Autumn Cottage Diarist

Back from the Future

No video today, but what now seems like an ‘old fashioned’ blog post. I was  reading a lovely article last week (see link below*) in the Guardian newspaper, entitled ‘Postcard From the Future’; the author of the article, Katherine Rundell, is imagining what she will do when this Coronavirus lockdown is  eased. She fantasises returning to the souks of Marrakech, and it set me to thinking ‘where are the places to which *I* long to return?' the special places, in which I have had special experiences. This may be an entertaining and revealing pursuit to carry out in your journals during this enclosed and restricted time, and in a way, it doesn't even matter if you don't get there again; just the pleasure of revisiting in your mind the places and experiences you have loved and reflecting on why you did and do so maybe enough.

Here are my favourite 5 places (the first five of many!) - do tell me some of yours.

As always top of the list (I am so predictable!) has to be Venice, where I've had some of the most delicious, beautiful and interesting experiences of my life. When I was teaching a Travel Journal writing course some years ago, I used an example of ‘50 things I remember about my visit to Venice’ – just one or two word ‘captures’, to illustrate the value of making lists when travelling. I'll share those in another post, but just five of the special things about Venice to me were…the experience of savouring texture in all its forms - from the ancient, decaying, crumbling surfaces all around, on buildings, doors, windows, canal sides, to the hard, transparent, brilliant colours and sheen of glassware (from the mass manufactured, cheap Oriental imports to be sold to us gullible tourists, to the exquisite and oh, so expensive chandeliers that we watched being made on the ‘glass island’ of Murano.

The luscious, tempting, again also extremely expensive fabrics – both antique and modern, on display in enticing little boutique shops such as Bevilaqua . Even now, 14 years after I last visited Venice, I pull out swatches and lengths of fabric that I brought back with me then. I miss the seafood, bought fresh from the market 2 minutes from our door in Cannaregio and cooked up on a tiny little stove in our apartment.

I miss the unutterable beauty of the paintings in the Accademia Gallery - the exquisite, jewel-like images of the medieval  Madonnas and the huge canvases showing the magnificent sumptuousness of the grand religious and civic ceremonial processions. I miss the water lapping outside our window, and the bargees, unloading sand and other materials for the mosaic factory across the canal, who didn't just whistla, but sang full operatic arias while they worked. (Now that’s the way to wake up from a water-lapped, good night’s sleep!) I miss the incomparable light… I miss the sunsets… I miss the mystery. (There you are - I told you it was to be ‘5 memories’, but Venice always encourages excess!)

I long to return to the Highlands of Scotland, to stand on the banks of Loch Sunart, off Ardnamurchan, with Dolphins swimming before me, Red Deer at the boundary fence to the cottage in which I stayed, and a Golden Eagle soaring above me. Not the imaginary fantasy scene of a film script writer, but a moment in time that I actually experienced; a time when I felt so insignificant amongst the Majesty and wildness of the scenery. I was a mere Ant on the surface of the planet. But I was also at one with the other Beings and part of the scenery, not in Dominion over it - and all was well with that.

I miss visiting the charming little town of Llandeilo in Carmarthenshire, where faces are always friendly and the voices and accents familiar. I miss poking around in the rambling, rabbit warren of an Antiques Emporium there; I miss wandering around the beautiful restored gardens of Aberglasney, nearby and reading the poetry of Gillian Clark out loud to the yew trees!

I miss sultry afternoons around the pool in my dear friend’s house in France. In my fantasy future visit, it would be as it was in the past - extremely hot - far too hot to do anything other than paint in my sketchbook, muse in my journal, dabble my feet in the water or wander back into the cool, cool house with bare feet on refreshingly cold tiles, throw myself onto the day-bed, browse through a book (perhaps a guide to the old churches of the area?), drift off to sleep for an hour, then wake to prepare some wonderful food bought at a local market and wash it down with one of an endless choice of rather good wines, of which said friend is very much a connoisseur.

