keeper, but I soon ran out of what little French I know though not before he had accepted payment from my credit card. It was then that he changed to English to say something about his wife once working for English speakers.

Canada doesn’t do the “pubs” to which I am accustomed. Invariably the establishments that exist are bar/restaurants with the main focus on food. I had some puzzled looks as I would just enter and only want a beer. One must indulge in some of Montreal’s cuisine, poutine and (a recommendation) a smoked meat sandwich.

The architecture is similar to that in Quebec City (French influence) and was a pleasure to study. The Notre Dame Basilica is worth the entrance fee. As you step into this cathedral, be amazed by the almost ocean looking sanctuary and altar piece. The cathedral probably survives on those entrance fees and not from contributions from regular and faithful attendees. It is the same the world over but aren’t we glad that these places are preserved even if they resemble museums and sometimes even mausoleums. Down the rue Notre-Dame (one could be mistaken for thinking one was in Paris) the Hôtel de Ville captures your attention before Montréal’s own Nelson’s column takes your eye. Ignore the wonderful street entertainers, (for a second you might think you were in Covent Garden in London) and question why it is that one of England’s most famous seamen has a statue there. This evidence confirms the sense of intertwined cultures that have shaped this city.

The aforementioned harbour is no longer the trading post it once was. Now it has undergone serious modernisation as the entertainment features that the youth of today crave have sprung up to ensure its sustainability. A railway line runs parallel with the river and splits the glorious old town from this modern hub of craziness. An entrance to Chapelle Notre Dame-de-Bonsecours provides a view of this divide between the harbour and old Montreal. As you stand there and look across old Montreal you could be mistaken for thinking that you are looking across a city in Europe, as spires, domes and religious buildings dominate the skyline.

Before I left this city, there were still two places that I felt must be visited. A walk to Mont Royal and Oratoire Saint Joseph. I’d been to both before, but both places should be considered on a first visit to the city. On arriving in the city in glorious sunshine I dumped my bags and hiked up “la montagne”. This urban escape provides Montrealers with some much-needed green space in the city. Standing at only 234m high, nature manages to provide the city’s best view point. Oratoire Saint Joseph is perhaps the perfect spot to watch the sunset in the city. After climbing the 283 steps to the top I sat amazed as the sun set. Witnessing behaviour that perhaps wasn’t in tone with the location, it was still a romantic end for my visit to the city.

I’d been before, but Magnificent Montréal, you were worth the second visit.

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Vancouver Vanity

I’d heard so much of this city prior to arriving there! In this modern world it’s hard to ignore the information and opinions that are so readily available. Sadly, with access to all that knowledge and information at the tips of my fingers, I wish I hadn’t read or believed what I read! Sadly, preparation can lead, transmogrify even, into expectations. It is my sad experience that expectation all too often leads to disappointment. They tell me that Vancouver is one of the best cities in the world in which to live. So, I arrived in the city full of hope only for those expectations to dissipate on sight of the place. I left underwhelmed. Let me elaborate and give another take on Vancouver.

Vancouver’s is set at the bottom of the mountains that almost rise from the sea and this means that land is at a premium resulting, predictably for these parts, in heavily populated skyscrapers. Vancouver is similar to New York in this respect with both places dominated by ugly skyscrapers. NYC may be a concrete jungle, but Vancouver is like a solar farm of glass. I struggled to find Vancouver’s heart and soul and had real issues trying to identify with the city. I realise that I am starting to sound a bit like our Prince Charles and his famous use of the phrase ‘monstrous carbuncle’ in relation to what was then modern architecture. I am amazed to discover that it is 35 years since he made his speech. The city lacked any form of cultural identity, yet another of these modern cities around the world. Was this characterless jungle due to the city’s relatively young age? Was it its multicultural population (surely this should give rise to diversity in design?)? Was it its modernity? Did I react to its drug smelling community? Was it the dirt and smell that got to me? I’m searching for the answers as to why I was disappointed.

 

Its location is prime for exporting Canadian products to Asia. This results in a busy and productive port and many photographic opportunities of dirty great boats waiting in the harbour. The recurring theme from this trip has surely to be about how we are damaging the world. As photogenic as these colourful behemoths were, the sight of them was a massive reminder the damages being caused.

The bays represent the mouth of Vancouver. The boats sail past the lungs of the city – Stanley Park. The green space there perhaps provides the heart, Downtown, its much-needed oxygen to breathe. Although the trees lined along the roads in parts of Downtown provide tiny air-sacks they are trapped by the glass monstrosities above.

South from Stanley Park, following the edge of the bay, leads to my favourite area of the city. As English Bay leads to False Creek, there are a number of sheltered harbours, lovely walks, idyllic “bars” and views aplenty. This really is the best of Vancouver. Why everyone isn’t at Sunset Beach in the evening I will never know as the sun paints the sky a crimson orange and it provides the perfect spot to relax and reflect.

