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Tag Archives: High Street

Exploring Chipping Campden, the Great Malverns, and Broadway

 

A view from a room, Chipping Campden

FRIDAY, August 31

8PM and dusk was falling – Kettle Cottage was quiet and I sat in the tiny living room with my feet up, the stove burning merrily away, eating fresh bread and butter with farmland tomatoes and tiny-leaved watercress. I heard the church bells from St. James pealing faintly across the Chipping Campden rooftops. I found a bottle containing two gulps of blended Scotch in a cupboard in the miniscule kitchen, and it went down a treat. Poirot was on the tube, and I settled in after my first full day back in the Cotswolds.

 

At Vegetable Matters

After an uneventful and surprisingly short flight on British Airways – with absolutely grim food – we landed in London an hour early. The weather was clear and cool – the sky blue glass. Steve met me once I’d skimmed through Security and Baggage Reclaim, and we were on our way on the back roads through the charming historic small villages of the Cotswolds. High hedgerows. Winding lanes.

As my stomach was banging against my backbone, Steve suggested we stop at a farm-to-market shop and café situated on rolling English farmland. Called Vegetable Matters, the produce displayed was incredible, and not only beautiful but delish. I had a full English breakfast, and Steve a bacon bap. Yum-o – and filling!

We sat in the sun under a sky so vividly blue it reminded me of driving on the highway to Taos in New Mexico, where the sky looks like it’s painted blue every day. Fields of bright yellow sunflowers spread out around us. A red tractor sat by the low building that housed the fruits and veggies, fresh breads and butters. I stocked up!

SATURDAY, September 1

I woke up really late after a rather unsettled night, so took my time getting a shower, coffee (which I had on the deck just outside the French door to my bedroom)and figuring out what I wanted to do with my day. The beautiful morning had drifted away, and I was low on food (surprisingly). I headed to the grocery store down the High Street, picked up supplies, and trotted to the chemist which – despite a sign saying Open 1-5 – was closed and stayed closed for the day.

 

I also realized, almost from the moment of stepping foot out of the alley doorway, that I didn’t have a clue which door I stepped out of !! I was so busy talking to the owner’s father (named Ham) about which key worked where, I completely forgot to look at the door closely until I was halfway down the High. So back I turned.My house is situated in a line of row houses, most of which are not numbered but named. I knew mine was called Kettle Cottage, but being blind as a bat when I start to panic, I couldn’t see anything that remotely resembled my house. I emailed, texted and called Steve and Joanna (the owner) who were, of course, nowhere to be found.

So I ran some errands, and by dint of peering in the windows of five or six houses I thought might be the one (and luckily saw no-one inside any), I finally recognized the cobbled walkway in my alley – inserted the key in the door, and it worked!

After that bit of palaver, I put everything away and left again, determined to walk around Chipping Campden.

A short step away from home led me into a small but intensely green park – the Ernest Wilson Memorial Garden. The trees and lawns were dappled with sunlight or in deep green shadow, and the garden held small benches and statuary.  These are the small pockets of loveliness found everywhere in the Cotswolds.

From there, I followed winding lanes around the outskirts of Chipping Campden which eventually led to a beautiful field. A woman, Sandra, was walking her three dogs – one an Afghan hound – who pointed out various footpaths and trails I could take. We walked together over the grass, dogs alternately galloping, sashaying or drifting. The day was sunny and warm. It was so restorative.

On the footpath, we met a likable couple living in an absolutely charming cottage who were beekeepers.

They also had dogs, so we were surrounded by a cloud of about five of them, frolicking freely.

After a nice chat, we all parted company and I wended my way back to the High Street.

The High Street is filled with delightful shops, pubs, inns, and teashops. After window shopping and a brisk stroll, I stopped in the Noel Arms for a half pint of Guinness (or two!) And after an interval on Facebook, I then actually found my way home – noticing at this point a black kettle hung above the door of my little enclave.  Ah well…. After a light supper and some English TV, I went to bed, listening to the church bells and thinking: I am in England for sure.

SUNDAY, September 2

Steve picked me up in his new Jag at 10am to drive to the Great Malverns. I was a bit of a mess, not having slept well, and – because there’s no shampoo at the house – was unable to wash my hair!

Nonetheless, once I got over it, we were on our merry way out of Chipping Campden to the Malverns. The GPS in the car then somehow directed us to a route unknown to Steve. I just enjoyed the ride, noting down the eccentric silly names of English villages we passed through, such as Wyre Piddle, Upton Snodsbury, and Sneachill. I also love the English road signs, with one of my favorites: Elderly People Crossing.

We were keeping our eyes out for the tallest Malvern (not so tall at 1300 feet) but we finally gave up on that, and parked at a café and pub Steve knew about at the base of the first hill we came to.

The day started off cloudy and windblown, but after a quick lunch at the pub – which included the de rigeur half pint – the sun re-emerged – and we enjoyed climbing the foothill on such a gorgeous sunny day.