In the most recent of my adventures and one I would so love to repeat, I would return to my daughter in law’s Homeland of Romania - another place full of enchantment and mystery - a land where (as I believe I said in an earlier post!), you can still believe in fairy tale, or at least most certainly appreciate the environment from which those stories grew. I was personally entranced by the visits I made to the Romanian Orthodox churches, both in the capital Bucharest, and in the town of Brasov. Spiritually nourished by the music to which was set Orthodox chant, the richness of the frescoes, the intensity of the icons and the unabashed theatricality of it all. It very much spoke to my own spiritually ever-hungry (and theatrical?!) personality.

And most of all, I long to spend another night or two deep in the forest of Transylvania, where we barbecued on the balcony of a family member’s house, gazed out into the sooty blackness of the forest, and heard the mystical, enervating sound of the roar of a female bear, just tens of yards away, who apparently at the time had two cubs with her, warning off another creature across the valley.

What a privilege that experience was and how much I long to enjoy it again. But for now - which places call you back...and why??

(*A Postcard from The Future - I wil lose myself in Marrakech: Katherine Rundell, Guardian, 20 April 2020)

I Guess We'd better Talk About....Him.

The inevitable 'Vlad' souvenirs - actually rather good likenesses of the known portrait

I was delighted to discover, when I started my MA in Death Studies that it was permitted to incorporate a module from another department in the selection of studies for the course - even happier to discover that it was possible to take the 'Fairytale and Gothic Horror' module from the MA course in Film Studies - and so it was that my knowledge of the two genres of storytelling took a great leap, from the simplistic tales of my childhood into the depths and convolutions of themes that run deep in all our psyches - explanations of the mysterious world in which we live and the journey-quest we make as we travel in the world through life.

On my vast experience (gained as the result of just a few days visit to Romania!), it seems to me that these questions are still very present - whether explored and explained through the rituals of the church and organised religion, or through the experience of both the understandable and the inexplicable which is still able to be encountered in this land of forest and valley, fortified church and castle, roaming wild beasts and the historical memory of marauding and conquering strangers (something which we have not experienced here in the UK, by and large for over a thousand years). That one difference makes our whole historical experience very different and it is something which I constantly try to keep in mind as I learn more about this fascinating land.

Long before my older son met the woman who is now our dear daughter in law, my younger son was an enthusiastic participant in 'Larping' Live Action Role Play - and one of his LARPing groups just happens to be 'Vampire'. So it was that, at his instigation, after a couple of days in Bucharest, we were lucky enough to be able to make a pilgrimage (having made a special request to our new 'in-laws') over the plain, flat agricultural landscape and up onto the mountains and forests of  Transylvania, en route to an afternoon at Castle Bran -'Dracula's Castle',   … who signed himself 'Vlad Dragulya' (his father having been awarded the Order of the Dragon) and who became notorious as Vlad Tepes - 'Vlad the Impaler'. The castle is actually thought not to actually have any connection to withVlad other than that it had been one of a multitude of fortified dwellings owned by the rulers of Romania, of which Vlad was - in the fifteenth century - just one.

The Royal Succession

It is not thought that he did ever visit Bran - but the castle was indeed, apparently, part of the inspiration for Bram Stoker to create his enormously evocative (and future money-spinning ) book 'Dracula'- a book that taps in to some of our most fundamental fears (whatever our religious beliefs) of 'what REALLY happens to us when we die - and how, exactly, is this tied in with how good or bad a life we have lived?

At the foot of Bran Castle

Well, like millions of others, I have read the book, and seen many of the films on the theme, and all I will say from experiencing the visit to the castle, after the drive through the woods and a stay overnight in a forest cabin is that it is ENTIRELY  possible to believe that 'there are more things in heaven and earth….than are dreamt of in your philosophy'. It is, to me, a land of mystery, of enchantment, and of imagination, where one can still truly experience closeness to nature - not  pretty, Disneyfied nature but 'nature red in tooth and claw', which makes the immediacy of life - and death - very present.

It is suggested that this cross, at the foot of the Castle, was the inspiration for the 'Bleeding Cross' at the beginning of Francis Ford Coppola's 'Dracula'

I was expecting (and fearing!) just such a Disneyfication of the Castle and the 'Dracula' story, but in fact, I was both surprised and highly impressed by the fact that - so far - The Count has not overwhelmed  the Castle. There were one or two allusions to him - fair enough - and, I believe, a room dedicated to the novel and the legend at the top of the Castle (which I did not visit) - apart from that - almost nothing.

