Gardens, Grand Views and Pub Fare

.After yesterday's storm, the day dawned bright. The sun shone brilliantly on the shiny wet leaves as we entered the Trelissick Gardens. The storm had left damage and beaten flowers and branches lay across the paths, but we found magnificent trees and graceful plantings.

Wisteria wept on the footbridge.  A few camélias and rhododendrons were still blooming. We discovered a tulip tree in bloom and found the different stages of blossoms endlessly fascinating.  

We met a group of a dozen teenagers who were speaking French. When they discovered we could understand them, they cleaned up their language and told us how much Cornwall resembled Brittany, which we had also been noticing. After a good walk we reconvened at the cafe for sandwiches and tea. 

To get to our walk on Porth, we crossed the river at King Harry's Ferry. This was not Henry V, whom Shakespeare calls Harry. It was that Harry's son, Henry VI, a saintly and unstable king for whom this crossing of the Fal River was a pilgrimage route to St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall. This site has been a crossing for over 500 years. We drove onto the platform, and long chains pulled us across the river in about 5 minutes. Peter called it the cog railway version of a ferry. 

We drove into the peninsula of Roseland in the direction of the small, beautiful and ancient church of St Just Roseland. The church community began in the 6th century, but the first priest came in the 12th century. It was set on a hill beside an inlet of the tidal river. The surrounding cemetery was full of beautiful old crosses.

We enjoyed wandering inside and outside in the peaceful setting.

Bill had chosen a 3 1/2 mile hike along a magnificent coastal footpath near Porth, and we set off with our new Paria hiking poles and plenty of pixels in the camera.  

The sky was bright blue and dancing  with white clouds, although "the wind was almost as fierce as yesterday. We followed the path overlooking beautiful white beaches and black, rocky cliffs. Each hill revealed new vistas, and we stopped constantly for even better photos. We were vividly reminded of the summer on 1988 when we had hiked similar footpaths in Bretagne with an 11 year old Martin who was constantly at the edge putting our hearts in our mouths. This time no one came that close to plunging to the rocks below. Instead we followed Bill as he followed his map. Eventually we turned inland to cross back to the river side of the peninsula.  We passed a magnificent chateau as we climbed through a beautiful forest path with glimpses of the coastal town. Finally, weary and hungry, we arrived back at the car. Our boots and pants were muddy, our bodies exhausted, but our hearts were singing. 

We decided that we would head for a pub for dinner.  The pub Bill had chosen had been a favorite, and we were ready to indulge ourselves after such a fine walk. But when we got to the town of Constantine we could not find the place. We asked a local, we followed a sign, we turned round and round, but finally, we made it to  Trengilly Wartha Inn. It was almost 8:30, but the chef was still in the kitchen and the steak and ale pies that came to the table were magnificent.  What a great ending to the day. The moon was nearly full as we arrived home, and we were all in bed in short order. 

Drama in Cornwall

Today was totally drama. It was raining when we set out for St Ives at about 9, and although the rain was expected, we had no idea how dramatic it would be. The Tate St Ives is an extension of the large Tate museum in London. It sits on the coast overlooking a beautiful sandy beach in the town of St Ives.  The town is a magnet for artists as well as tourists,  as the two go well together. The exhibits are drawn from the larger Tate collection. 

It took us a while to find parking and ended up in the largest lot, which was farthest from the town. We walked down several flights of stairs as we made our way along the pedestrian path to town. The rain was light but fortunately we wore our raincoats. The brisk sea breeze easily convinced us that we needed an extra layer. 

In town we started with the Barbara Hepworth Sculpture  garden. Hepworth had worked in St Ives, so this part of the museum is a permanent collection.

The rain was a mere drizzle as we walked around the garden. The stark, abstract lines of her sculptures contrasted with the lush flowers, shiny and dripping with raindrops. 

