Oh to be in Hidcote in the Spring......

One of the first open days in a National Trust treasure - Hidcote Gardens, the inspiration of American-turned-Brit Lawrence Johnson. Tucked away in the north Cotswolds, this truly is one of England's great gardens:

One of Hidcote's many 'rooms' 

Magnolia's, in their all-too-brief splendour, everywhere.

Now that's just bragging!

And trees galore......

The piano is still in transit......

I was mindful, during our most recent move (pray god it's our last!), of that great English comedian/cartoonist/ story-teller-par-excellence Gerard Hoffnung. He used to tell a hilarious story about a brick-layer, and I don't know why but as our piano movers struggled firstly with the grand piano, then the very next day, as our furniture movers dealt with the enormous French vitrine (cupboard with glass doors!), he and his story sprang to mind. We had to laugh at these 2 disasters, or we would have cried. The piano only made it up the first flight of stairs when the movers cried uncle, and back down the stairs it went; the vitrine did a lot better, thanks to Herculean efforts of these 3 movers - they too got stuck at the same point on the stairs, but, never say die, they carted it round to the side of the building, raised it, on the hydraulic ramp of their van, and literally hauled it through one of our giant windows. Brilliant, we all thought. Sadly, however, they had chosen the spare bedroom for its unwieldly entrance to the house, and none of us had measured the beast before embarking on this wild and woolly adventure: it turns out that inspite of our 10 feet 6 inch ceilings, the door frames are, shall we say, of a standard size; and then there are corridors, with some narrow turns....the upshot is that while the vitrine made it, sweatingly into the bedroom, its exit from same was impossible. So there it is, a unwelcome guest in our otherwise inviting guest bedroom!! The conclusion to these ventures - piano and vitrine - will ensue;   it may be Christmas before the ensuing  is complete, but I am assured, complete they will be.

Meanwhile, I could not leave you without reproducing that same Gerard Hoffnung story that we began with. Sweet dreams!

THE BRICKLAYER'S STORY by Gerard Hoffnung I've got this thing here that I must read to you. Now, this is a very tragic thing... I shouldn't, really, read it out. A striking lesson in keeping the upper lip stiff is given in a recent number of the weekly bulletin of 'The Federation of Civil Engineering Contractors' that prints the following letter from a bricklayer in Golders Green to the firm for whom he works. Respected sir, when I got to the top of the building, I found that the hurricane had knocked down some bricks off the top. So I rigged up a beam, with a pulley, at the top of the building and hoisted up a couple of barrels of bricks. When I had fixed the building, there was a lot of bricks left over. I hoisted the barrel back up again and secured the line at the bottom and then went up and filled the barrel with the extra bricks. Then, I went to the bottom and cast off the rope. Unfortunately, the barrel of bricks was heavier than I was and before I knew what was happening, the barrel started down, jerking me off the ground. I decided to hang on! Halfway up, I met the barrel coming down... and received a severe blow on the shoulder. I then continued to the top, banging my head against the beam and getting my fingers jammed in the pulley! When the barrel hit the ground, it burst it's bottom... allowing all the bricks to spill out. I was now heavier than the barrel and so started down again at high speed! Halfway down... I met the barrel coming up and received severe injury to my shins! When I hit the ground... I landed on the bricks, getting several painful cuts from the sharp edges! At this point... I must have lost my presence of mind... because I let go of the line! The barrel then came down... giving me a very heavy blow and putting me in hospital! I respectfully request 'sick leave'.

Dogs, dogs and more dogs!

Hairy ones....

Beagley ones.....

So truly English and rural - the Ragley Hall Game Fair. Apparently the largest in the UK, so of course we had to go. What a treat! 

Apart from Crufts and the Westminster dog shows, I cannot imagine any other place where you would feel such an outsider for not owning, and trailing behind you, one or more dogs!

Everywhere!

Foxy ones...

Sadly, there was no Terrier Racing - our favourite country show event - imagine, when it does happen, maybe 50 of these little hairy chaps, none of them any bigger than a large cat, racing across a field in pursuit of I know not what, but apparently loving it. It could only happen in the countryside!

The Pony Club in full swing!

We did of course sit show jumping, some falconry, the Bear Gryll's survival course (only for the young and very stupid!), free fishing in the lake, and all this amid the constant rat-rat-rat of shooting.

The county set were in resplendent display, with their jodhpurs, tweeds and a general air of pampered indulgence. Even more remarkably, for this very 'variable' English summer, the sun shone, the whole time.

Fishing for all!

And there has to be Hunter Wellies!!

Even the Rugby chaps were there....

 

Irene, and another dog!

And so we trudged our way back to the car, which seemed to be miles away, and inevitably we had....mislaid it. But no, there it was, at the very beginning of the car park! That's 2 county shows in as many weeks. Think we'll pass for the rest of the season!

