Hovis and Heavy Horses

Nearly everyone in England is familiar with the old Hovis advert from 1973, putting Gold Hill, Shaftsbury in Dorset on the map. I had been wanting to visit this location for years and so Mum and I set off on Tuesday. It was very close to her home, as an American perspective, maybe not an Englishman's. After shortly arriving in the US an elderly gentleman told me a phrase I've never forgotten: "An American thinks 100 years is a long time, and an Englishman thinks 100 miles is a long way." Very true, I thought, but after living 20 years in the States I'm a hybrid and think neither apply to me. So about 30 minutes later we had parked in Shaftesbury and were walking along cobbled streets with tiny shops to the famous hill.

This is a killer hill to climb and I'd never make it on a bike. Incidentally the old advert made a comeback with the boy on the bike returning as a retired 57 year old firefighter.
The gentleman who is in one of my photos climbing the hill stopped to chat. We had a good old natter for about 20 minutes and then went on our way down the hill. It would be amusing as the day passed as we would meet this same man on another 3 occasions as we walked about the town. By the end of the day and on our last farewell we pretty much knew each others' life histories.

Mum and I walked up the hill back to town, but made the incline by way of a park, stopping to pick wild damsons on the way up and graze on nasturtium leaves, we were so hungry. The views were stunning from the top so we went to the local bakery, bought a Wiltshire pasty and an Eccles cake each, and then walked back to the Park Walk where we sat on a bench and ate our lunch while enjoying the vista. Delicious was such an understatement. Both pies were stuffed with filling and with such rich pastry that it was impossible to stop eating, even though I knew I'd be feeling uncomfortably full afterwards. I had also bought 6 crusty rolls from the bakery, something that's impossible to buy stateside. It was very strange when the following evening, I spoke with my brother Greg on the phone, and he lamented that he was having a problem finding good crusty rolls and that he'd demolished an Eccles cake that day. Weird...

Mum and I had to get up and walk off our hefty, but scrumptious, lunch and so sauntered around Shaftesbury Abbey. This had been demolished by Henry VIII in 1539 when he had ordered that all religious buildings be closed. King Alfred had been the founder of the abbey and King Canute had died here. We listened to the audio tour and had a few laughs as we posed for photos, with me dressing up in clothes that we were pretty sure were for school kids.
We finished our day in The Elephant and Castle, a pub near home. I was determined to get a few good beers down me and I wasn't disappointed. We sat in the pub garden, the astro turf gleaming a bright emerald green in the sunshine. I had a Razerback Ale from Ringwood Brewery. Tangy, hoppy and citrusy, it hit the spot. The brewery suggested it went well with salt and vinegar crisps, but unfortunately I had no room for those.

On Thursday we stayed close to home and visited the Heavy Horse Farm. Another attraction I'd been wanting to visit for a while as I love horses. With the kids back at school it wasn't overcrowded and we got there early so we could follow the day's schedule.

The day began with feeding. We were introduced to the horses one by one, helping to drag the feed buckets into the stalls. The gentleman yelling out the introductions was a hoot. Highly sarcastic he took great delight in ridiculing the horses but mainly us, the visitors. I was sniggering the whole time, especially when he explained that when the horses were being considered for farm work, the prospective buyers looked for huge backsides, as this was the horse's brake system. He them looked over the group, exclaiming that this ruling would have applied to a few of us. The horses began kicking their stable doors as the buckets were distributed but it was evident that they never went hungry. I had bought £5 of treats when we came in and halfway through our visit we bought another £5. Apparently the horses know that most treats are obtained when they're in their stalls so prefer to be in those rather than out in the fields. They're put out at night when it's cooler with less flies to bother them but are eager to get back to the stalls in the morning, anxious to be in place when the visitors arrive.

 

There's an impressive display of vintage vehicles, all lovingly restored. I was particularly taken with the Romany caravans, hand painted inside and out.

A small petting zoo area held turkeys, ducks, goats and donkeys, all happy to be petted, as well as feral cats that live under the cafe. These are encouraged to stay as they keep the rat and mouse population down. They're not fed but the kittens are handled from an early age so they get used to humans.