As for the rest of main Vancouver – the suburbs of Gastown, Yaletown and Downtown in particular – which I had hoped to deliver so much, all failed spectacularly. Dirt, smell, homelessness, litter – it was far from the spectacular impression that had been created in my mind. At times I thought, ‘Am I actually walking around in a Canadian city?’ The city boasts one of the largest Chinatowns in North America, an area of no personal interest, but adds to the common lack of English being spoken. What is becoming noticeable in cities these days is the alarming number of homeless people and Vancouver was no exception but the scale of it here is greater than that seen in any other city visited recently. Are drugs the cause? The addicts’ erratic behaviour and way of survival wasn’t pleasant to see and was there for all to see. Is this now a global problem that is spiralling upwards in terms of quantity of addicts and spiralling downwards in terms of ambiance quality? Or are such people victims of a society that places so much store by work and wealth creation leading to the polarisation of its members. Perhaps a lot of the misery is self-inflicted but the juxtaposition of clinical, pristine, shiny, corporation buildings and the filthy conditions in downtown Vancouver is horrendous.

North of the city the Seabus (not a ferry) operates across to Lynn Quay. An up and coming area with a charming market, restaurants and a lovely view of the cityscape. It was from here I was recommended to get the bus to Lynn Canyon. Well worth it with free entry an added bonus.

South of the city water taxis work around the heavily populated harbour. I didn’t take advantage but rather stretched my legs and walked both sides. There are three main bridges providing both pedestrians and vehicles a way across the water. At the far end is the BC place stadium, a truly soulless place. Home to the Whitecaps, it seems an expensive place for just “football”. I hope other sports use and fill it to capacity to generate the atmosphere it warrants for its considerable investment.

So as my time in Vancouver comes to end, I head back to Sunset Beach to watch the sun set yet again. The train ride across Canada awaits. Vancouver, I’m sorry, I still can’t work out what all the fuss is about.

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

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Whistle stop Winnipeg

This great Canadian railway odyssey has thrown up many delightful charms and none more so than the City of Winnipeg. There is more to come.

Situated in the heart of Canada, you can begin to see why it’s such a strategic location. It’s remarkable to think I never really knew of its existence! It’s perhaps the combination of the lack of expectation and knowledge that give these delightful discoveries such unbridled joy.

Blessed in glorious spring sunshine but with rumours of -2°C outside the train, I disembarked and went off in search of new found discoveries. My time was limited as after all we were on a railway adventure. A quick dash soon led me to the river. The river provides the backdrop for most of the history associated with the city. In fact there is a confluence of two rivers (Red and Assiniboine) which is referred to locally as ‘The Forks’. It was here that I was able to capture the skyline of the city and found some prose about freedom based on gulls seen as a youngster with her mother at Provencher Bridge in a work entitled Street of Riches by Gabrielle Roy.

“Toward the middle of the Provencher Bridge,
Maman and I found ourselves surrounded by sea gulls;
they flew low over the Red River.
Maman took my hand and clasped it tight,
as though to convey to me a movement of her soul.
A hundred times a day Maman got a lift of joy from the world around us;
sometimes it was nothing more than the wind or the flight of a bird that delighted her.
Leaning on the parapet we watched the gulls for a long while.
And all of a sudden, on that bridge, Maman told me that she would like to be able to go whenever and wherever she might choose.”

Over on the other side I was immediately drawn to a graveyard housing a good number of grave stones and which led you along a path to a ruined church/cathedral! I was fascinated to see these ruins, the result of a fire that destroyed the building in the 1970s. A more modern church has been built behind the ruins which have remained as part of the architect’s new vision of the church, a phoenix from the ashes if you like.

To the right of this is a charming house, which is now a museum. Sat in front of it is a statue to Louis Riel. Louis led the Red Rebellion for the local provisional government against the growing number of newcomers from Eastern Canada. Garnet Wolseley was sent to crush the rebellion – there was no evidence of him here!! This rebellion resulted in Manitoba then becoming the fifth province of Canada.

As time was short, a quick dash along the river and back to the station was made. Around the concert area which led back to the train station there were some old Canadian Pacific carriages resting in the car park. Other parts of the city’s history which are relevant is Bloody Saturday (100th anniversary this year). After the First World War, the city had many men return form the war and looking for work. It was felt that opportunities had been taken by immigrants and this, coupled with a feeling that there had been profiteering from the war by many companies without passing on some of the benefits to the workforce leading to low wages led to the strike of 1919. This ended in tragedy when two people with non-Canadian sounding names were killed by the mounted Canadian police. So this beautiful stop provided some memorable moments and some information for my further interest. It shall be that inquisitive nature that shall lead me to explore this place further upon coming back – apparently the market is a must!!

Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada

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Niagara Galls

The next stop on my railway odyssey took me back to Niagara Falls. I shouldn’t have put myself through the pain and expense of travelling there again for once you have seen them, you have seen them. I mean they haven’t changed in the 3 years since I was last here. It is true to say that they are powerful falls, but they seemed slightly debilitated, perhaps by the freezing ice and snow (still around at the end of April). The falls seemed crestfallen as though their aura and might had been negated. A sense of slumber hung around the area. We had heard and read from fellow travellers that the sound of the mighty power of the falls may be heard from miles away and we listened out as we walked from the train station. Was the expected noise missing due to the snow and ice on the falls? Did the ice in effect reduce the distance that the water had to fall or dampen or deaden its impact? Was the noise lost to the hubbub of the town coming to life after a winter of hibernation? Other people had come to see the iconic falls – I wonder if they shared the sense of anti-climax views that I felt.

On a bitterly cold day, we should have made for Niagara-by-the-lake for some poetic distractions to kill the time. Rumours of its beauty make me inclined to think that a visit there should outweigh one to its famous neighbour, but, sadly, this is only a whisper known by few and isn’t to be found all over the net. Instead, and foolishly, we made do with entertaining ourselves in Canada’s Las Vegas.

A trip up the skylon tower does provide a panoramic view of both falls and is a rather pleasantly to see the panorama without getting too cold. Of course, it has gimmicks – our Japanese and Chinese friends must be entertained! There is the inevitable and, these days, ubiquitous revolving restaurant to enjoy. Clearly not of those who wanted to spin while eating but who perhaps could have been tempted, we were ushered into a corner to enjoy a beer (I guess our lack of appetite and the fact that we were no more than potential business candidates meant that we were not deemed worthy of the environment). We enjoyed our Canadian beers, but their assumptions cost them dear as our bill could have been so much more.

We left in search of a pub (or sportsbar as they are called this side of the ocean) hoping to watch the football. We were sent to the playground of far too many. In hope more than anticipation we tried to find something that might show the footie. No success, we ended up in a casino bar. Here we received a warm welcome, from people thinking that they had found another couple of deluded humans hoping to win their fortune. I mean the odds really are stacked against you, aren’t they? Who did they think we were? A few drinks and, by now, some much-needed food were consumed while the staff tried to work out how to display the football on the TV!! It never materialised – something about TV rights issues. This was all very hard to believe when it’s the international community that pays so heavily for our football rights. Thankfully the time had come for our train out of there – a buddy in Toronto awaited before the main event was due to commence. Hastily we made tracks in the pouring rain for the station.

Niagara, never again.

Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada

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Cardiff Celebrations

Two down, two to go! Well after a brief and sadly quick visit it is now 3 down 1 to go. I was surprised to learn that Cardiff is one of the more modern capitals in world. Cardiff beat off competition from other Welsh cities, and in 1955 was confirmed as the capital. Long before Cardiff became a city it was surrounded by small villages which included Canton, Splott and Grangetown. These now form part of the city. During the industrialisation boom, Wales discovered its ‘black diamonds’. These were shipped down from the valleys to Cardiff Port. This brought wealth and prosperity to the city, buildings started to pop up, some of which still survive. By 1913 Cardiff Bay was the largest coal exporting port in the world and amazingly by 1964 all coal exports had ceased.

This flying visit means that the inquisitive history lesson was all too brief and one that will need to be explored further. Its early signs of life can be traced back through the castle. This has apparently been here since the twelfth century and was the first place of call. In the centre, still standing proudly is a keep, sitting proudly on top of a motte and bailey. Pictures of castles are the images I recall from my childhood years, and the substance cries out to me to explore. A steep climb up allowed for all too brief an exploration as, sadly, the curse of insurance claims and health and safety issues deprived me of rekindling my youthful exuberance. Like a kid sulking I reluctantly dragged myself inside the main mansion (a clear addition since the centre keep). Here I was blown away by a couple of wooden ceilings and I got lost in the moment capturing images of them on my camera. I entered sulking; I left with a new found appreciation of the castle.

After leaving the castle it was time to discover the buildings that were built up during those diamond years. The City and County Halls are both dirty looking. They are both adorned with statues high up. On each corner of the front façade are interesting words of unity and patriotism, evoking the spirit of a nation. How sad that the country of my birth doesn’t seem to encourage such feelings among its members. The park in front of these buildings doesn’t share such a powerful message – more like ‘clean me up’ as it is covered in litter. I disapprove. Tucked away behind these buildings is a charming garden which is dedicated to the memory of Welsh heroes and should be visited or anyone making a trip to the city. This garden, in contrast to the one at the front of the building, is immaculate.

Where the litter is dropped seems to be of little concern to the inhabitants. It is clearly an issue all over the city. Sadly, visiting on a Sunday meant exploration was completed the day after the night before so to speak. Cardiff is famous for its nightlife (so I’ve heard, I must check this out) and its litter dropping. It definitely has some issues to resolve. As much as it provides a convivial and an entertaining location for an evening out, the significant stench and the disgusting dirt left behind is most unappealing and grotesque. Therefore, avoidance of the city centre was a must after walking through it and even on into Monday morning it showed no signs of improvement. The other disappointing sight and one that should be ringing alarm bells in both Cardiff and Westminster, was the huge number of homeless people. These people congregate in city centres no doubt for survival reasons and perhaps there is a measure of hope among some of them. They make an intimidating sight, even for a 6ft giant. What causes them to be in this situation, I will never know, I only pray that the help and support can be provided.