A week by the sea......and a new home!

June 13, 2016

Sometimes we get beautiful sunny days in England, and last week, we had several, as we spent a quiet week 'at the seaside' in delightful, slightly shabby, old-fashioned Sidmouth, in Devon.

Lyme Regis - a spa town of monarchs

Sidmouth promenade

It's near neighbour, Lyme Regis, is a little less shabby and certainly more lively!

The idea of a week away was a whim - we appeared to be in a stasis situation with respect to the apartment we were buying in the delightful Cotswold village of Mickleton. So rather than just sit by the phone, or wait for the postman, we just drove south to Devon. Good decision as it turned out, but we could not escape the lawyers dealing with the purchase of the flat. I finished up hiring an asbestos surveyor to complete a report on the property demanded by the mortgage company we were getting a small loan from!Inspite of this we did have a restful, if not entirely stress-free week. We played a little tennis  - on a grass court no less! - and a couple of rounds of golf. Now they were experiences. As you might tell from Irene's stance here, the course was a little....tilted, to say the least. Apart from the couple of par 3's, every hole was played 'blind' from the tee, and every fairway and green was.....tilted, to what felt like 45 degrees! We have played in many parts of the world, but this was the first time we drove off on to an entirely wrong green, much to the consternation of the oncoming group. Of course, they were English, so terribly polite: "I say, I believe you are going the wrong way". Embarrassed, we scurried to pick up our balls, and retreated to the tee and aimed in the right direction!

Irene, at an angle!

Later on, after a couple of splendid drives, we lost the green altogether! We arrived at a small fence, exactly where the markers had directed us, but sign of a green, there was none! We were about to simply pick up our balls and trudge off to the next hole, when I decided to advance, gingerly, beyond the fence a little, and to my surprise, there was the green about 100 feet below, across a path, nestling at the edge of a very high cliff! Problem solved, the usual shots lost, but the...eventful round continued.

Mickleton House

A few posts ago, I promised to reveal the mystery behind this photo:








Truth is, we just completed the purchase of it, today, June 16th! Well, to be more truthful, we purchased one floor of it!! After all our seemingly endless house-hunting, we found this wonderful flat, in this hundred-year-old house. We picked up the keys just an hour ago:

and are planning to move in within a few weeks, after having the place decorated. I'll refrain from positing any more shots of the inside until we've started the redecorating process. Watch this space!

Wednesday, May 18th, 2016

The joys of Spring are now upon us - we had hoped in our month-long return to Richmond, Mass to have experienced the early pleasures of April, but instead we got snow, cold winds and mostly freezing temperatures! Disappointing but we'll try again in early September after our now annual pilgrimage to Washington State. 

Meanwhile, this green and pleasant land is indeed living up to its billing. We always enjoy the rich countryside around us here in the Cotswolds, not the least these harsh-sounding but smile-engendering Rape Seed fields:

Rape Seed fields, just outside Chipping Campden

It seems to me that the fields are generating a sun-light all of their own, and bring smiles to our faces. 

As most of you know, the British were renowned for building majestic stately homes, and there are literally hundreds of them dotted throughout the British Isles. They were also famous - and possibly still are! - for their eccentricity, demonstrated not the least by numerous 'Follies', usually built on the lands of some stately pile. There's one a mere 6 miles from us, in the outskirts of Broadway. In fact, it is now called the Broadway Folly (sounds like a musical, doesn't it?!):

The Broadway Folly

Looks like a castle, doesn't it? In fact, it's tiny, but has 3 distinct floors, and a splendid roof terrace with magnificent views across the Cotswolds. There's a William Morris floor, dedicated to the Arts & Crafts genius. Apparently, he stayed in the folly a few times, when the owner, an acquaintance of his, let out rooms in the Folly to guests. This stately B & B received a poor review from Morris, however!

It was also used as a spotter station during the 2nd World War, where the Royal Observers Corps looked out for German fighters and bombers. Today, it is set up as an historical site, with the usual mandatory memento shop (actually in the Folly itself - a miracle of minimalism!) and adjoining tea-shop. I truly think it would be considered so un-British to not have a tea-shop on premises like these that police arrests might be made!

I had hoped to remove the tease I left in the last post, but, disappointingly, I cannot......yet! More anon in a week or so. 

TTFN

Monday, March 7th, 2016

Sad news from Northwick Park - our once inseparable pair of black swans are now a singleton widow or widower. Not entirely sure how you recognize male from female from a distance, and from a distance it would have to be; one day, I made the mistake of approaching them for a photo shoot, and was literally chased off their patch! There's something truly threatening about these birds as they run at you, with their six foot wingspan, all ferocious waddling and cawing! I am embarrassed to say that I did run! The monogamous nature of swans' relationships has been written about many times, so I won't ramble on about it, but it is unusual. I've now veered away from Alistair Cooke into 'Country File' or Diary of an Edwardian Lady'! It's hard not to write about the countryside when you live in an area of such peerless beauty as the Cotswolds, though.