The newest attraction was a mock up of the trenches from WWI that was dedicated to the horses used during the war. As you walked the route you followed the story of one particular horse as well as reading facts from the period. I have to admit that I had a lump in my throat when we finished.
I spent a lot of time with the guy above, I was very taken with his mustache. Apparently Gypsy Vanner horses have more hair than other horses, thicker manes and feathers around their hooves, and also resulting in their unique facial hair. I think it's rather becoming and he got more treats and hugs from me than the others.

 Colony Uno is a Suffolk Punch, a breed that has had the feathers over the hooves bred out. Farriers hate feathers since they can ignite while being shod. This is such a pure bred horse that it only comes in the chestnut color and is close to extinction.

 Orestes is an Ardennes, a very rare breed and is the farm's best example of what a medieval war horse would look like, bred to carry the heavy armor. Virtually prehistoric, this is the breed that all the other heavy horses originate from.

I was amazed to learn that Percheron horses are born almost black and lighten with age, going to a beautiful dappled grey and then to white.

We finished the day with a tractor ride, coerced onto the trailer by the same gentleman who had described the horses. A few drops of rain started to fall and he called back to us that hopefully our Primark summer collection clothing wouldn't be ruined. Primark is a very cheap, badly made, clothing store. I howled with laughter as we bumped around the muddy field to the music blasting from his tape player. I sang along to The Wurzels songs, Combine Harvester and I am a Cider Drinker. I think I had more fun that day than the kids!

Morris Magic and The Lost State

Sunday morning I met Sally and Trev for another busting breakfast. A full English has to be the best meal ever and I certainly partook in a few of these while I was home. But despite me stuffing myself every day I only gained a couple of pounds, because I did so much walking. After my huge meal which would last me through the day, I went with Sally and Trev to say farewell to Dad Derrick. It was a painful parting, knowing I'd never see him again. God bless this wonderful man, I will miss him dearly. He certainly made an impact on my life. Saying goodbye to Sally was also difficult, knowing I wouldn't see her for so long. And then a couple of hours later I met another dear friend who is also suffering from poor health and more tears were shed. We parted after a pint at his local pub and it was with a very heavy heart that I left my hometown and began a slow drive to Mum in Dorset.

I took the back roads through the countryside, avoiding all main roads, and was delighted to find that I had them to myself for most of the afternoon. My driving confidence increased and before long I was whipping along the lanes the way I always used to. High hawthorn and cob nut hedges walled the narrow roads and then opened up to landscapes of patchwork fields and the rolling South Downs. I stopped to take photos, particularly loving St. Mary's Church in Leigh with its mock Tudor gate. A passing gentleman informed me the church was open so I passed some quiet time within its walls, enjoying having this beautiful place of worship to myself for a while. Magpies fluttered across the grass between gravestones and the air was sweet with grass as I looked across the stone wall to tall chimneys on centuries old houses and fields. A public footpath sign stood enticingly by a wooden stile but unfortunately I didn't have the time for a hike.

I stopped again at Chiddingstone, considering stopping the night in one of the oldest and most beautiful villages in Kent, but there was a special house I wanted to visit the following day so I continued driving to Royal Tunbridge Wells. It seemed rather nice that as I drove into the town towards my hotel I was followed for about 2 miles by a powder blue vintage Rolls Royce, a splendid escort. At the old hotel I had to lug my suitcase up 4 flights of stairs to a large garret room with skylights to the night stars. After a dinner of battered sausage and chips and a pint of Wiper and True Brewery's Kaleidescope IPA at The Pantiles, I walked up the long hill back to the hotel, up the stairs and slept like a log.
I was up early on Monday and demolished yet another huge breakfast. There must have been some powerful pepper in their pots; I sneezed loudly after sprinkling my eggs, and then 4 others on separate tables in the dining room followed suit once their breakfasts arrived. A couple of others sniffed vigorously. I'd loved spending 3 nights in 3 such different hotels, even with having to climb stairs at each one. They'd all been old buildings with no room for elevators yet I was fine with that, enjoying the quaint uniqueness of each hostelry and definitely preferring them to the sterile cookie cutter styles of the modern and more convenient hotels.
 I started to make my way south across towards Dorset but first I was visiting a National Trust property, Standen House in Sussex. While studying for my graphic design degree I had fallen in love with William Morris, an English textile designer, and Standen House was full of his work. For me, it was like Christmas morning as I parked and walked towards the house. I had got there early, before the house itself opened, and so I walked the grounds.