Enough of the doom and gloom – I take a boat ride along the River Taff and listen to the commentary that is played out. Looking out from the boat I draw the conclusion that not one part of the city escapes the dirt and pollution that effects it all. A net has been strategically placed in the river to minimise and even prevent pollution of the bay. Cardiff Bay is up and coming (it used to be a terrible area I am told); the copper building dominates the new area that is being developed. There are some Welsh words engraved on the outside of this building, but I am left to wonder what they actually mean. Do they actually want people to visit this city whose only language is, unfortunately, not Welsh?

A return trip back from the Bay, and I can sit and reminisce over another year of life. Celebrate all the good that has happened and learn from all the mistakes. Cardiff, although a great time was had, you were a slight disappointment. You need more than you have got and what you have got needs to be kept better than it is. The rugby stadium and nightlife appeal in some way to a part of me, but sadly it isn’t a city that will lure me back. Sorry Cardiff.

Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom

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Wowed by Worcester

The trip north was made up the M5 leaving glorious Gloucester behind in search of Worcester. My only knowledge of this place was of its much talked about and charming cricket ground and its famous sauce. On arrival I wasn’t completely wowed, as traffic jams, a police raid and having to find the accommodation didn’t impress. An afternoon stroll and a new day of exploration in Worcester really did change those first impressions and left me wowed. Thank goodness that those people in council didn’t go ahead and destroy much of this wonderful city.

The city’s very existence can be attributed to its association with Britain’s longest river, the Severn. Its source is in the Welsh mountains and it connects to a large estuary. It passes through the beautiful countryside of Shropshire before it meanders around the edges of Worcester and moves on to Gloucester. As it flows through the city, it is overlooked by the imperious and magnificent red sandstone cathedral. Modernisation and the construction of ugly concrete buildings dominate our most historic cities these days and form an unattractive modern cityscape. How nice it was to be thrown back and wowed by parts of Worcester.

That first walk took us through the modern city centre and contributed to those first impressions. A quick stop at the tourist information centre pointed us in the right direction to find the charms of this place, and, oh boy, they didn’t disappoint.

I could have spent all day in this cathedral. Many photos were taken which should, hopefully, portray the magnificence and my fascination with and appreciation of this beautiful and dramatic building. It rises above the cityscape and rests proudly along the banks of the River Severn. From the one side, and at the time I was there the sun wasn’t, it is dark, gloomy and mysterious, but houses a couple of interesting monuments. Where the sun does shine, it helps magnify its splendour. The sun’s light and heat empower the colour of this wonderful building. Like the nearby cathedral in Gloucester this is also a royal graveyard. Centred in the middle of quire (ancient word for choir) is the grave of the notoriously ‘bad’ King John, perhaps famous for his signature on the Magna Carta. I like to remember him from my young days as the arch enemy of Robin Hood. This should also draw me to visit Nottingham and Runnymede on my discovery of England and revisit some of those childhood memories. I can well remember being taken to see ‘Tales of Robin Hood’ in Nottingham as a kid. There are several graves in the cathedral, but another one in the cathedral that has major relevance is that of the cousin of Elizabeth 1. Worcester cathedral is the final resting place of Arthur, eldest son of Henry VII who would have been king instead of Henry VIII. His early death, followed by Henry VIII marrying his widow, Catherine of Aragon, lead into surely the most fascinating part of English history. Apparently, Arthur’s body was carried from nearby Ludlow (30-35 miles away from Worcester and another place to visit) to rest here; imagine the ceremony and procession for this event. The ceiling in this place was mind blowing.

On that first walk into the city there is evidence of the city’s involvement during the civil war on a bridge and also a number of markings on my tourist map.  Maybe a visit to the Commandery museum may have shed some more light on this. I can see that I am developing a theme in that there is so much to see and learn about this country’s history and just never enough time. Perhaps more could have been made of the city’s relevance to the war. If only I had some more time. Isn’t it incredible that some of this nation’s biggest talking points keep cropping up in these visits.

The town had some absolute gems. Walking through the modern town one is immediately stunned by the beautiful guildhall. Dating back to 1721, it has a rich history and once housed a prison. Now it is home to an art collection, which, sadly, couldn’t be visited. Another gem is Friar street! Be captivated as you walk along it’s cobbled streets adorned on either side by Tudor housing, shops and pubs. Yes, modern shops and eateries have appeared, but they have retained the outside black and white facades that adorn the street. Walking along the street, you marvel at the crooked beams still standing 500 years on and wonder how they do so. The National Trust has restored one of them but how many were lost? A visit to the street must be a made to appreciate the buildings. Leaving this street, it was pointed out to us by a friendly landlord that we should visit another church. Rumour has it, this was the church in which William Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway? A quick visit to see only showed a post in front of the church, perhaps this is something that needs to be explored on a further visit.

As you can tell this place has wowed me, I shall be returning to watch the cricket and getting to enjoy this place. Worcester!!! Till next time.