The views were incredible! I should have hiked more than I did, as I only managed two and a half hours…

The breeze was fresh, the sun was shining, you could see for miles all around…stunning.

On our return, we tried to find Little Malvern – but that was a non-starter. So we just went with the flow. Steve stopped at a lovely little church on the way home, where we wandered through the beautifully kept graveyard, along the stone walls and over the green green grass, spiced with tree shadows from the late afternoon sun.

A quick stop to pick up shampoo and Elderberry/Peach Cordial at a village grocery, and I was home around 5 o’clock, ready to sit down with a cuppa, check emails, post some photos on Facebook…. I made myself a cheese and tomato sandwich which I washed down with the cordial – delish! Once again, I didn’t get to sleep until early morning, which is why I’m always so late getting started the next day!

MONDAY, September 3

Well, big relief…finally got to wash my hair! In order to see what I was doing – as there was one plug in my room – I pulled a large mirror from the wall and propped it on the windowsill near said plug. Worked like a charm!

Then I was out the door onto Chipping Campden’s High Street. When I booked my cottage, I specifically wished, on this visit, to stay in a village and be able to walk to shops, teashops, pubs, and grocer. I was situated on the far end of the High, which was close to fields and footpaths, the other direction leading into the town.

I wandered past houses and shops viewed in years past, loving to see that so much remained the same. Badger’s Hall, the old alms houses, the big willow tree over the square, the paned windows of the tiny pubs and inns…all as I had remembered them.

I turned on Sheep Street to see the iconic thatched cottage at its head that had so enchanted me and David last year. The stone dogs still kept watch, and the cottage itself is a throwback in time.

The back streets of Chipping Campden offer a wealth of magical views of ivy covered cottages,

 

 

farms and manor houses peering over gray drystone walls and through greenery…

red letter boxes embedded in stonework on street corners,

red and gold lichen-lined footpaths sheltered by huge oaks and chestnuts. some of which were so dense, they formed tunnels… Stepping into a storybook, everywhere you turned was a picture.

I finished my day by stopping at the Eight Bells pub, around the corner from my cottage. It was quiet for an hour, as I drank my IPA (half pint) and checked photos and emails. I finished up with fish and chips and once again wended my way home in the twilight.

TUESDAY, September 4

On the road again… About 10:30, Steve picked me up and we drove to Broadway (how I love this Cotswolds village!) in a slight mizzle. He dropped me at the Swan, where I hoped to have a bit of breakfast, but no such luck, as they didn’t offer breakfast during the week. I downed a latte, and since their WiFi wasn’t working, walked out onto the High to find a café that did serve a good English breakfast. Luckily, I beat the rush into Hunter’s teashop, ordered the half breakfast, and downloaded their WiFi which worked beautifully (I never thought I’d see the day when I’d say that!) Breakfast included: one sausage, two rashers of English bacon, scrambled eggs, fried tomato, toast and tea. And that’s a half ! Delish!

After which I hoofed it down the High trying to find an ATM. I find it alternately maddening and ridiculous that I am so caught up (while travelling) in the ways of the modern world when it comes to communication and money. Spending time trying to find somewhere I could access my cell phone and check emails, messages and FB. And then roaming the High Street in one of the loveliest towns in the Cotswolds looking for an ATM. Well, honestly.

I popped into a realtor’s office where its one occupant – while pleasant as could be – looked at me blankly when I asked her where I could find the nearest ATm. Leaving her to it, I next popped into an art gallery, apologetically asking the same question of a man who obviously knew I wasn’t in there to spend oodles of money on a painting! But, he was very nice and pointed me in the right direction –which, of course, was at the very opposite end of Broadway. I found the ATM next to Budgen’s…David and I stopped there many times last year, and I can’t believe I couldn’t remember that! Now I could call my life my own once again and get back on the byways and footpaths.

 

The first thing I wanted to do was walk the Snowshill Road from Broadway past Old Orchard, where David and I had stayed a year ago. The weather had cleared, and it was cool and fresh walking. Lovely!

I found Old Orchard and sighed as I looked through the gate at its fabulous grounds. Of everywhere I’ve ever stayed, this is one of the most beautiful places I’ve been in. The grass was green, smooth as paint and beautifully manicured as always by Mike, its gardener…the gravel drive was raked perfectly, and the trees drooped gracefully in late summer splendor.

Well, moving on.

I continued walking towards Snowshill, taking in – and photographing – a delightful row of apple trees covered with the red apples of autumn,

passing riders coming down the lane,

the glorious fields, farms and far vistas seen from the road,

the vine-covered houses and manors and small church with its graveyard, and the sign for the cricket club,

and the sheep nibbling the grass in the meadows.

A couple of hours later, I finally turned back towards Broadway when the lane became a little too twisty and narrow with no verge to leap onto when the Formula One drivers came tearing around the curves.