OK - maybe there were just a few rather deliciously naff touches of popularisation!

The story that was much more in evidence was, in fact, the much more recent and very heart touching story of the real life Queen Marie and her children. The princesses of Romania called this castle home, and one of them, Princess Ileana (a great granddaughter of Queen Victoria) was forced into exile after World War 2, when all of Europe was divided up - to the victors the spoils.

Here is the story of Ileana -  a rather wonky shot of an explanatory poster in the castle (sorry!)

The diary entries of Ileana are some of the saddest I have ever read. She was clearly devastated at having to leave her beloved home behind - not knowing if she would ever see it again. (In 1950, in her journal, she records that 'On 7th January 1948 I left Bran castle and my beloved homeland in heartbreak') But even in this story, there is something of a 'happily ever after', as the family had the castle restored to them in the early years of this century - and it is through their generosity that the castle is now open for us all to visit.

It really was quite an experience to walk the cold, dark corridors of that castle; together with the experience of the wild and beautiful but threatening forest, my interpretation of European folktales has been transformed forever.

Wild forest and fairytale Castle - what more could an Old Romantic want?!

*** Stop Press - BBC is apparently screening a 'lavish, new adaptation' of 'Dracula' this autumn, complete with Bisexual Count. Should be interesting.

A Short Walk Through the Sea of Faith

The Anunciation Church of St Anthony, Lipscani, Bucharest

As a graduate of religious studies, founded on a lifelong fascination with comparative religions, I am always drawn with great interest to the religious practices and material culture of any place that I visit. This interest manifests itself in my compulsion, both here and abroad, to visit churches and cemeteries (my university studies were focussed on the rituals and rhetoric of death) - so it was with a great deal of delight that I approached my visit to Romania; I am particularly drawn to the theatricality of religious ritual - both in the actual practice of those rituals, and also the visual depictions of ritual and the religious texts upon which those rituals are founded. The Romanian Orthodox church has both in abundance; I was expecting this, getting excited over it and planning 'study visits' to several churches and cathedrals (one reason for my choice of hotel location - many old churches were within walking distance!)

What I did not quite expect, throughout the whole week, was to see so much 'faith in action'. A broad cross section of the population seemed to be actively practising their faith in a very matter of fact, en passant 'pop in and kiss an icon' way, integrated into their lives rather than set apart as a special event. Communism indeed laid its cold hand on this country in more ways than one, but it does not seem to have choked religious belief or  practice from at least a part of the body of the population.

Icon of the Theotokos, Church of St Paraskeva, Brasov

We were extremely fortunate to arrive in Bucharest the day before a major festival of the Orthodox Church. The Protection of the Theotokos (The Mother of God) commemorates and celebrates an apparition of Mary at a church in Blachernae (Constantinople) in the 10th century, at which, it is told, She removed her veil (the festival is also known as 'The Feast of the Protecting Veil') and placed it over the attending congregation. The festival celebrates the protection offered both by the Mother of God in her acts of intercession between Humanity and her Son, and the protection of the Christian Church.

Icons of this event often depict Mary with her cloak/veil held out with many people sheltering beneath it. (A convert to Orthodox Christianity, Sir John Tavener wrote one of his best known pieces 'The Protecting Veil' in honour of the belief).

Thus we ventured forth on Tuesday 1st October, intending a quiet wander around a few churches before a more active week got underway. Instead we were met, at every church we visited, by choral services attended by worshippers filling each interior, and in one church (The Annunciation church of St Anthony), streaming out of the doors, down steps and queuing in the surrounding passageways to light handfuls of votive candles in the twinkling shadows of the Pangaria (candle stations), to both the beloved living and the dead. Even many of those who were just passing by did not omit to vigorously cross themselves as they entered the environs of the church.