Worcester, England, United Kingdom

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Glorious Gloucester

The next stop on my mission to blog about every English city took me to glorious Gloucester. Water, architecture and history merge together to form another favourite English city of mine.

Its Roman roots, awesome architecture, historic docklands, glorious cathedral have won me over and will surely be worth revisiting. Over 2000 years of history have shaped this place. Its strategic location doesn’t appear to me as obvious as say Bristol down the road, but it has clearly been an important location in this country’s historic past.

Ruins grace the park and school near the cathedral and show the turbulent past that abbeys and minster churches once knew. Even at first sight it’s hard to disagree with the description of the cathedral as one of the country’s finest medieval. It’s incredible to imagine how this grand and impressive building was ever constructed back in those days. Think of the troubles, the legislation, delays and spiralling cost we would surely have seen were it built today. Would we have the skill or devotion to do so? Inside the cathedral is the graveyard of royalty. Edward II is buried in the cathedral along with the son of William Conqueror. The stained glass does not let much sunlight in and walking around inside can make the place feel dark and gloomy. ambiance highlights At times picture taking is difficult as the light varies. Despite this, and probably because they had a lot of equipment to enhance the lighting, Warner Brothers were clearly impressed as they made it a location for not one but for two Harry Potter films. The cold chill around the cloisters meant for a quick photo and didn’t mean I searched for that famous instagram post. After visiting it might be bold of me to say that it is perhaps not one of my favourite cathedrals although free entry is always a bonus, and the stained-glass windows shouldn’t be ignored being perhaps some of the best I’ve seen.

Outside the cathedral and bathing in the heavenly winter sun are some blocks telling the tale of the city’s past. Just behind them as you leave the cathedral behind you and hidden down a side street adjacent to the cathedral is a fascinating museum! Although it has the appearance of a shop the museum is in memory to Beatrix Potter. Free entry again means it should be a must for anyone visiting the city. A step inside and we were greeted by a humble and dear old man who welcomed us with tales of the history of the shop and its links to Beatrix Potter’s ‘Tailor of Gloucester’. Her talents have probably been appreciated by us all, and clearly mean something to the passionate volunteers.

The streets of the city centre seemed ghost like first thing in the morning; by lunchtime a buzz and atmosphere was flowing around as I left the cathedral in search of docks. There were small scatterings of shops abandoned, the now common ‘to let’ sign in the window but didn’t seem as noticeable as in other cities. An intricate piece of art sat about a jeweller’s shop – a highlight and delight. Sadly, a number of the churches dotted around the city were inaccessible due to closures because of funding and safety issues yet another sign of the ever changing landscape of beliefs of the people in this country.

Part of Gloucester’s rich heritage was its waterways as the canal was built to link the city with the coast through the port of Sharpness. The warehouses around the harbour stand as proud beacons to Britain’s most inland port. Sitting on the harbour edge, the buildings provide near perfect reflections as the sun sets on another winter’s day. The warehouses probably don’t serve the purpose for which they were once built but thankfully they have remained and taken on a new identity. On the outside these warehouses still look the same, proudly displaying their names; on their inside pubs, restaurants and accommodation spring up to adorn what is now a modern ‘dockyard’. Small boats/barges replace the larger vessels that once were there to unload their cargo. The only memories are the odd railway crane and track. Oh, how times move at pace.

So as I drag myself away from this glorious city, and head further north to Worcester, I can reflect on the joy of a wonderful discovery, and look forward to returning here again in the future.

Gloucester, England, United Kingdom

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Superb Sherborne

My latest meanderings take me less than 6 miles down the road to arguably one of the England’s finest towns, Sherborne. Located so close to my current home, it’s crazy to think that I haven’t blogged about this place sooner. Living so close, it has always been a destination that I am proud to show friends and family when they visit me. The town has everything.

Located in northwest Dorset, superb Sherborne is a beautiful market town with a combination of buildings that reflect its history, education, culture, shops, art, antiques and religion. The town is built around an abundance of brilliant medieval buildings. These are interspersed with more modern buildings around the town. The high street is a mixture of these old and new buildings. This main street is lined with charming cafes, attractive and independent shops, which make for, based on my limited knowledge of English towns, a uniquely thriving town centre. My friends and family members love the shops and the market when it is in town.  The pedestrianisation of the main high street (most of the time) also adds to this love affair. At the heart of the town, and perhaps the jewel in Sherborne’s crown, is the Abbey. A case could be made for this being even biggest jewel in the whole of the land. That of course is up for debate!