I strolled through formal flower beds, dewy lawns with William Morris deck chairs, bee hives, wooded groves and the largest rhubarb bed I'd ever seen. The gardens were created while the house was being built and the kitchen garden had been converted to 'no dig' area. This meant that they were mulch beds with a layer of compost added periodically which would rot down. It maintains the soil structure, improves drainage by better soil aeration, avoids weed seeds being brought to the surface, reduces watering and increases yields. And no digging!
I sauntered up to the house and waited for the doors to open, I was first in line. The house was designed by Arts and Crafts architect Philip Webb in the 1890's for James Beale, whose wife Margaret helped to design the gardens. Philip Webb was a partner of the architecture firm of Morris and Co. The house has many styles with multiple Morris fabrics and wallpapers in the rooms, beautiful concoctions of colors and patterns.

Above are just a few of the wallpapers by William Morris. It was amazing to see them up close and touch them, I was in my element. Some had to be restored; note the trellis paper above. The top is original but the bottom half is is replicated, and the outlines are heavier. Morris was the first to use the 'trellis' design which first appeared in 1862. Possibly inspired by the rose trellises at Red House, Bexley Heath, this pattern was a favorite of Morris and Webb.

Margaret Beale made the olive tapestry above, taking her about 6 years to complete. She would also read to the children and to keep them occupied would get them to string beads onto thread which she later made into radiator covers.

John Pearson made copper fittings designed by Philip Webb while the lamps were made by WAS Benson, nicknamed Brass Benson by William Morris.

Each room was a delight to enter. I'd never seem so much of William Morris' work in one place at once before, it was mind boggling. The originality of the house and fittings designs were so unique that really I needed to spend the whole day at this home to take everything in. The patterns and designs of the fabrics and furniture worked so well together, it was obvious that this home had been created by design geniuses. I loved the little touches, tiny pine cones on seats that weren't to be sat on and even cherry seeds in the 'pip trays' attached to plates in the dining room. This home has been put on display with every tiny detail meticulously thought out. I wanted to move in. But I had to move on. Mum was waiting in Dorset so I visited the gift shop to buy a Morris mug and some cards. I left with his words imprinted on my mind, "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." Oh yes indeed.

As I continued meandering along narrow lanes, a church with a crown spire rose above me in the distance looking like a fairytale castle. I turned down a little lane to see it closer. Known as the Scots Crown of All Hallows Church in Tillington, West Sussex, the spire was a later addition to the church, around 1807, and is supposed to be the most southern example of a Scots Crown spire, and possibly inspired by the artist Turner. The church itself is thought to date back to 1180. John Constable also painted the church in 1834, the painting hangs in the British Museum.

Drivers in America would benefit greatly from road signs such as these. My father cursed the roads in the USA with their lack of direction; I'm very happy that GPS has been invented as I was always losing my way.

I drove slowly along more country lanes, never passing any other vehicles, but finding plenty of baby pheasants in the verges. I had one more place to visit which meant a steep climb up the South Downs. My small rental car struggled with the inclines but eventually I reached the summit and parked up. I was here to see the Vandalian Tower, an obscure monument to commemorate a failed American state. The story had intrigued me and I wanted to see the folly up close.

This was quite an endeavor as once I had found somewhere to park the car I then had to find out how to access it. I eventually followed a footpath through woodland, the path a mixture of chalk and flint. I then had to scramble up a steep slope and across part of a field. There were deep furrows and I twisted my ankle but plodded on regardless. A barbed wire fence prevented me from going further, with  'No Trespassing' signs attached to it so I had to be content with photos from afar. But I'd seen it and was happy. It seemed strange that it was so inaccessible, tucked away on top of a hill in a sheep field. If you're interested in the long story, James Donald Anderson wrote an essay which also shows a map of the proposed new state. More info here.
I continued on towards Dorset, arriving at Mum's by late afternoon. Just in time for a very much needed cup of tea.