Candles - and prayers - for the Beloved Dead

Orthodox worship is a full-on experience. Even when no services are in progress, I am always drawn in to the vividly coloured events depicted in the frescoes and the glittering images on the icons (which are not in themselves intended to be worshipped, as is sometimes thought, but are seen as a 'channel' between the Human and the Divine - a 'focussing' mechanism  to aid the possibility of a moment of transcendence). Add to this background imagery the shimmer of candlelight on precious metals & stones, the smell of incense, the chant of the priest (and possibly choir) - it can be - and was - quite mesmerising.

The Interior of the church, following day

I rarely enter a place of worship when services are in progress - though it seemed acceptable to do so if one stood right at the back of the church (just inside the door, in the narthex) and behaved respectfully. On the 1st October, it was not possible so to do. Participants  were queuing to get in , and were pouring out in equal measure. The doors were blocked and it would have been impertinent to push through.

I did not need to - instead, I sat on a step and just looked…and listened.

Take just a minute to do so alongside me.

 

The Start of a Great Adventure!

Dear readers - I have returned from just a brief week in Romania, but a huge leap in my interest and appreciation of a country and its inhabitants - an interest which has only just been kindled, but will call me back again and again to dig deeper and discover more. How do I even begin to convey the flavour of the adventure? How can I express the joy of circle-dancing the night away at the gloriously happy wedding of my son and Romanian daughter in law - the central reason for my visit?

But also… how can I capture the colours and mystery of the ancient, frescoed Orthodox churches which I eagerly sought out? The glitter of the icons… the sea of faith with which I was surrounded in those places? How can I share the warmth of the people, their generosity, their welcome, their grasp of the English language (even just a few words in some more remote areas…but even that is a few words more than I shamefacedly admit is my grasp of their language!)

The medieval town of Brasov

How can I tell of the magnificence and mystery of the mountains and the forests of Transylvania - where fairytale leapt alive for me at night as I listened to the low, gutteral growls of European brown bears, rumbling from the deep, dark forest just a hundred or so yards away from the balcony on which I stood? How can I possibly tell you what it felt like to crawl up the narrow, claustrophobic, 45 degree stairway, to the tower in Bran Castle, ('Dracula's Castle' - once part of the kingdom of Vlad the Impaler) - to be rewarded with spectacular views across the valley?

The truth is - I cannot. They are places and events that have to be experienced in the flesh - my words and images are pale imitations of the reality. But for now - they are all that I have…so let me share with you, in the next few posts, just a glimpse into my beautiful, mysterious, sometimes heartbreaking, but every day astonishing visit - just the first of what I hope will be many more.

To begin at the very beginning...In all honesty, it was a struggle to even get there. I have had a severe flying phobia for many years now, after some very unpleasant previous experiences. I had contemplated travelling - as I did to Venice - by train, but it would have taken me at least three days - and I knew that I just did not have the stamina to do that - knowing that, when I arrived, there would be several days of city and country adventures even before the wedding.

So, putting, just for once, environmental considerations aside (I am not unaware) - I gritted my teeth and told Alec 'book the tickets NOW - before I change my mind!!!'

I won't go into detail of how much sleep I lost and how many times my stomach turned over in the two weeks beforehand - suffice it to say that I DID get on the plane, smiled in bliss when the pilot announced that - due to a following wind, the flight would be a whole HOUR shorter than expected - sat back, plugged in my iPlayer and (apart from consuming a delicious meal and lots of pampering by the BA attendants) allowed Melvyn Bragg and his guests to talk me through three 'In Our Time' Podcasts. Time literally and metaphorically flew - and we touched down in Bucharest to be greeted by a temperature of 31C. Just as well I had packed cotton shirts as well as woolly polo jumpers (I needed both by the end of the week )

Phew - that's better!!

Our taxi transfer got us to the heart of Bucharest, dropping us just a few hundred yards from our hotel in Lipscani - the 'Old Town' district of the city - one of the few areas of the city where President Ceaucescu did not let loose his bulldozers in the 1970's & 80's. The location of our little boutique hotel (the 'Rembrandt') was pedestrianised with cobbles - so even those few hundred yards were hard work at the end of a long day.

Our little 'boutique' hotel Rembrandt,  in the buzzing heart of the Old Town

But I was rewarded with my first glimpse of what was to fill my passion for the next week - one of the glorious Orthodox Churches with which Bucharest is still peppered. 'Ooh, my feet are aching' was actually an excuse to stop and take first photographs. Here are just a few images - a few 'first impressions' - there will be many more to follow!