Initially built as a Saxon cathedral, the abbey has been standing for over 800 years. The magnificent medieval structure is a sight to behold. Sometimes referred to as ‘Dorset’s Cathedral’, its ochre-coloured hamstone makes for a vivid view as you stare in awe. As brilliant, or more so, on the inside as on the outside it reminds me of the saying ‘that true beauty is on the inside’. A step inside not only confirms that statement but adds evidence to that whole argument. A frequently heard word by all accounts, and one that was used as I entered. Recently is “WOW”!!!! Perhaps it’s the best way to react on sight of the fan vaulted ceiling. Everyone stands almost awe struck as they look up. Even upon entering for the umpteenth time, I still take a moment to appreciate the splendour of this remarkable architectural achievement. What was once a Saxon cathedral, then a Benedictine abbey and now is a parish church under the auspices of the Church of England, this place offers oodles of fascination and history with the changes throughout time and the associations adding a layer of intrigue. The current beauty and peace within perhaps do not reflect its historic, turbulent past. The fact that it has survived prompts the question why considering our country’s chequered past. Remember the majority of abbeys were destroyed during the reign of Henry VIII. Perhaps the main reason Sherborne’s Abbey is still standing in all its glory is because George Digby provided a lot of cash for the renovations of the 19th Century. A memorial to commemorate this is situated in front of the abbey.

A little further from the centre of town is some more of the previously mentioned medieval architecture that the town boasts. It doesn’t have just one castle but two! The old castle, a 12th century effort built by the former chancellor of England and bishop of Salisbury is now a romantic ruin. It made its way into the hands of Sir Walter Raleigh after he fell in love with the area on a trip from Plymouth to London. He tried to renovate the old castle but failed and instead he built a Tudor mansion for guests in 1594 which is now referred to as the New Castle and home of the Digby family since 1617. The old castle became ruins after two sieges during the 17th civil war.

Sherborne school is one the country’s great public schools. Its original name was King Edward VI boys’ School.  It was founded during the reign of Edward VI in 1550 and built on the remains of the abbey. Its proximity to the abbey this day is evident when exploring the abbey. We are lucky enough to have education for all in this country and that wasn’t always the case. Mr Kenelm Wingfield Digby, a resident of Sherborne Castle, decided that a girls’ school, similar to the long established boys’ public school was needed in the town in 1898. This second school was finally opened in 1899. Over 100 years on I was lucky enough to work with school for a number of years.

I hope that my next visit to Sherborne isn’t as tour guide to friends and family but is just down to the sheer love and fascination of this town. There is probably so much more to discover than what I have mentioned in the above……..until next time………

Sherborne, England, United Kingdom

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Delightful Dartmouth

A regular destination on my meanderings and one of my favourite spots in England is what I consider to be the unique and delightful maritime town of Dartmouth. It boasts history, castles, architecture, boats and an iconic college. A combination of nostalgia and the nautical make for a charming and atmospheric town. Its deep-water port made for its strategic importance and the town has been built up the steep banks of the River Dart. The Dart river flows from its source on Dartmoor and upstream is Totnes (see blog).

Dartmouth on the one bank of the river sits opposite the town of Kingswear. Kingswear is like the mirror image of Dartmouth, with both possessing a castle, streets adorned with quaint and colourful houses, and a church. It was only last week that a friend remarked that it’s like a scene from Balamory. For all their similarities, Kingswear boasts something that Dartmouth doesn’t – a railway line! It terminated at Kingswear after someone realised it wouldn’t be possible to get a bridge across the river!! Sounds a bit like Brexit planning. That didn’t stop Dartmouth, this side of the river estuary, building a railway station in anticipation of the line that never reached it!! The railway station building is a striking sight as you approach it from the river perhaps from a ferry crossing or on one of the superb boat tours. Rather than destroy the building due to the absence of a railway line meant that the building became a general ticketing office for a while, and these days, a charming café!!

This branch line on the other side is no longer part of the national rail services. Instead it has become part of the heritage scene with a steam train running the 7miles from Paignton. Each train that arrives or departs is laden with tourists/enthusiasts making the evocative, emotional and gorgeous journey. It has been a common way for me to arrive here from earliest days, and one that perhaps everyone should consider making. There is a poetic feel to arriving as people did in times gone by and surrounded by England’s green and pleasant lands en route. After disembarking and crossing the river (by ferry and not bridge!!), you can sit on the edge of the harbour and watch the steam train puff along the river edge back to where it came from.  This scene that is repeated throughout the day.

A visit to Dartmouth should be to enjoy the river. It is a hive of activity, but no vessel seems to bump in to another. Its strategic importance cannot be ignored as it was home to the Royal Navy since as far back as the reign of Edward III. A walk to the castle takes you past the Warfleet Creek where several boats were made as far back as the 12th Century. During the Spanish Armada, Dartmouth provided ships for the English fleet and a captured Spanish vessel was docked in the town. The town has been home to the Britannia Royal Naval College since 1863. The iconic college has been at the forefront of education and development of naval officers with the imperious building sitting proudly on the hill and overlooking the beautiful town and estuary. It was where her Majesty Queen Elizabeth met her husband. The river plays host to a famous regatta in summer months.

If crabbing off the quay isn’t what you are looking for, the charming Elizabethan streets provide some independent, fashionable outlets. The pubs allow you to spill out from inside and onto the edge of the river to enjoy your pint of choice. Recently I made the walk from the town to the castle having made it on boat previously. Not a member of the English Heritage, the entrance fee to the castle wasn’t paid but instead an exploration of St Petroc’s church along with a customary spend in the coffee shop for refreshments and cake took place. From this point you can pick up the South West coastal path and go off to explore Castle and Compass Coves. This is highly recommended though not in the mud and after a few wet and snowy days (a spectacular fall).