The Tate was a short walk downhill, but by the time we arrived the rain was coming down again. We hung our wet coats and dripping umbrellas and climbed the stairs to the cafe. I've observed that wet weather gives you a powerful urge for hot drinks.  We sipped tea and coffee on the fourth floor, which overlooks the beach. Many tough surfers were on the beach or in the water where breakers roared down to the beach. The wind had risen, and the sea was getting angry. 

In the first gallery we saw a number of pieces of pottery by Bernard Leach and his students.  The other work did not hold my attention long, and I went back to one of the windows to watch he surfers and the waves. 

Saint Bill had left the Tate first, walked up the many stairs to the parking lot and driven down to the museum to pick us up. By the time we met him the rain was coming down hard, and the wind was strong. 

Our destination was the Levant Mine to the northwest. It took a while to get there, and the road wound through some moonscape countryside, where mines had flourished, but plant life had not. When we arrived at the Levant mine, on a cliff high above the water, the wind was so strong we could hardly walk. The rain was falling horizontally, and our clothing, hair, and shoes were no longer dry. It turned out that we'd have to wait at least 45 minutes for a tour, and the only eating option was a picnic on the cliff. No one could even stand, much less picnic in that storm, so we took the advice of the attendant and decided to drive a coupe miles to the next mine over (not in the National Trust, so our membership was not valid), where we could get a hot lunch. It seemed like a really good idea, so Saint Bill again offered to go up the hill to get he car. It nearly did him in. At least it brought him to the limits of sainthood. When he brought the car to pick us up his hair was soaked and his glasses were foggy. 

The little cafe was a good idea.  It was warm and crowded. We got pots of tea, sandwiches, pasties, quiche and salads, and our clothes began to dry off. Our moods lifted and we headed back to the Levant mine. Instead of parking in the upper lot we boldly chose a spot in the handicapped section, and Lillian offered to limp if questions were asked.  Bill's sainthood was fading. 

We arrived to join a tour with two wonderful guides. The first guide was from a mining family, and with the help of a bag of rocks, an assortment of tools, and some charts and photos, he brought the hard life of he Cornish copper miners to life. He led us to the steam engine which for 90 years had brought copper ore to the surface from mines thousands of feet deep and reaching up to a mile under the ocean.  He told the story of he great accident in 1919 which had killed 31 miners and blocked the main shaft, which had closed the mine, and devastated the mining families of the region. 

Then his friend took over.  The second guide was a member of the team who had restored the engine after it had laid dormant for over 50 years. With evident pride he explained the workings of the engine and then turned it on so we could watch the giant pistons move up and down as they did when the mine was in operation. 

As we left the wind was still strong, but the rain had stopped enough for me to take some photos.  The sea here was much wilder than at St. Ives. We were thankful to head back to The Barn for dinner. I made Chicken Piccata, and afterwards Lillian made soup for tomorrow, and put in a load of laundry. We were all peacefully reading and writing when all of a sudden the electricity cut out. It was black and still. Bill went outside and found out that the whole village was dark. Evidently the wind had downed a power line somewhere. 

I think that is enough drama for today. It's time for bed. 

Sunday skies

 Rain was falling in sheets when we woke up, and the news about the carnage in London last night did nothing to lighten our mood. After a simple breakfast we set off for Truro where we went to church at the Cathdral. The building was a beautiful neo Gothic structure. The choir was exquisite but the service was uninspiring. We left quickly for a restaurant called Pandora's Box. It seemed like an inauspicious name, but the food was excellent. Bill and Lillian chose the Sunday Carvery menu. It was a buffet with thick slices of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and several vegetables.  Peter and I chose the Dover Sole which was wonderful. After lunch we  strolled outside on the boat dock where we spied some kids catching tiny crabs.

We were pretty sleepy after our full lunch so naps were taken after we returned to the cottage. But it had cleared, so we revived ourselves with tea, and set out for a hike up the hill opposite our cottage, down to Frenchman's Creek which was the setting of Daphne Dumaurier's novel of that name. A number of famous authors have lived and set their novels in Cornwall.  We will also investigate a few Poldark sites in the next few days.