The 'Monastery around the corner' - within a short walk of our hotel. Still inhabited by a small number of nuns.

The iconostasis (Icon gallery) inside the monastery church often beautifully carved

The monastery cloister with collected grave markers

Unusual, carved family headstone - part of a collection gathered here.

 

Gilded Chairs and Fairytale Turrets

Oh, how these enchanted, golden early autumn days set one to idle dreaming!

For the last few days, I've been intermittently watching 'The Chateau Diaries' on YouTube - weekly blogs from Stephanie Jarvis, the Chatelaine  of  Chateau La Lande - one of the Brit-owned Chateaux featured in a couple of series of 'Escape to the Chateau - DIY'. The original 'Escape to the Chateau' series - I think there have now been four of them - was based upon the renovation of Chateau de la Motte Husson by Dick Strawbridge (previously seen in the series 'It's Not Easy Being Green') and his wife, Angela (Angel) Adoree.

I've avidly watched all series over the last four years and - seemingly like half of the UK - fallen in love with the week by week details of the restoration of their chateau; but I find the couple themselves strong medicine - a bit of a love/not so much relationship of being somewhat overwhelmed by their 'full on' personalities and total and utter admiration for the amount of sheer hard work that they very clearly put in to the renovation - they deserve all the success they get in that respect.

But the 'follow on' series that has transpired out of their success is - for me - more of a pleasure to watch. The 'DIY' programmes feature a number of different chateau owners - and both the owners and their properties are diverse; in some cases clueless idealists and in others, deep pocketed, experienced  business men and women. Inbetween, a large number of ordinary people who have decided to live extraordinary lives, and all of them having a vision of the possibility of  life lived with a little more grace and beauty, whatever we believe that to be. For many of them, it is, like myself, to find - and to restore to life and renewed pleasure - the hidden charms of the old, the faded, the long time used, the long time loved. You can catch a glimpse of all the DIY chateaux featured - and their owners - here

I believe there is another series with 'Dick and Angela' coming up - and my fingers are even more enthusiastically crossed for another series of 'EttC - DIY'. Until then, I'll be watching more of Stephanie's weekly Vlogs - a fantasy escape (for now - who knows what the future may bring ?!!), but she is also an inspiration to love what I already have and make the best of the particular and unique features of my own home and life, right here and right now. (I'm also now sharing these on Instagram, so I do hope you might consider joining me there for more frequent daily images of life in and around Autumn Cottage).

The 'Mediterranean terrace' -Tender plants & china chickens; no chateau sophistication here!

 

Always Hunting Blue and White!

The ice-cream colours of the houses in Llandeilo

Our week in Wales was spent just outside the charming little town of Llandeilo - a place where a smile and more than a brief chat seems to be the order of the day. It's how I grew up - in a time and a place where people had time for each other and those 'few kind words' of which I am so fond can still brighten anyone's day. Even Llandeilo has changed from the first visits we made there just six years ago, though - there is a noticeable increase in little boutique shops, lovely cake and coffee (and luxury chocolate) shops, and interesting galleries.

But one thing that has not changed is the absolutely enormous Antiques Emporium at the bottom of the town. It is like a rabbit warren and just goes on…and on…and on. At its farthest reaches, I did, at one point, seriously wonder if I was lost, as room led onto courtyard, which led back into another container, down a corridor - into another room, and another…and another.

Just the sort of delicious mixture of items that I love to hunt through...

I ended up 'navigating by dresser' - using several of the beautiful Welsh dressers in the Centre and their contents to retrace my steps by looking at the order of the photographs I had taken. As you can see, they all seemed to have one thing in common - they were LOADED with all sorts of Blue & White china - and anyone reading this blog over the years will know just how much I love that.

Never 'out of place', Blue & White china (and textiles, and paint colours) never seems to date; there are pieces that will fit into any interior - and interiors decorated in those colours become 'instant classics' whose owners are - in my eyes - blessed with the most superior good taste! Perhaps - most of all, I love the fact that pieces of Blue & White can be picked up for pennies in thrift/charity shops, junk shops, antique shops, car boot/yard sales; everything will (pretty much) go with everything else, and always look wonderful. (Just my humble opinion - what's yours?)