My love of history, fascination with boats of any shape and size, and sense of calm and pleasure that any expanse of water brings, shows why Dartmouth is one of my favourite places in England. Those who have visited with me endorse my approbation, and those who will join me in the future will, no doubt, agree that this town is an absolute delight.

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Dreamy Dunster Didn’t Dim

Living in Somerset I cannot ignore the charms of Dreamy Dunster any longer. The charms of this medieval village with its castle which is to be found just inside the Exmoor National park were, for so long, wasted on me. It was here that I spent the penultimate night stay on my End to Enders cycle ride (I will be posting the blog of this experience on its 5th anniversary in April) and regularly the scene of drunken cricket tours. Sadly, its true beauty was never quite appreciated. I do recall walking between pubs on one tour and rather merrily remarking at a quintessential English garden.

Sadly, that tour and its fun no longer exists, so there are to be no more of those muddled memories. Last year I managed to visit the village twice. The first visit was made in beautiful autumn sunshine and the second time for Dunster by candlelight. The first visit was in great company and daylight and confirmed what a dreamy place this was.

There is no better place to start a visit to Dunster than in its aforementioned castle. After a short, steep, plod up its motte, this immaculate looking building doesn’t give the romantic notion of a battle hardened, historic castle. What was once a medieval stronghold was given to the National Trust after a family called it home for 600 years. It disappoints me slightly that it doesn’t resemble my imagination of a former bastion, but that disappointment doesn’t linger for long.

The visit inside had to be paused at regular intervals for photos, and I also had to break off proceedings to admire the steam train move adjacent to the coast as it left Dunster station. Such an image! Puffs of smoke disturb the view as the train moves slowly across the landscape – there is something rather poetic in its motion. Upon leaving the building and meandering over its hilly grounds, we found some solace at the bottom of a hill. I am blessed with photo opportunities, none more so than the river and a working mill. Through the odd gaps in the trees you get a glimmer of the charming village that sits in the shadow of this castle. After taking all the pictures I could, it was time for a quick ice cream and then off to visit the village.

Walking around you could easily be overwhelmed by the beauty of this place. This tiny village, an interwoven web of slate and thatch propped on wooden foundations would probably only need a single, lit match carelessly discarded to bring the place to ash. It is such a haven from modern, advanced, architecture it has so much more appeal than the jungle of a city like New York (see recent blog). A real sense of pride and ownership adorns the town throughout.

Wanting to take a picture of almost every building I was distracted and drawn in to a beautiful gallery. Almost every painting was of tall ships. I clearly share the same passion as the artist, and though not a massive fan of art I was incredibly appreciative of David Deacon’s work. Now a proud owner of a picture of his work it was worth daring inside to be amazed at his art rather than the normal ignorance on display at these places.

It’s here that I turn my mind back to the second of my visits, an occasion when Dunster didn’t dim. Sadly, this visit coincided with a time when I was having to prop myself up on crutches. I came for an event that was billed at being by candlelight. I was left a little bewildered by the amount of electricity being consumed in the town. Rather mistakenly I thought they turned off the power locally for this event and we were about step back in time, guided by candlelight alone as we walked those darkened and dim streets. Disappointingly there were only half a dozen candle lights there, perhaps as a token gesture as the bright lights of shops and pubs teased you to enter. Rumours are that the castle dimmed its power; if it did, I applaud it. Sadly, I was left slightly disappointed at what we witnessed, had health and safety prevented a step back in time or did the high street get greedy and try and feed on the good will of the people supporting a charitable event.

Not to be a hater of all things, the evening that promised so much will not diminish the happy meanderings of Dreamy Dunster. For on that wet evening, in great company, crutches and all,  Dunster itself didn’t dim.

Dunster, England, United Kingdom

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Marvellous Mottisfont

After being let down yet again by today’s youth at my place of work, and rather than rush home to compile a report of the day’s failings, I took the opportunity to visit another National Trust property and seize the moment presented to me. Due to my location the choice was easy enough, although it meant a longer route home. The name of Mottisfont meant nothing to me, but it had cropped up on my recent visit to Romsey. Rather than study the A to Z road map, the post code was put into the sat nav and the easy 9-mile drive was made.

I left Southampton and drove past the charming Romsey which was the destination of another trip made in December which was also made to alleviate the stress caused by the same issue mentioned above. As this trip was completely unplanned, I didn’t let the fact I was only armed with the camera on my phone to deter me. I guess there is perhaps some positives to modern technology in that we are always able to capture any moment in one way or another rather just trying to memorise it.