The sky was a sparkling blue. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a warm glow and we stopped from time to time along the trail to sit on the  well placed benches to admire the view.

 The path led us through fields of cabbages and wheat, past barns and through woodlands that looked down over the Helford River.  By the time we arrived back at The Barn we were ready to leave our boots at the door and sit for a bit.

Dinner was simple, tomato soup, toast and cheese,  and we all dozed  in the living room after our long hike while I struggled to post photos.

Photos are still hard to post. Part of the problem is the Google program I'm using. Part is the narrow broadband in the cottage. I will post occasional photos, but I'll redo my posts after I get home when I can actually post easily. For now I'll just write about the trip, and you'll have to wait for photos

Salsbury Cathedral photos

It turned out that our road took us right past Stonehenge, so we decided to stop in on our way. Since it in the middle of a large field on a broad hill, we could see the site from the road, and were amazed by the large ring of people around the megalithic stones. As we approached the tour bus parking was the first tip off. Then the large lot of cars next to a welcome center discouraged us further. The price of tickets and the crowds of tourists were too much to cope with for our jet lagged bodies, so we decided to follow the original plan and head to Salisbury Cathedral. 

Salisbury Cathedral is a magnificent site. The cathedral is set in the medieval center of a large city.  The cathedral itself is surrounded by a large green lawn where couples and groups of friends lounged in the afternoon sun. The cathedral dates from 1258, although with all such structures various parts were added at different moments.  It is very different from churches from the same era in France, which we know much better. But the differences are fascinating.   There is less emphasis on glass and more on sculpture. The spire is at the center, and the nave overwhelms the transept. There is a magnificent, large cloister where we ate quiche and salad in the cathedral cafeteria. And the jewel of the place is one of the four original copies of the Magna Carta, displayed in a little tent in the middle of the graceful chapter house. 

The most stunning artwork in the building, however dates from 2008. To commemorate the 750th anniversary of the cathedral a magnificent baptismal font was donated. It dominates the center of the nave and recalls the large ceremonial basin in the ancient Temple of Solomon. It is a huge, cross shaped fountain, filled to the brim with water,  perpetually spilling from the four corners into drains in the stone floor. The water mirrors everything around it and draws people in groups and individually to interact with its perpetual movement.  

Landing in Cornwall

It was a long day with a lot of driving, some of it on the motorways, much of it on small, winding roads, and often on narrow lanes bordered by high hedges. The sun was shining this morning when we left the Red Lion Inn and headed toward Buckland Abbey.

But by the time we arrived the sky was gray and threatening. During our visit, the clouds opened, and the rain poured down, shortening our enjoyment of the English rose garden. But by the time we got to the car, the rain had nearly stopped. It was cloudy for the next part of the drive, but by the tame we entered Cornwall, the sky was clear and blue.

Buckland Abbey is a former Cistercian abbey built in the 13th century, situated far from worldly pleasures so the monks could practice poverty, chastity and humility.  Ironically all that poverty made them wealthy because so many gifts came their way. And their wealth was behind Henry VIII's seizure of church lands like these at the start of the Anglican Church.

From the outside you can tell it was an abbey, but the subsequent residents changed and remodeled inside to suit their tastes. The most famous owner was Sir Francis Drake, a swashbuckling Elizabethan sailor who attacked Spanish ships for their treasure, sailed around the world and helped defeat the Spanish Armada in 1588.  There were many treasures from his voyages, and historical displays.

There were also rooms with Georgian furniture,one of which had a treasure hanging on the wall.  It looked like a Rembrandt, but we said to ourselves, "No, it couldn't be."  But yes, it was. Apparently it was long thought to be a copy, but when it was cleaned, it turned out to be a true original.