So here's a taste of one or two  dressers and shelves and their treasures upon which to feast your eyes. (I was very restrained and only came out with two little items - which you can see at the bottom of this blog…).

Not only plates here - but also a striking collection of blue & white jugs (though I would never recommend hanging jugs or cups by their handles - it weakens them and then you have a disaster waiting to occur!)

A mixture of blues and whites - including a lovely slate-blue & white woven Welsh blanket

A very fine array of old Staffordshire and Spode plates on a beautiful antique Welsh dresser

If you would like to read more about Welsh dressers (and see a lot more blue and white china!) - Mark Allum has written an interesting blog about them here - while for a feast of whole rooms decorated in B&W - take a look in here

These were the two little Victorian fairings that I picked up at the Antiques Centre - tiny items, just a few inches high and one (the 'Sleepy Girl') opening to contain pins.

I'm sure I can find space for them both!

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The River Tywi at Pentrecwn Farm, near Llandeilo, Carmarthenshire - our home for five days

Just a week back from five extremely restorative days in West Wales - the Land of my Fathers. I didn't expect - when we left the glorious colours of autumn in bright sunshine there - that I would be hoping, this morning, that the effects of ex-Hurricane Ophelia does not batter that green and pleasant land too much today.

We will see - we cannot stand against Her when Mother Nature comes rushing through.

Lots of tales of enchantment and adventure to tell in the days to come - but for now, just a few samples of the rather magical places we visited and things we saw…

The Gazebo at Duffryn Gardens - just outside Cardiff

Down on the Farm! That's our window in the converted barn 'Hafan Tywi'...looking out over this landscape -

Not bad, eh?!

Our closest neighbours (we had some interesting chats...)

Bright sunshine at Aberglasney gardens (there were Red Kites as well!)

Ideas for colour combinations around every corner

On the greyest day - Inside the Dome at the National Botanical Garden of Wales

Brightening up the grey day...A Quilt Challenge at the Welsh Quilt Museum in Lampeter

...and then the sun came out again! The 12th century Castle at Laugharne

...and the ice-cream coloured houses of Tenby...

...with its pretty little harbour -

- and blissful beachcombing to while away the time. No finer way to feel restored!

 

 

Meandering the August Days Away

A planted trough in the late summer sunshine, Tetbury

There's a feeling in the air…the summer has imperceptibly turned into very early autumn…the last days of school holidays have arrived…leaves are beginning to turn and fall, the swallows were gathering on the wires last week as I drove to Hungerford. It's a good ending to August - the temperatures have risen again and it's a delight to be out and about in the golden light. But that delight is tempered by a feeling of 'making the best of things' - for it is certain that in the weeks to come, though there will (hopefully) be many more days of sunshine, there will also be increasingly long nights and chillier mornings…we turn towards the darker days of the year.

So it was in that spirit of enjoying each day fully that we set off last Thursday to visit one of our favourite parts of the countryside here in the UK - the hills and valleys, villages and towns, churches and market places of the Cotswold Hills in Gloucestershire. The Cotswolds became prosperous in medieval times as a result of the high quality of wool produced by sheep grazing on fine pasture land - a prosperity that financed the beautiful architecture of the towns and churches, which have hence become known as 'wool churches', filled with notable glass, wood carvings and elaborate tombs.

 
Charming alleyways, hidden corners - Tetbury

The towns and villages are also a pleasure to just wander around (one of my favourite activities), exploring narrow alleyways and tiny courtyards in search of all manner of interesting and unusual shops. Last week's little trail took us to the towns of Stroud, Tetbury, and in between (and fleetingly) Minchinhampton. (Don't those names roll deliciously round the tongue?!). We are very fond of Tetbury and seem to discover more intriguing shops and buildings each time we visit - but we had not made our way to Stroud before. We arrived in rain, but left - after an excellent Italian lunch (proper Italian, too, with Bocelli on the radio!) - in bright sunlight, to climb up a narrow road along the steep scarp slope to Minchinhampton.