We've had a very livable winter this year, with many sunny days. As you drive through the countless, undulating country roads, it seems each bend brings you to another stunning vista of rich pastures gently rolling hills, and, of course, countless sheep! I was a little worried that Irene had gone native on me the other day when she took herself off to watch.....lambing! Yes, this is the same Irene, late of Manhattan; never fear, though - the next day, we were off looking at antique shops, eyeing up truly magnificent and genuinely old furniture - for our American friends, this means 16th and 17th century pieces!

 We 'did' Amsterdam in late January - odd time of the year to go, as it was bloody freezing most the time we were there. The Netherlands shares the same kind of climate as Britain, so in late January it was damp, cold and windy! But what a great city Amsterdam is. We'd only ever 'flown through' the city before, so this was definitely on our to-do list. we went with our intrepid European 'fellow travellers' Ian & Loraine and revelled in the most viewable sights of the city - the van Gogh & Rijks museums, the real palace, Anne Frank's house. And I would add that unlike many 'famous' city sights, any one of these is worth the visit alone. We were warned about the coffee houses before leaving England, but you know, you really don't have to go inside them to savour the heady flavours of weed - some many people either living in or visiting Amsterdam smoke the stuff openly, that simply walking through the streets gives you a better than vicarious high!

I'll close this short post with a teaser - a picture of things past and times to come:

.............

A new beginning.....

I've been so remiss in not writing a jot this time, and the guilt has now reached a point where I can no longer ignore it, and, after 5 months here in the UK, I've finally found something to say. So, I will resume this blog by mangling a ploughed-field-full of metaphors, strangle some sumptuous similes, commit awful alliterations, and otherwise create despair in the hearts of readers of our so wondrous English language!

There has only ever been one radio journalist, or for that matter, any kind of journalist, who inspired me, and that was Alistair Cooke. As a boy, I listened in rapt wonder to his weekly "Letter from America". How ironic that many years later, it would become my second home. And so, in a pale remembrance of that great writer, I will attempt to return the favour, in writing regularly from the deliciously rural setting of England's Cotswolds.


This has been home since just before Christmas:

We'd always wanted a stately, long, winding drive, so we thought this would do - it's about a half-a-mile long, leads past a herd of deer, 2 ever-present black swans

 countless pheasants, until you arrive,........

here:

Our posh neighbours!

5 Juliana's Court

Or, more exactly, here:


Before we left Pelham, I had joined a splendid society of men, called "The Retired Men's Club of Pelham" - most of us were not yet in our dotage, just recently retired, for the most part. Well, within days of arriving at Northwick Park, I had been invited to join a similar group here, called Probus  - an offshoot of Rotary. It stands for Professional Business men's society. We all live within a few miles of its locus, Chipping Campden, and the club's program of speakers and events is truly awesome - a speaker every 2 weeks, for 10 months of the year, and a summer outing - this year it's to Bletchley Park, home of Alan Turing's legendary Enigma code breakers. The talks reflect the world's view of English eccentricity - so far this year, we've had talks on: George Formby (English comedian, singer and ukulele player) - the talk was punctuated with frequent renderings of Forby's most famous songs, including "When I'm cleaning windows"; Global Warming!,  the origins of musical wind instruments (with musical samplings from over 40 wind instruments, and the history of Punch & Judy! But by far, the most endearing aspect of Probus is its members. In contrast to the Pelham group, my fellow members are.....ancient! I am embarrassingly sprightly by comparison; most wear hearing aids, look in grave danger of falling over as they struggle to their seats, and some, one fears, may expire before the talks are over! The conversation, as we sip our coffees and teas before the meetings proper begin, is priceless. Imagine a bunch of aging, patrician Republicans,  discussing their last holiday in the south of France, or the little cruise to the Outer Hebrides, in the same ship, 'don't you know, that the Queen uses'!, or last week's Six Nations (Rugby) international. I wish you all really understood English sport, because this last chat was so memorable, recounting a TV interview (had to have been 40 years ago!) between 2 legendary stars of international Rugby, one Welsh, one Irish, discussing training sessions, where the 'chaps' wore Wellington boots; contrasting the 'posh' conditions at English clubs ("They even had doors on the changing room stalls"), and where the Irish 'lads' ''at least smelt fit, reeking, as they did, of Guinness as they trotted on to the pitch!" The talks are fun, often highly informative and entertaining, but the members' conversations leave me speechless!

Probus talk on Punch & Judy

And now, it's time to sign off. I will return with countless tales of rural England!