After signing in and getting my map, I crossed a bridge at the end of which a sign said, ‘The first sign that spring is around the corner is…..’ Upon walking around said corner, I was distracted as the house dominates one’s view. Completely attracted by the house and river flowing by I began to search for the perfect spot for the obligatory reflection photo. Rather fortuitously I noticed the beautiful, white, drop bell-shaped flowers that are just starting to bloom and to which the sign referred. The snowdrops are in bloom. As the threatening clouds gathered, and the chilly wind seemed to sweep across the country, my mind thought on the never-ending talk of Brexit and my disappointment, distrust even, of politicians and the fiasco they have contrived to produce. It seems an ill wind that blows across these shores at the moment. All was forgotten, both physical and metaphorical, by the bright and wonderful distraction and attraction these flowers are. A stroll along the river Test follows the snowdrop trail.

Can it be believed that this was once a weekend family home? The size and location beggar belief. A step inside and one is immediately greeted by the family’s love affair with art. I am not yet a fan of art and I didn’t hold much hope of enjoying the visit inside, but with a cold winter wind and no sun it was a place of refuge. I enjoyed two rooms, the nostalgia of these studies, rooms full of books, old cameras, ancient sports equipment, board games, musical instruments, etc. The books always grab my attention – perhaps they are the biggest evidence of something that once was – but one in particular caught my eye. ‘Home Guard Manual 1941’ immediately reminded me of those sayings like, ‘we’re not proper soldiers’, ‘put that light out’ and ‘you stupid boy’ from the many episodes of the inimitable Dad’s Army shown over Christmas.

The former owners were clearly art fanatics. The house now being in the hands of the National Trust the tradition associated with the house has been continued. On the top floor was the first of 4 exhibitions to be held throughout the year. Surprisingly I made the walk up the large staircase to have a look. The view that greeted me was a bold green wall with 4 or 5 pony cartoons. The artist responsible for these spent the last quarter of a century of his life in Hampshire. Norman Thelwell lived in the Test Valley at Timsbury near Romsey. After looking at one I was immediately captivated by Thelwell’s depiction of these creatures and joined in with the laughing made out loud by the observers of his work. As the title of the exhibition was laughter and landscapes, I certainly had a few laughs at the brilliance of these comics. What therapy at the end of a trying day.

Apart from these adorable cartoons, Thelwell produced some gorgeous landscape paintings. Some of these scenes I recognised. One painting was of Salisbury cathedral which was the subject of another recent trip. As my route home took me through Salisbury, I thought what better than to try to find the view Thelwell used. So, as I sit and write this blog from the Old Mill at Harnham I wonder if I have found an artform or an artist that I appreciate. As work continues to bring me back this way, and there are 3 other exhibitions planned for the year, I expect to return to marvellous Mottisfont.

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Timeless Tyneham

Before 1943, Tyneham was a  simple working village with farming and fishing being the main industries/sources of livelihood. Then Churchill commandeered the village and land for a tank firing range ahead of D-Day the following year. 228 Residents were given one month’s notice to leave. One of the final members to leave attached a note to the church door saying, ‘Thank you for treating the village kindly’. 

 

They never returned.

 

The villagers were promised they could return after the war but, sadly, another war followed and as a result it remained as a firing range to this day.

 

This is another perspective of all those sacrifices made during the wars and particularly the Second World war. Think of your home. Then, imagine being told you had to give up your home…. many of the residents didn’t own these houses and as a result were only compensated for the vegetables in their gardens. It is true that the village was in decline (the school had already closed down due to lack of numbers) with the fishing and farming industry lost to modern advancements and bigger towns nearby. Perhaps it could be argued that Churchill put the village out of its misery, but it was still home to some people and who knows for how many generations.  

 

70 and more years on don’t be blinkered into thinking that this is a tourist hotspot – it is not. Visiting here is quite eerie. It’s like time has been frozen. Bylaws prevent the sale of any goods or development as an attraction (there are so many more places that could benefit from this type of law!!). Before reading the superb boards that tell of the history of Tyneham one might easily think that it resembles a bomb site and not a place deserted and almost lost to the ravages of time. The roofless buildings look like they were blown off by bombs rather than, perhaps, blown off after years of wild British weather. The frames of the houses still stand strongly, proudly giving a backward glimpse into the lives of the long-departed community. The only buildings still recognisable are the church and school for both have received some tender loving care. This is a true ghost town which stands as a memorial to the sacrifice made by a village to train personnel in order to accelerate the end of the war. A lonely red phone box stands in front of a cable less pylon, perhaps begging for a buyer – what an iconic symbol of modern times. 

 

Tyneham is located in a beautiful valley that is untouched and unspoilt by modernisation, rich in wildlife and provides access to Worbarrow Bay in Dorset. It is a long time since I made a brief visit here, but perhaps another, lengthier visit is in order. It is isolated close to the coast and it provides a tranquil haven from the well-trodden tourist path. 

 

As I leave, I appreciate my home and think of the sacrifices of many, and also consider whether to write about such a place for fear that this place no longer remains hidden from the masses!!! As I write it is a long way from the modern, instant internet/insta fame that destroys the beauty of many a historic spot. Thank God for bylaws and long may it stay that way.

 

East Lulworth, England, United Kingdom