Covered Arcade, The Shambles, Stroud

Plaque in the covered Arcade

A cheeky Squirrel, fossicking in the churchyard of St Laurence

High on the top of the hill with Minchinhampton Common (owned by the National Trust) spreading for 500 acres all round, we did, in fact, manage to take a right rather than a left and in so doing - missed the centre of the town completely!! No worries, as this led us down some lovely, peaceful lanes with striking views across the valley to remote farms on the other side - and everywhere…sheep, sheep and more sheep. (I love sheep - so this made me very happy!)

Sheep happy-scratching against a dry stone wall, outskirts of Minchinhampton

We arrived in Tetbury in time to spend a good couple of hours investigating a real variety of shops - some very 'High End' antiques - with their doors closed and discrete displays in back rooms into which only the very wealthy (or very naïve) were venturing, to a number of very enticing charity shops at the other end of the spectrum (though even the 'stuff' in the charity shops was definitely of some quality as befits discards from this affluent community).

Top Banana!

One of my own personal favourite places to browse was in the five floors of the 'Top Banana Antiques Emporium' - where numerous dealers offer items of a huge variety and in all price ranges. The owners have created a really welcoming atmosphere - I will certainly revisit next time I am there; more than enough in that one building to make a couple of hours in the town worthwhile if you are just passing through.

Many nooks and crannies, containing many treasures, over five floors

The lovely, friendly proprietors of Top Banana - with a little purchase that needed to come home with me!

We had parked at the other end of town, so were positively compelled to browse in a number of other shops on our way back to the car! To gasp at the prices in the Highgrove shop (The 'Prince Charles Premium' heavily applied!!), to partake of coffee and cake in one of the best coffee shops on the planet...

The wonderfully crazy, exhuberant Rainbow interior of the Blue Zucchini Brasserie in Tetbury

...and the serene back courtyard garden - a heavenly place to take tea

...raid the cheese shop next door and then be entranced by the beauty and interest of some of the Asian artefacts on display and for sale in Artique; this was a most intriguing shop/gallery with a wonderfully serene atmosphere and a very memorable welcome from the owner, George Bristow. Even though we bought nothing on this occasion, I am drawn back to re-visit - both because of his genuine warmth and willingness to share his knowledge of the items - and for an intense longing to acquire something from the interesting and unusual artefacts for sale there.

Beautiful Asian artefacts - Artique 

An obligatory (for church crawling me) visit to the church of St Mary, another encounter with and contemplation of the beautiful and enigmatic 'Mary' murals in the entrance -

'The Annunciation'

and home again, along the noisy, pressurised route of the M4 motorway - only a few miles on the map but a million miles in atmosphere from the enchanting Cotswold countryside.

We're already planning our next visit...

The Market Hall, Tetbury

 

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Why Herefordshire?

The soaring spire of the church of St Mary the Virgin, Ross on Wye

So many present day reasons to visit one of the quieter, gentler shires of England - but I fell in love with Herefordshire many years ago, when I attended a term of evening classes on brass rubbing run by Arthur Peplow, a passionate enthusiast of Herefordshire Churches, their architecture and the art contained within them. That man ingrained the same passion in me, which has been burning ever since. Each parish church in this country has at least one notable work of art - whether it is created in wood or stone carving, painted glass, wall paintings or memorial monuments.

The accurate depiction of Tudor costume on the effigies of William (died 1530) and Anne Rudhall in the Church of St Mary the Virgin, Ross on Wye

They are the People's Galleries - repositories of so many expressions of what gave communities their identities - their beliefs, their customs, their day to day lives, their rites of passage - and in Herefordshire, there are numerous examples of some of the most evocative and accomplished of these works of art still in existence. I am endlessly grateful that they are accessible at all and not locked away in national museums - though in some cases, accessibility is an issue, with security requirements needing to be finely balanced with the right of entry to a place of worship.

Here are just a few examples of some of the treasures I was able to enjoy back in October. (Friends - I've just found this post languishing on my desk-top, when I thought I had posted it weeks ago! My apologies - I hope you are not too confused !!)

More fine detail on the recumbent figures of John (decd. 1636) and Mary Rudhall - their hands clasped together in matrimonial affection for all eternity.