The ride to Cornwall was long, but eventually we arrived at the large Sainsbury's where we bought our groceries for the week. We arrived at The Barn in Helford at about 6 intending to eat at the pub, but it is Saturday night and apparently others had he same idea. Instead Bill whipped up some spaghetti Bolonaise with the ingredients we had just purchased. After dinner we walked along the river and looked over the harbor where the sun was setting over the water.

We are all tired. Tomorrow we are heading to church at Truro Cathedral and Sunday roast dinner at a well loved restaurant.

Although we have internet here at the cottage, the broadband seems very narrow, and not too friendly to photos.  We will keep trying, but for now, pictures are not available.

Rain, rain go away.

Still struggling with photos.  Hopefully tomorrow will work.

Our hopes for clearing skies remained unfulfilled. Clearly we have brought the rain with us from Massachusetts. But our day was lovely in spite of the wet weather. Hoping for afternoon clearing, we set off for Exeter to spend the morning in the cathedral.  This was a very different place from Salisbury, and it wasn't just because of the weather. The building began in 1114 with two massive Norman towers which formed the transept.

The choir and chapels came next at the end of the 13th and early 14th centuries, and the finishing construction was the nave, built in the late 14th century,  in the more flamboyant Gothic style. 

The most arresting feature of the building was the high ceiling with intricate bosses at the junction of delicate ribs.

The ceiling is 315 ft long and is the longest continual medieval stone vault in the world.

Many of the ribs and intersections are decorated with and beautiful colors.

The carved choir stalls, the pulpit, the Bishops Throne are all outstanding 14th century sculptures. There was a 15th century clock, and many tombs and memorial sculptures

. One of the chapels had been destroyed during WW II and rebuilt as a memorial.  Everywhere the embroidered cushions and kneelers bear witness to the modern crafts persons whose work forms the fabric of this building. 

The most original fundraiser, however was the Lego project. For a donation, visitors could place a Lego block in the reconstruction of the Lego Exeter Cathedral. Perhaps donations like this paid for the original stone construction in the Middle Ages.

Instead of clearing, the drizzle increased as we left Exeter, so instead of heading north to the coast and the thatched village of Selworthy, we decided to visit the country house and gardens known as Knightshayes.  

The lawns were full of families, wandering about the lawns. After a lunch of tea, scones, flapjack (an oaty cake thing) and yogurt, we entered the Neo Gothic, Victorian country house built by John Heathcoat Amory in the late 19th century. It was originally designed by an architect named Burges, full of dark paneling, hunting motifs, and elaborate ceilings.  In contrast the park and gardens were bright with many layers of flowers and foliage, and green lawns stretched for acres. The rain held off for most of the afternoon, but we finally opened our umbrellas and stowed our cameras as the rain picked up.  Back at the Red Lion we shared another meal of warm comfort food. Tomorrow morning we check out and head toward Helford for our rental cottage. 

Down in Devon

Trip to England 2017

Peter is still sleeping, but my internal clock is recalibrating and I cannot stay still in bed.   We are in a tiny village named Oakford. It is so tiny that we had a hard time finding it yesterday afternoon.  After leaving the main roads we turned down a tiny, winding lane, walled on both sides by enormous hedgerows. Occasional breaks in the hedges gave glimpses  of sheep grazing in green fields, thatched cottages, cool streams, and wooded glens.

Once we had an abrupt face off with another car. Bill explained that the car nearest to a turn off was expected to back up until there was a space wide enough to allow the other car to pass. He backed up pretty far before the two cars could pass each other.  

We are in Devon, known for its deep valleys known as combes The foliage is green and lush, full of flowers and birds darting from tree to bush. The weather was warm and sunny yesterday, and we were very contented with our first day. 

We arrived at the Red Lion Inn at about 5:30, ready to stretch our legs. Peter and I had been dozing off and on, so we were awake enough for a comfortable dinner in the hotel restaurant. It was cozy, local and very tasty.