Just kidding about the Formula One drivers!

Back in Broadway, I decided I needed a cream tea, which the Lygon Arms thoughtfully provided: Two hot raisin scones, clotted cream and two sorts of jam, plus lemon verbena tea. Fourteen pounds including tip. Wonderful – although I could only eat one scone.

I texted Steve to let him know it would be between 4-5pm when ready to be picked up, and went on my merry way to find the Cotswolds Way. I had an hour.

Well, okay, so the Cotswolds Way is over 100 miles long. Maybe I can’t do it in an hour…but maybe a mile or two?

I did find one sign pointing me to one part of the Way through the fields, which I followed for about 45 minutes. When I finally came to the conclusion this was not the Cotswolds Way stretch that David and I had walked in 2017, I thought it the better part of valor to turn back and get a half pint – again, at the Lygon Arms.

 

Nice place!

 

Tina, Steve’s wife, picked me up at the accredited time and I was home shortly before 5. Lost my WiFi again…

 

It was a lovely day. I just keep eating and drinking my way around the Cotswolds! But as JFK said about accompanying Jackie to Paris: I have enjoyed it!

Next: The iconic small village ramble – stay tuned!

 

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Stanton and Snowshill, The Cotswolds – Chapter 5

Stanton, The Cotswolds

Stanton and Snowshill, the Cotswolds – Chapter 5

Wednesday, August 30…The morning was one of those delightful easygoing and sunny mornings when nothing was immediate or demanding, and doing anything (or not doing anything) was a pleasure.

As usual, I wandered around the grounds of Old Orchard’s beautiful garden, picked some apples and plums in the orchard for Steve and myself, and sat on the bench in the back overlooking the green fields and ever-grazing sheep, just inhaling the fresh air.

We had booked Steve for a trip to Snowshill, and he had added Stanton as a first stop, so at 2:30 he picked us up.  (Advertising push here: Cotswold Executive Cabs – fabulous!)

About three miles from Broadway, the village of Stanton is absolutely delightful.

It only has a population of about 200! (Can I make it 201?) Overcast when we first arrived, the recalcitrant sun popped back out, to showcase the allure of the homes and surroundings.

Stanton has a High Street and a pub, The Mount, which for some reason (rare for us) we did not check out (next time!)

The houses, as is usual here, are built almost entirely of the butter-yellow Cotswold limestone, and a small street which we stopped to photograph wound downhill through the greenery.

Surrounded in part by woods…

village walls were ivy covered…a pansy grew from a stone…climbing roses bloomed…views of the rolling Cotswold hills were seen through a framework of old, old trees and houses… I walked around in a happy dream.

Our next stop was Snowshill Manor, an old manor house built by an eccentric gentleman by the name of Charles Wade.

Back garden of Snowshill Manor

He collected a very wide variety of objects, gadgets, art and thingamajigs from all over the world, and these were displayed throughout his house, rather willy-nilly. Some people find this creepy; I rather like the idea of this old gentleman gathering items from his travels whether they had any value or not and just because…

After all, what is England without eccentricity?

Snowshill Manor ivy covered wall

As I’d been here and toured the manor once before, I stuck to the gardens while David took a quick tour through the house.

The gardens had an end-of-the-season feel to them, but the old stonework of the walls, steps, buildings and so on was still lovely, the ivy-covered walls and ripening fruit really enchanting.

Garden seat at Snowshill Manor

We stopped for a quick cup of tea and a scone at the little teahouse

Snowshill Manor teahouse

then left to ramble onto Snowshill itself, which I’d been wanting to revisit since I first stepped toe onto Cotswold soil. The narrow road was hemmed by fields and woods on either side, and we stopped to take some photographs of the far-reaching hills and fields.

Walking from Snowshill Manor to Snowshill

By the time we got to Snowshill, the weather had turned and had become rather drippy and chilly. We found the Snowshill Arms – which I kept saying “is on the green” but I couldn’t find the green (as I remembered it.) However, we did finally find the pub, only to see that it didn’t open for another 30 minutes. We huddled shivering beneath the portico when the manager drove up and took pity on us, letting us in early, saying she “hoped we wouldn’t mind if she popped upstairs to do a couple of things.” We didn’t mind a bit, especially when she served us a couple of half pints while we waited to order our dinner. And my dinner was scrumptious, an English breakfast actually and the sausage was incredibly good. Loved it! (And my new favorite thing is IPAs…how did I not know about these before?)

A little later Steve joined us for a drink and then drove us home.

Being rather damp and chilled, the first thing that crossed my mind was a hot bath. My bedroom’s master suite held a clawfoot tube, and oh! It was wonderful to dive into the bubbles and get warm.

Clawfoot tub at Old Orchard

Despite the cooling air and wet weather, it was a lovely day, and I am thrilled to add Stanton to my list of English villages that encompass everything right about England. Long may they – and the beautiful English countryside – reign!