A deceased daughter of John and Mary Rudhall

Another deceased babe - this time shown as a chrysom - wrapped in baptismal robes as its shroud, having died within a month of birth

The fine costume detail of one of the female 'weepers' - a still-living daughter mourning the parents memorialised above (much historical dress research has depended on monuments such as this)

The Annunciation - a beautifully carved scene on the  marble Tudor tomb of William and Anne Rudhall (shown above)

Madley Church

A fine example of a parish hearse or coffin cart

Fragments of glass gathered and re-leaded, sadly in jumbled order, but gladly that they were gathered together at all

In the crypt - a strikingly colourful painting by Edward Kelly

More works by Edward Kelly - here the consecration of St Dubricius as Bishop and below, more scenes from his life

The East window of fine 13th century glass in the church of Eaton Bishop

An utterly charming depiction of Mary and the Christ Child

St Michael weighing a tiny little Soul

The external Volka Chantry Chapel at Kingsland

Notice the 'body shaped' interior of the stone coffin in the Chantry chapel

Tobias and the Angel at Kingsland

One Hundred miles - Six Hundred Years

Many of you who may have visited the Weald and Downland open air museum at Singleton, or watched 'The Tudor Monastery Farm' on TV will understand our curiosity; what would it be like to actually live in one of these timber framed houses, the most luxurious of which might still have been a challenge to our 21st century sensibilities?

What would it be like to wake up to no heating, the need to swathe oneself in a fleece or light a fire to achieve some warmth before making breakfast? But also - what would it be like to hear the flock of sheep rubbing against the walls of the house at night, to see the white tail of a rabbit bob from a few feet away as you look out through the window in the morning - to pick apples and damsons from the trees in the cottage garden?

I had the good fortune to experience just a glimpse of Medieval life last week, when we stayed for just five days at Hacton Cruck, a restored early 15th century Hall house in the depths of the Herefordshire countryside. Of course, as we were well aware, we were only 'playing at it' -  it was *just* a mere glimpse, a tiny glance through the mists of time, giving only an inkling of what it might have been like to live that life. We were also aware of the luxury of both access to the comfortable 'mod cons' of running hot water and working 21st century kitchen facilities which the medieval housewife could not even imagine, and the knowledge that we were able to return to our own, familiar way of life at the end of the week.

We gasped when we walked into the house, and spent the first two days just sitting back in the velvety quiet, absorbing the abundant textural beauty of wood, stone and rough lime plaster everywhere, not infrequently muttering 'wow' as we noticed another piece of spliced repair, a smoke-blackened beam, the nuances of the hand-carved staircase or a glint of warm autumn light on the honey-coloured oak. I spent several moments on one afternoon actually nuzzling up to and inhaling the staircase, which had clearly been recently beeswaxed and was emanating the most wonderful odour in the heat of the sun. We did indeed feel as if we had been given permission for a 'lock-in' at the Museum and revelled in the hours of peace and sense of time-travel that we experienced there.

It was a sensual as well as a historical experience - here are some images to give just a little idea of the pleasures that Hacton Cruck held in store for us in the balmy golden days of late September here in England.

(The cottage is situated in Preston-on-Wye, about 10 miles west of Hereford on the Hereford to Hay on Wye road)

Down a little country track...

...past the log store

Surrounded by apple trees, we glimpsed the the cruck frame...

...of Hacton Cruck, the restored, early 15th century hall house that was our home for five days

The log fire was blazing when we arrived - part of the warmest of welcomes from Dilys, the kindly house-keeper

I parked my suitcase in the cosiest of bedrooms...

...from where I could hear the munching of the sheep outside the window

The delicious atmosphere was enhanced by the tapestries adorning the walls

The hand-cut 'scented staircase' led up to...

...the 'Reading Gallery' - late afternoon sun streaming through the window - a box-bed in the background

...an enchanting place for children to sleep!

...and for adults to drink tea, read and chat

A panoramic view of the hall - food prep mod-cons all set in one bank at the back, in a 'high-table' position

Also from the gallery, a close-up view of the beautiful ancient beams...

...and already, some charity-shop Blue and White treasures acquired on the way!